Chapter 155: Maison de Corcelle
The gates creaked open like a secret being whispered too loudly.
Beyond them stood a world untouched by modesty — a sprawling estate where marble met sunlight, where fountains danced like they had something to prove. The air shimmered with jasmine and money, but beneath the surface was something deeper. Something older. Something waiting.
She had expected extravagance. What she hadn't expected was the ache in her chest. Not quite envy. Not quite awe. Just the strange weight of walking into a world where power didn't beg to be noticed — it commanded attention, draped in velvet and crowned with chandeliers.
Every corner of the mansion whispered of legacy, but not the kind her parents ever praised. This was the unspoken kind. The dangerous kind.
They laughed. Teased. Played at normalcy. The girl beside her — all wide eyes and secret smiles — practically floated through the rooms like she'd been born from the marble itself. And maybe she had. In this place, truth felt elastic. History was rewritten with every smirk from the woman in heels and every knowing glance from the one who called herself maman.
And then they were invited deeper.
No longer guests. Initiates.
The hallway seemed endless, lined with faces that watched in silence. And when the door opened — not to another sitting room, but to a hidden library lit with otherworldly glow — it felt like crossing a threshold that couldn't be uncrossed.
"This is where the real power hides," someone said. And it didn't feel like a metaphor.
She ran her fingers over ancient spines, not sure if they burned colder or warmer beneath her touch. Not sure if she was dreaming or waking up.
And then came the question. Soft. Simple. "Does it ever get lonely?"
A shrug. A smile. "Not when I have you."
They belonged here. Somehow. But as dusk settled over the estate and laughter echoed behind them, one thing clung to the air like static:
the mansion had only just started telling its story.
And not every secret wanted to stay hidden.