The Entrance Hall.

Azael stepped out of the chamber first.

Isabel followed quietly behind him.

He walked through the corridor with an unhurried ease, his polished black shoes making a soft, measured sound against the floor.

As he moved, the inner lining of his coat shifted. Deep crimson, vivid against all that navy blue. A quiet contrast. The detail that wasn’t meant to announce itself.

Slim dark trousers. Polished black shoes. He looked charming.

He looked composed. A young handsome noble man. Like someone who had been born knowing how to occupy a room.

Isabel kept pace a respectful distance behind him, her hands folded neatly, her expression settled back into its professional calm, though anyone paying close enough attention might have noticed the faint color still sitting in her cheeks.

They reached the entrance hall.

Three figures were already waiting near the front of the house.

Isabel stopped and lowered herself into a proper bow, her voice quiet and respectful.

"Good morning."

Azael’s eyes moved over the group.

His stepmother, Aeliana, stood at the center with the effortless stillness of someone who had never needed to try very hard to command attention. She was dressed in a dark violet gown, the garment that didn’t simply clothe a person but framed them. The fabric was deep and rich, a color sitting somewhere between twilight and wine, structured at the bodice with subtle boning that shaped the silhouette before sweeping into a full, elegant skirt.

The neckline was modest but refined, edged with fine detail work. They hold her tempting huge breasts perfectly. The small embroidered patterns that ran along the trim like the suggestion of vines in shadow. The sleeves were fitted to the elbow, then released into a soft drape of fabric that fell just past her wrist, giving every movement she made a certain quiet drama. It was not a gown that shouted. It simply made everything around it feel slightly less considered by comparison.

Her golden blonde hair had been braided back in a single plait, thick and neat, resting over one shoulder and catching the morning light like something spun rather than grown. Her red eyes. Calm as still water, indifferent in the way that only comes naturally to people who have long since stopped being surprised by the world moved to Azael without urgency.

’Wow, she looks so beautiful. I cannot help but stare at her.’

She looked, as she always did, exactly like a duchess.

Beside her stood Liana.

She had chosen a black gown, simply cut, her blonde hair left loose around her shoulders. There was something almost deliberately understated about her appearance, as though she had made her choices quickly and was entirely satisfied with them.

’She’s looking beautiful as well.’

Arista stood on the other side.

She was not wearing a gown.

Her outfit was a suit, tailored for a woman’s frame, sharp at the shoulders, neatly fitted through the waist. It suited her in a very literal sense. Her red hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, clean and practical, and her expression carried the relaxed confidence of someone who had already decided they looked fine and moved on with their morning.

Azael walked toward them, and offered a small, easy smile.

"My apologies for the wait." He said with calm tone.

Liana made a short sound. Which she made many times.

"Don’t be late." she said, her tone matter-of-fact rather than sharp. "It’s a bad habit."

"It’s alright," Aeliana said simply. Her voice was even, unbothered.

Arista tilted her head with a grin.

"You look handsome." A brief pause. "Also a little cute, actually."

Azael laughed softly and inclined his head toward her.

"Thank you."

Then he turned to Aeliana, and the easy humor in his expression settled into something more genuine.

"Mother." His voice was warm. "You look absolutely gorgeous today."

The faintest shift passed through Aeliana’s expression, she was not smiling but something close to one. The composed indifference softened, just slightly.

"Thank you, Azael."

He turned next to Liana.

"You as well."

Liana blinked once, as though the compliment had caught her slightly off guard despite herself. Then she straightened and gave a small, dignified nod.

"...Thank you."

Azael’s gaze moved back to Arista, and one brow lifted just slightly.

"Though I have to ask, no dress for today?"

Arista clicked her tongue. The sound was more amused than irritated.

"Dresses aren’t comfortable," she said flatly. "And this isn’t a banquet. It isn’t a ball. It’s just a meetup." She crossed her arms loosely. "I made a reasonable decision."

Azael considered this for a moment.

"I’ll admit," he said, "I was looking forward to seeing you in a dress."

Arista opened her mouth. "What? Now I feel bad to not wear one. You should have told me before." She said in light mischievous tone.

"But," he continued, "you look genuinely dashing in that suit, so I suppose I can’t complain."

Arista’s expression broke immediately into a wide, pleased grin, the kind she probably hadn’t intended to let out quite so openly.

"Oh— thanks, Azael!"

Aeliana exhaled softly beside them. Not quite a sigh.

"I told her," she said, her tone carrying the specific exhausted patience of a woman who had already had this exact conversation once this morning and had made her peace with losing it. "She wouldn’t hear it. So I let it go."

She straightened slightly, glancing toward the door.

"Now then." Her voice returned to its usual measured calm. "The carriage is waiting. Let’s not keep it."

She moved first, as she usually did.

The others fell into step behind her, Liana composing herself quickly, Arista still looking quietly delighted by the compliment, Azael falling into an easy stride at his stepmother’s side.

Isabel followed at the appropriate distance, her head slightly bowed, her expression composed.

The entrance doors opened ahead of them, letting in the cool morning air.

And the household moved forward into the day.

While Isabel remained standing behind. seeing them off.