Free Web NovelChapter 1: The Live-in Son-in-law
Under the shining moon, a luxurious carriage moved through the city streets. The moonlight draped over it like silver silk, cold and watchful, as if the night itself had come to bear witness.
All the crowd gave way for the carriage, whispering and murmuring about it. Their voices were hushed, but the weight of their stares pressed against the carriage windows like a living thing.
Inside the carriage was a seventeen-year-old young man with the body of a sickly scholar. His black eyes held unfathomability, his dark hair moving freely with the gentle rhythm of the wheels. He did not look up. He did not need to. He had learned long ago that the world outside was not worth his gaze.
His face was handsome enough to claim the number one spot and no one would argue. But that beauty had always been a burden he never asked to carry. A curse wrapped in silk.
In his hand was a book which his entire attention was on. Its pages were soft from use, the spine creased from countless hours of escape. The words blurred and refocused as the carriage swayed, but he read on. It was the only freedom he had ever known.
The carriage halted. "Young master, we have arrived."
The voice came from outside; firm, respectful, and utterly ordinary.
Lucien took his gaze off the book and looked through the window of the carriage before he let out a heavy sigh. The mansion stood ahead, dark and patient, revealing nothing of why he was here. Only shadows and silence.
He snapped it close and dropped it while he creased his eyebrow. The small thud of the book landing on the seat was the only answer he gave. The sound echoed in the quiet like a final word.
The carriage doors were opened and he stepped out. The night air was cool against his pale skin, smelling of old stone and fallen leaves. A breeze curled around him, as if the wind itself was curious.
His black garment added to his charm, his hair blowing under the wind. For a breath, he looked like a painting; beautiful, fragile, and entirely alone. A figure carved from moonlight and regret.
He looked at the mansion before him. Nothing surprising.
It had been seventeen years since he had been in this unfamiliar world. Seventeen years of watching, waiting, surviving. He had stopped counting the days long ago.
He walked slowly, not in much haste. Each step was measured, deliberate, as if he were walking toward something he could not name.
As he reached the doors of the mansion, two guards dressed in armour glanced at him. Their eyes swept over his frail frame, then to his face. They nodded at him and opened the doors of the mansion.
The doors swung open, and for a moment, it felt like the door of heaven had opened. Light spilled out, warm and golden, wrapping around him like an invitation.
But was it really a doorway to heaven? Or something far darker?
Lucien paused. He looked at the opened doorway before him. The threshold seemed to stretch into infinity; a chasm between who he had been and who he was about to become. It was a decision that would change his life. He could feel it in his bones.
The guards were confused by why he stood like that. They shook their heads.
What a disappointment!
This thought passed through their minds. The fragile son-in-law, hesitating at the first step.
Lucien, unaware and even unbothered, slowly turned his gaze to his back. He looked past the carriage, past the crowd, past the moonlit road. It was as if he could see the journey of the seventeen years he had spent in this world. Every whisper. Every slight. Every silent night with only a book for company.
He sighed. A long, quiet exhale that carried the weight of a lifetime.
He turned and looked forward. He took the step and crossed the chasm.
The moment his foot landed on the other side, something shifted. The air grew heavier. The light seemed to dim. Now his identity had changed.
From the young master of a great clan to a live-in son-in-law of a clan.
The words tasted bitter, even in silence.
A wife was meant to marry into her husband’s clan.
But here he was, marrying into his wife’s clan.
It wasn’t that her clan was stronger than his, or even close to it in terms of influence. Or the fact they were in love with each other.
It was more of a transaction.
As he walked through the doorway, the familiar aura of nobility washed over him; cold, suffocating, and absolute.
Maids kept glancing at him. None bothering to hide their disdainful gazes.
"Is that the husband of Young Miss Seraphina?"
"Yes, I heard he was abandoned by his clan for a mere transaction."
"Abandoned? What happened?"
"Didn’t you hear? He is the famous trash of the Veyrion Clan. Someone that didn’t awaken a talent thrice like this. His clan has given up on him. He’s a stain to them."
The maids’ words didn’t escape his ears, as they didn’t bother to hide their discussion.
He walked, pretending he hadn’t heard them.
It just stings a little.
As he walked inside, the more discussion about him. And of course, it was about the fact he was trash.
Even maids had the guts to ridicule him.
The hallway stretched long and cold, each step echoing off marble floors.
"Welcome, Young Master Lucien."
A butler welcomed him. His voice was polished, but his eyes held a flicker of something else; curiosity, perhaps, or disdain carefully masked.
Lucien didn’t reply to his words but posed a question, "Where’s the head of the clan? Isn’t he supposed to be here?"
Lucien’s chill gaze swept through the butler and the living room. The room was vast, adorned with dark wood and gold trim, but his eyes found no comfort in it.
The butler froze under this aura. If Lucien was a like a sheep before, now he was like a wolf. A quiet, dangerous wolf.
Even though Lucien is trash awakener, the innate nobility can’t be removed.
"Master is coming on his way. Your arrival was a surprise visit, so he needed to present himself in such haste." The butler replied, his leg wobbling under the aura. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
Lucien’s gaze became soft. He smiled in a refreshing manner, "Ok, that’s not a problem."
He walked toward one of the seats that was accommodating. The chair was large, upholstered in deep crimson velvet, positioned at the head of the room.
The butler froze, seeing where Lucien was walking to. It was where the head of the clan did sit. His heart hammered against his ribs.
All the butler could do was watch Lucien sit on the chair.
Lucien glanced at him, "Is there anything wrong? Why is your expression ugly?"
The butler shook his head with a forced smile. This silent battle wasn’t for him. He stepped back, lowering his gaze.
Suddenly, rushed footsteps were heard by both of them.
Lucien was surprised and turned to where the sound came from.
His gaze landed on the person that was coming.
He froze as he muttered unconsciously, "Impossible..."
