The morning sun broke with chaos. Every news headline, blog post, and gossip column screamed with excitement: "Lucien Blackmoor Engaged?!" Photos of Lucien's estate, grainy shots of Valerie walking through the garden, and speculative nonsense about a secret love affair had flooded the media overnight.
The source? A reckless houseworker who had overheard whispers from Grandfather Blackmoor's visit and ran with it. Within an hour of Lucien finding out, the worker had not only been fired, but blacklisted—permanently erased from been employed in the entire network of elite household staffing services.
Lucien didn't say much when the news reached him. He didn't yell. He didn't explode. He simply stared at his assistant for a long time, then said in a low voice, "Clean it." That meant: silence the story, track every outlet that ran it, and make sure it didn't spread further. He left for an urgent business meeting without glancing in Valerie's direction.
---
Later that morning, Mrs. Rosie Blackmoor arrived.
She came draped in high-end silk, her heels tapping sharply against the marble floors of Lucien's estate. Her painted smile was the very image of pretentious warmth.
"Oh, so this is the girl," she said, eyes sweeping over Valerie like she was inspecting livestock. "You're… quaint."
Valerie stood awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion from constant crying. She didn't curtsey or smile. She simply said, "I want to see my grandmother. Please."
Mrs. Rosie's grin tightened. "In time, dear. But first, tea."
She ordered the maid to serve Valerie herself—under the guise of making her feel welcomed. As she stirred the tea, her ring-clad hand hovered just long enough over the cup to slip something in.
A tasteless, odorless compound. Just enough to induce sharp stomach cramps, nausea, and hospitalisation. Not enough to kill—but enough to send a message.
---
That night, Valerie collapsed. Her screams echoed through the halls. Lucien's security scrambled to carry her to the car. At the hospital, she was diagnosed with severe stomach poisoning. She barely had the strength to whisper when the doctor asked her what she had eaten.
The assistant delivered the report to Lucien, hesitantly.
"Your…your mom visited this afternoon."
Lucien's jaw clenched. He understood what this meant.
He stood in cold silence for a moment, then said, "Get prepared."
And that was the end of the discussion.
---
A Bitter Vow
Three days later, Valerie was discharged.
Still weak, still pale, she was surprised when instead of being driven home—or back to Lucien's mansion—she was taken to the marriage registry.
"Why are we here?" she asked sharply, her voice rising.
"We are getting married today," Lucien said, stepping out of the car, his expression blank. "You get to see your grandmother after signing the marriage certificate."
"You're forcing me—"
"You broke into my life first, remember. This is the price."
"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not the girl who broke into your hotel room"
"Till I get the answers I need, your stuck with me"
His voice wasn't raised. He didn't sound angry. But the weight of it—calm, calculated, final—shut her up.
They signed. The cold click of a pen sealed her fate. Valerie's hand trembled as she wrote her name beside his. His signature was sharp and clean. No hesitation.
She was now Mrs. Valerie Blackmoor.
---
News traveled fast, especially in the Blackmoor family.
Grandfather Blackmoor summoned Lucien that same evening. He demanded an explanation for the rushed marriage.
"Are you ashamed of your wife?" he asked, half-mocking, half-suspicious.
Lucien's eyes didn't flinch. "I'm not interested in a circus wedding."
"Nonsense," the old man barked. "There will be a ceremony. Blackmoor weddings don't happen in silence."
Lucien turned his back. "Do what you want. I won't be there."
---
Meanwhile…
Back in the village, Mrs. Selena, Valerie's beloved grandmother, had collapsed after the day Valerie was taken. Stress, fear, and sorrow had worn down her fragile heart. The villagers had carried her to the hospital. Her condition was worsening by the day.
When Valerie finally saw her, escorted with guards who barely allowed her more than ten minutes, she burst into sobs.
"Grandma… Grandma, I'm sorry…"
The older woman touched her cheek weakly. "You look so tired… why did they take you away from me, my child?"
Valerie's throat closed.
She turned and stared at Lucien, who stood just outside the hospital door, watching them through the glass wall—stoic, detached, and unreadable.
In that moment, hatred carved itself deep into Valerie's heart.
She wiped her tears, stood up, and marched toward him.
"I will never forgive you," she whispered, voice shaking. "You ruined everything. You're a monster."
Lucien didn't blink. "Your grandmother is alive and get to see her, I kept my end of the deal."
"You'll pay for this."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Then stay alive long enough to collect the debt."
As Valerie glared at Lucien, the doctor approached them.
"Excuse me, Mr. Blackmoor?"
Lucien turned to the doctor, his expression still cold. "What is it?"
The doctor glanced at Valerie, then back at Lucien.
"Can I speak to you privately?"
Lucien nodded. "Of course."
He gave Valerie a quick, warning look before following the doctor out of the room.
---
The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the hospital corridor as Lucien stood quietly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black coat. The doctor stood in front of him, flipping through a file with carefully chosen words dancing on his tongue.
"Mr. Blackmoor," the doctor said, low and cautious, "your grandmother-in-law, Mrs. Selena… she has chronic heart failure. It's been developing for a while. Her heart's condition is deteriorating slowly, but it's irreversible. We can only manage the symptoms now."
Lucien's face didn't twitch. He nodded once.
"She's known about it," the doctor added. "She's been aware for some time, but it seems she chose not to burden her granddaughter."
Just beyond the wall, behind a slightly open door, Valerie stood frozen.
She had gone to get water for her grandmother when she heard them speaking. The word chronic rang like a church bell in her ears. Her chest tightened. Her legs felt like glass. She slowly backed away, her eyes blurring with tears.
---
That evening, she sat beside her grandmother's hospital bed, unusually quiet. The sunlight poured in softly through the window, casting golden light on Mrs. Selena's fragile frame. She was hooked to an IV, but her eyes were bright, still full of that enduring warmth.
"You didn't bring your smile with you," the old woman said gently, noticing Valerie's silence.
Valerie sniffled and tried looking away. "I baked your favourite bread" She pulled the small paper bag from her purse, placing it on the bedside table.
Mrs. Selena chuckled. "Well, now that's something." She picked at the corner of the bread. "Still warm… Just like how we used to make it, remember? You always added too much milk and not enough sugar."
"I liked it that way," Valerie said softly, her voice trembling.
"I know," her grandmother replied with a playful wink. "That's how I knew you made it."
They fell into a moment of silence, broken only by the soft beep of the heart monitor.
Then Valerie spoke again—her voice cracking like thin ice.
"Grandma, why didn't you tell me?" Her lips quivered. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"
Mrs. Selena looked at her for a long time before reaching out and holding her hand with wrinkled fingers. Her thumb gently brushed Valerie's palm.
"Because I didn't want you to carry sadness on your shoulders when life's already heavy enough," she whispered. "I've had a long, full life, my sweet girl. I've loved, I've lost, I've baked thousands of loaves of bread,"—she smiled softly—"and I've had the joy of raising you."
"But I'm not ready to lose you," Valerie said, breaking down again. "I can't…"
Her grandmother gently wiped away a tear from Valerie's cheek.
"We all leave, someday. You'll learn that it's not the leaving that hurts the most—it's forgetting. And you won't forget me. Not with goodies I've taught you."
Valerie buried her face in her grandmother's lap, sobbing quietly. The old woman stroked her hair, humming the tune she used to sing when Valerie was little.
---
Outside the room, Lucien leaned against the far wall of the corridor, arms crossed. He had left them to have their time—but not without first arranging for a team of the best cardiologists in the country to manage Mrs. Selena's care.
His face remained unreadable. But something about the sound of Valerie's crying, muffled by the door, caused a faint tightening in his chest. Not guilt—he didn't believe in guilt. But something else. Something strange and unfamiliar.