Chapter Sixteen: Velvet Masks and Velvet Knives
After almost a productive day of packing and organising by the maids and butler, they were fully prepared for their trip to the Leclair mansion.
With everything in place, they quietly set off, with the maids and butler following closely behind with their well-packed luggage.
The car ride was wrapped in velvet silence, broken only by the low hum of tires on the old road. The world outside shifted from city grey to deep green countryside, stretching endlessly beneath a honeyed dusk sky. Asa drove with his left hand loosely on the wheel, his right resting near the gear as if waiting for something-or someone—to move.
Nuria sat beside him, her fingers curled together in her lap, her head leaning just slightly against the window. The Leclair estate loomed ahead, a distant silhouette carved from stone and shadow. Her throat was dry. She wasn't afraid. She just didn't know who she was supposed to become once they arrived.
"Asa," she said finally, her voice a breath, not a word.
He didn't look away from the road. "Hmm?"
She shook her head. "Nothing."
But they both knew it wasn't. And when his hand reached over and brushed against hers, warm and deliberate, they said nothing more until the gates opened before them.
---
The Leclair estate glimmered beneath the dying sun. A palace carved into the countryside, its columns glowing gold, its glass reflecting heaven. Nuria took in the grandeur—the trimmed hedges, the white roses blooming like secrets—and then the people. More maids than before. Servants carrying bags. Butlers moving like clockwork.
When Asa parked, his parents were already waiting.
Vivienne Leclair stood tall in a silk plum dress, her hair a dark crown and her expression like sunshine wrapped around steel. Beside her was Dorian Leclair, quiet in charcoal grey. He had the gaze of someone who measured storms.
"Nuria, darling." Vivienne approached, arms opening for a soft embrace. "You look radiant."
Nuria smiled politely. "Thank you, Mrs. Leclair."
"Vivienne," she corrected smoothly, looping her arm through Nuria's. "Come. We've prepared everything."
As they ascended the steps, Nuria leaned closer. "There weren't this many people here before."
Vivienne's smile didn't falter. "We didn't want to overwhelm you on your first visit. Now you're family. The house has awakened."
---
Inside, the mansion pulsed with life. Chandeliers scattered light across polished floors. Distant music played from a string quartet nestled in one corner. A dozen voices murmured in velvet tones.
That's when they appeared.
Genevieve Leclair was the first to approach—a vision of elegance in cream and gold. Her cheekbones could cut glass, her smile polished to perfection, and her eyes as dark as the night. She kissed Asa's cheek.
"Cousin," she said warmly, though her eyes flicked to Nuria like a blade.
"And you must be the bride." Genevieve's smile deepened, hands brushing Nuria's as if afraid to touch too firmly. "I've heard so much about you. Sorry, I couldn't make it to the wedding."
"Oh, it's nothing to worry about, I'm Nuria. It's nice to meet you."
"I'm sure it is."
Before tension could settle, another woman appeared beside Genevieve. This one moved like poetry written in frost.
"Celeste Marlowe," she introduced, her voice silk-laced with smoke. "Old friend of the family."
Her handshake lingered with Asa, her eyes never quite leaving his. "You look... different."
"Years will do that," Asa replied evenly.
She turned to Nuria with a sweet, shallow smile. "And the new Mrs. Leclair. I must say, you're braver than you look."
Nuria blinked. "Excuse me?"
"To walk into all of this." Celeste gestured subtly at the room, the people, the weight. "It's a lot to carry."
Nuria smiled thinly. "I'm stronger than I look."
Celeste's eyes glimmered. "We'll see."
---
As more guests arrived, Vivienne clapped her hands together. "Everyone, let's be seated!"
Dinner was a grand affair—a long table dressed in candlelight, crystal, and conversations like loaded dice. Nuria sat beside Asa, across from Genevieve and Celeste. Laughter floated around them like smoke. Nuria spoke when spoken to, but mostly listened.
Vivienne watched her carefully.
"You're quiet, Nuria."
"Just listening," Nuria replied. "Everyone here is...interesting."
Vivienne smiled knowingly. "You'll learn how to swim with sharks soon enough."
Toward the end of the meal, dessert melting on tongues and wine blooming in cheeks, Vivienne spoke again.
"Asa, you haven't played for us in so long."
He stiffened. "Not tonight."
"Oh, come now. Don't be cruel."
"I'm not in the mood."
Vivienne leaned in. "You never are. But when you do, the world stops. Make it stop for us."
The room chuckled. Celeste grinned. "Yes, Asa. Give us something unforgettable."
Nuria looked down at her plate. Her stomach churned, but not from the dessert.
---
Later, they gathered in the drawing room—a cathedral of velvet, gold trim, and a black grand piano that sat like a coiled animal in one corner.
Vivienne gave Asa a gentle nudge. "Go."
He sighed. Walked. The room quieted.
He sat. Cracked his knuckles. Ran his fingers along ivory keys. Then he began.
The first notes were soft—ghosts in moonlight. Then came his voice: low, surreal, impossibly beautiful.
Daylight, Song by David Kushner
He sang:
"Oh I love it and I hate it at the same time... You and I, drink the poison from the same vine..."
Nuria froze. Every cell in her body turned inward. The words—she felt them before she processed them.
He sang as if possessed:
"I can't stop and I can't rewind This is not how I want to die…"
His eyes found her.
It wasn't obvious. Just flickers, moments where the syllables landed on her skin.
"Oh I love it and I hate it at the same time Hiding all of our sins from the daylight…"
The room didn't breathe. Even Celeste had fallen silent.
Asa's voice rose—no longer just a song, but a confession.
"I can't stop and I can't rewind I've been holding my breath, tryna pull us back to life."
When the last note faded, there was no applause. Just stunned by stillness.
Nuria's chest hurt. Something warm and sharp gathered in her throat. She knew—without knowing how—that the song was for her.
He stood. Said nothing. Left the piano.
Celeste shifted in her seat, mask cracking.
Genevieve cleared her throat. "Well."
Vivienne smiled faintly. "He always was too good at making things hurt beautifully."
Nuria sat still, her fingertips cold. She didn't cry. But her heart curled inwards, holding something soft and breaking.
The night continued. But something had already ended.