Chapter Eighteen – Splinters in Glass
The silence after Asa's apology stretched like old wallpaper—fragile, worn, on the verge of peeling.
Nuria didn't move.
He stood before her, tears unshed but trembling in his eyes. And yet, something about his posture felt… too still. Like grief posed for a photograph.
"Asa," she finally whispered, voice quiet as the breeze threading through the velvet curtains.
But he didn't answer. He only turned and left the balcony.
---
By morning, golden sunlight bled into the Leclair estate, catching on the polished bannisters and glinting off tall windows like fractured diamonds. The mansion pulsed with new energy—chefs, decorators, and staff bustling across floors with arrangements and trays.
Vivienne had planned it as a post-wedding celebration, she told Nuria with a bright smile. Extended family, old friends, a chance for everyone to see the bride and groom in full daylight. "A second unveiling," she called it.
The truth was more layered.
It was also a way to show off. To parade Asa, the only heir, now married. And perhaps—Nuria couldn't ignore the flicker of intuition—perhaps it was to remind him of the life built for him. The weight of legacy.
More guests arrived by noon, as if Nuria hadn't had enough. Cars with dark windows lined the estate drive.
Inside, Nuria watched from the upper hallway balcony, one hand flat on the banister.
Below, laughter rose as family poured into the sunroom and south gardens. She recognized a few from old photos Asa had once shown her in college—Uncle Thibault, tall and grim-faced; Aunt Beth in coral silk; Jules and Amara, who didn't even glance up.
Celeste, of course, glided among them like silk smoke, dressed in lilac lace. Genevieve trailed behind her in gold. Their eyes found Nuria quickly, and just as quickly flicked away.
---
Asa had been missing since dawn.
Vivienne claimed he was preparing a surprise for the evening.
But Nuria had seen the look in his eyes last night.
He wasn't preparing anything.
He was disappearing.
---
Beneath the mansion, in the old cellar corridor, Asa stood facing a bricked archway. Dust settled slowly around him. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, hair unkempt.
He had come here in the earliest hour, unable to sleep. The darkness helped. It silenced his thoughts—until it didn't.
That's when someone spoke.
A low, clam and familiar voice.
Not a scream or a command. Not anymore. It coiled around his ribs.
"She's changing you,"murmured the person calmly.
Asa didn't reply.
"You were meant to finish what began that night. The gunshots. The blood. Your real family—wiped out of the world. And she stands beside you now like it never happened."
"She wasn't the one who killed everyone ."
A chuckle. "No. But at least you took care of those who did. What of her? She held the gun that killed your father."
Asa clenched his fists. The knuckles cracked.
"You loved your father, Asa. The man you lost. Would he be proud of this? This... softness?"
A long pause. Then the faint pressure of a hand on his shoulders.
Cold. Soft. Familiar.
"You know what must be done. If not now—then soon. Before you lose yourself to her and forget your purpose."
---
Upstairs, the grand celebration continued. Nuria moved like breath through rooms—quiet, light, barely touching anything.
She passed the drawing room where cousins played piano. The parlor where Genevieve laughed too loudly. The west corridor where Vivienne whispered directions to a florist.
At one point, Mr. Leclair—the elusive, rarely seen Dorian—appeared beside her in the hallway.
He was tall. Regal as always. Wearing a navy waistcoat, his white shirt crisply pressed. His silver hair combed back with effortless dignity.
He smiled. "Nuria."
She startled, then nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Sir?" He chuckled. "I haven't been called that since the army. Just Dorian, please."
His presence was quiet, but commanding. The kind of man who didn't need to raise his voice to hush a room.
"I hope the family's not overwhelming," he added kindly.
"Not at all," she lied.
He looked down the hall, then leaned slightly closer. "Asa's a complicated man. You'll find that's inherited."
Nuria met his eyes. "B-but Isn't he adopted? "
He smiled again, though something unreadable flickered behind it.
"Adopted or not, being around people like these, can rub on you in ways you wouldn't understand , anyway, I think I have to go now before Vivienne starts wondering where I am, enjoy the day after all it's your day" he said.
And then he was gone.
---
That evening, the guests gathered in the drawing room. Crystal chandeliers glowed low. Soft string music played. Vivienne directed people to couches and ottomans like a conductor with a silent baton.
Celeste swirled wine beside the hearth. Genevieve inspected her reflection in a silver dish.
Nuria sat near the back.
Her stomach felt wrong. Not quite pain. Not quite sickness.
Then Celeste raised her glass and smiled too sweetly. "A toast to the bride."
Nuria blinked. The room turned toward her.
"Though," Celeste added, her voice silk and knives, after noticing Nuria hadn't touched a drink, since she arrived, "I do wonder why she's not drinking. Are we... celebrating something else, perhaps? She asked suspiciously with slight rage in her tone."
Murmurs.
Vivienne's head turned sharply.
Genevieve raised a brow.
Milo shifted where he stood behind Nuria.
"Or," Celeste pressed, "is it just… a sudden change in taste?"
Nuria inhaled slowly.
She stood.
Met Celeste's eyes with an intensity that seemed to be asking what her problem was.
The tension was so thick it felt as if even a knife wasn't sharp enough to cut through it.
It was the silence that answered.
Vivienne's hand dropped to her lap.
Dorian, seated near the fireplace, sipped his drink slowly. No reaction. Too calm.
From the back of the room, Asa's voice cut through like a piano chord.
"That's enough."
Heads turned.
He stood in the doorway, framed in shadow, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Celeste opened her mouth.
Asa walked forward. Slowly. Each step like punctuation.
"You speak again," he said, "and I'll make sure it's your last contribution to this family."
Celeste paled.
Genevieve shifted her weight, suddenly interested in the floor.
The room froze. Then gently began to thaw with quiet whispers.
Vivienne rose to announce the evening game. Dorian simply watched.
Nuria caught Asa's eyes. He didn't hold her gaze long. There was something broken behind them. Something slipping.
---
That night, he didn't return to their room.
He sat again in the cellar. Alone.
And the voice came again.
Not angry.
Just certain.
"She will end you before you end the pain".
Asa closed his eyes.
And let the darkness talk.