The next morning, we returned home, weary but satisfied with the previous night's accomplishments. 

The house, usually a sanctuary of comfort, seemed to hum with a peculiar tension.

Eleanor greeted us with a strained smile, her eyes narrowing slightly as she saw Lucien and me together. 

Her demeanor was anything but warm, starkly contrasting to the usual friendliness I'd grown accustomed to.

"Welcome back," she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "Did you have a good trip?"

"Productive," Lucien replied, oblivious to the underlying tension. "Everything went smoothly."

I nodded in agreement, but Eleanor's behavior was hard to ignore. 

She was no longer the friendly, supportive presence I was used to.

 Instead, she seemed to radiate jealousy and resentment.

After exchanging polite but terse pleasantries, Lucien and I retreated to the sanctuary of our room to decompress. 

I slipped into something more comfortable and tried to shake off the discomfort Eleanor's behavior had caused. 

We relaxed throughout the morning, but by afternoon, it was time to get back to business.

I called my men home, unable to summon the energy to even lift my makeup brush or change into something more businesslike. 

My favorite casual outfit seemed the only thing I could bear to wear.

Luca, Massimo, Lorenzo, and Alessio arrived around noon, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. 

We settled in the balcony since the conference room was occupied by the French people. 

It felt good to be back in the familiar rhythm of our work, away from the suffocating tension of the previous night.

Our main topic was retaliation against the Russians. 

"The attack on my house is the next thing I will seek vengeance for."

They had destroyed my favorite 2000-year-old Taiwanese vase, a cherished piece that had once been a rustic sanctuary for my fake ivory peonies. 

Their audacity was infuriating.

"The Grand Conclave was a hit, wasn't it?" Luca asked, his gaze curious as he poured himself a glass of wine.

"Yeah, nearly beheaded Dimitri's favorite Morozov," I chuckled.

"Christ, why?", Lorenzo asked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

"He was creating a scene there," I explained, rolling my eyes. "You know, the typical Russian shit bag routine. I had to take the opportunity to put him in his place."

"His face was a sight for sore eyes when I held the dagger to his neck," I laughed, remembering the stunned look on Mikhail's face.

"How does it feel to always be the hero?", Massimo asked with a grin.

"Sexy," I slurred, the adrenaline from the night before still coursing through me.

And just like that, the five of us burst into laughter.

"Seriously though," Lorenzo leaned in, eyes gleaming with curiosity, "how did you pull it off? With Dimitri and his entire pack watching?"

A smirk played on my lips. "I knew they wouldn't dare make a move, not in front of everyone. But the best part?" I paused for dramatic effect. "I whispered in Mikhail's ear that his beloved little secrets wasn't as secret as he thought. The way he paled... priceless."

"Shit, you really went there," Alessio said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You've got some serious guts."

"Guts? Try genius," I corrected, taking a swig of my drink. "You have to hit them where it hurts, make them doubt themselves. It's psychological warfare."

"And the best part," Luca added with a grin, "you made sure everyone saw it. No one's going to forget what happened at that Conclave."

"Exactly," I nodded. "It wasn't just about cutting Morozov down to size. It was about sending a message to Dimitri and his entire crew—don't fuck with me. Not if you want to keep breathing."

"Did Dimitri say anything afterward?" Massimo asked, intrigued.

"He didn't have to," I replied, leaning back in my chair. "His silence was enough. He knows he can't challenge me directly, not without risking everything. And now, he's got to live with the fact that I could've ended one of his own with a flick of my wrist."

Luca chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a damn legend, Serafina. The Russians won't know what hit them."

"That's the plan," I said, my voice carrying the weight of certainty. "They took something from me, and they're going to pay for it. Every last one of them."

"And to think," Lorenzo mused, raising his glass in a mock toast, "all this started over a vase."

I laughed, the sound dark and full of promise. "Let that be a lesson—never underestimate what I'm willing to do for the things I cherish."

And just like that, the five of us burst into laughter. 

The camaraderie was a welcome relief from the underlying tension, and for a moment, I felt like everything was back to normal.

The next few hours were consumed by discussions and strategy sessions.

We reviewed the research they had compiled in my absence, shaping plans with the precision of a well-oiled machine.

***

The afternoon passed in a whirlwind of strategizing and plotting. 

Our session on the balcony was both intense and productive, with every detail meticulously examined. 

The recent attack on my house wasn't just a personal insult—it was a declaration that demanded a careful, calculated response.

As we wrapped up the meeting, Eleanor made her presence known again. 

Her demeanor was noticeably colder, and she hovered nearby, casting occasional glances our way with an air of frustration.

"Is there anything else you need, Serafina?" Eleanor asked, her tone clipped and impatient.

I glanced up from the pile of documents on the table. "No, Eleanor. We're good for now, thanks."

She gave a terse nod and retreated, leaving us to our work. 

Her behavior was unsettling, but we couldn't afford to let it distract us. 

Our attention remained focused on our tasks.

"So, what's up with your house help?" Massimo asked as he packed away his notes, his eyes following Eleanor's exit with a puzzled expression.

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "She's been off lately, but it might just be stress or personal issues."

"Yeah, whatever it is, it's not helping," Luca said, his brows furrowed. "But let's not let it get in the way of our plans."

Alessio nodded in agreement. "We've got bigger problems to handle. The retaliation against the Russians needs to be perfect."

We dove back into our discussions, working through the details of our counter-attack. 

Hours passed quickly as we refined our strategy and reviewed the intelligence gathered during my absence.

As the snacks arrived and we settled in to enjoy them, the door opened, and Lucien stepped in. The atmosphere shifted instantly. 

Everyone stood up out of respect, but Lucien waved a hand dismissively.

"Cut the formalities, guys," he said with a smirk. "I'm your brother-in-law now, remember?"

The tension eased, and everyone relaxed back into their seats. 

Lucien grabbed a chair and joined us, the easy camaraderie resuming. 

He looked more at ease than I'd seen him in days, though the shadows of our responsibilities still lingered in his eyes.

"So, Serafina," Lorenzo began, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, "you remember that time we had to come and rescue you and Lilliana before you guys were leaving for The Grand Conclave?"

Lucien chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, I remember. You and Gabriella were the life of the bar—until you weren't."

I groaned, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling up. "I told you that was a one-time thing! I don't usually let loose like that."

Lorenzo snorted. "Yeah, sure. One-time thing. You were a handful. We practically had to carry you out."

Lucien shook his head, a fond smile playing on his lips. "You were having too much fun for your own good. I didn't know whether to be amused or worried."

"We were fine," I protested lightly, but I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. "It's not like we do that every weekend."

"Maybe not," Lucien said, his tone teasing. "But that night was something else. You were dancing on tables, and Lilliana and Gabriella were so ready to join you."

Lorenzo laughed, his eyes shining with the memory. "And Lilliana kept insisting she could out-drink all of us. She was barely standing by the end of it."

"Good times," Lucien mused, his gaze softening as he looked at me. "Its okay to let it go sometime and just be yourself. We live in a world where seriousness and cold blood is expected from us, Then there are moments like these where you feel alive and of your literal age. "

I nodded, feeling a warmth spread through me. 

Despite everything, these moments of light-heartedness reminded me that we all were still like a family—a dysfunctional, chaotic family, but a family nonetheless. 

And with Lucien by my side, I knew we could handle whatever came next.

After the team left, I walked into the living room, expecting to find some solace from the relentless tension with everything.

The snacks time was fun.

The clock struck eight and all of them left.

It was a peaceful and a tactful day, along with the phantom of Eleanor's weird behavior looming here and there.

And just as I turned back after closing the door, I am met with a scene that makes my blood boil.

There, on our large, plush couch, is Eleanor practically on Lucien's lap. 

Her fingers are tracing patterns on his chest in an intimate, almost possessive manner. 

Her posture is relaxed, as if this were a casual, everyday occurrence.

She glances up at me with a smirk, her eyes holding a challenge that makes my skin crawl. 

The sight of her so close to Lucien, so deliberately affectionate, is a sharp sting.

"Oh, Serafina," she coos, her voice dripping with false sweetness. 

"I didn't see you there. Are you done with your minion meetings?", she laughed.

A what meeting?

Minion?

Fragile, underexperienced, stupid bitch!

"Yeah, done for the day" I reply evenly, though every muscle in my body is tense. 

I force myself to remain calm, even though the anger bubbling inside me is nearly overwhelming. 

"And you, how was today? Doing the kitchen and stuffs?"

"Never better," she says with a sugary smile that fails to mask the smugness in her eyes. 

"Lucien and I were just reminiscing about old times."

Her words hang in the air, thick with insincerity. 

Lucien, blissfully unaware of the underlying tension, chuckles softly. "Yeah, Eleanor was just telling me about this one time when we just started dating. It was hilarious..."

As Lucien continues with his story, I tune out his words, my focus entirely on Eleanor. 

Her body language is loud and clear—she's not just sitting close; she's marking her territory, making a point to be as physical as possible in front of me. 

The casual way she runs her fingers along Lucien's chest, the way she leans in, her laughter just a bit too bright—every gesture is a calculated move to provoke and unsettle me.

I can't help but notice how Lucien seems completely oblivious to the discomfort she's causing. 

His attention is fully on Eleanor, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he recalls shared memories. 

It's as if he's forgotten that I'm even in the room, let alone how Eleanor's actions are affecting me.

Eleanor's gaze never leaves me. She seems to relish the discomfort she's causing, her smile never faltering. 

It's clear she's enjoying this, pushing boundaries and testing how much she can get away with.

Her transformation from a friendly presence to a rival is complete, and she is now openly flaunting her intentions.

And why the fuck is she doing that? 

She knows that I gave her, her Lucien. Lucien only belongs to her. 

Then why the fuck doing shit couple things in front of me? 

Get Only Fans if you want to do these weird ass things.

I feel a wave of frustration wash over me. How did things get to this point? 

Her blatant attempts to undermine me are not just a personal affront; they're a strategic maneuver to destabilize my position.

Lucien's laughter fades as he notices my stiff posture and the coldness in my gaze. 

"Is everything alright, Perle?"

I manage a tight-lipped smile, my voice steady but edged with frustration. 

"Yes, everything's fine. Just... trying to get used to our new dynamic."

Eleanor's eyes flash with something akin to triumph, but she quickly hides it behind another saccharine smile. 

I turn to leave, unable to stay in the room any longer. 

The sight of Eleanor's satisfied smirk is too much to bear.

As I walk out, I hear Lucien's voice trailing off, his concern evident. But it's too late. 

The damage has been done, and I'm left grappling with the realization that Eleanor's presence is not just a nuisance—it's a deliberate challenge to my authority.

But then again, I did it to myself. 

I shall go through it. For him. And only him. 

Otherwise, my Standard G21 is resting on my dresser, loaded and ever ready.