Chapter 15: The Auclair Family
The Auclair family arrived at the Eisenthurn estate mansion as the evening stretched into night, the last rays of sunlight fading behind the tall iron gates.
Their black luxury vehicles pulled up the long driveway one after another, tires crunching against the gravel, and when the doors opened, the Auclairs stepped out into the cool evening air like peacocks displaying their finest feathers.
They wore expensive clothes—the kind that cost more than most people’s annual salaries, tailored and pressed and chosen specifically to impress.
Marco, Frank, and William wore expensive tuxedos, each one a different shade of dark formality, their cufflinks glinting under the mansion’s exterior lights, their shoes polished to a mirror shine.
Vilma, Emmaline, Margaux, and Hannah wore beautiful dresses in jewel tones and pastels, their hair styled perfectly, their makeup flawless, their jewelry real and blinding. They looked like they belonged on the cover of a magazine, like a family that had everything—wealth, status, beauty, power.
But the Eisenthurn mansion dwarfed them all.
The butlers and maids greeted them at the grand entrance, their uniforms crisp and elegant, their movements precise and practiced. No smiles were offered—just polite nods and professional courtesy.
The servants lined the foyer like soldiers, their postures straight, their eyes forward, and together they led the Auclair family through the massive doors and into the heart of the Eisenthurn estate.
The moment they stepped inside, the Auclairs fell silent.
The entrance hall alone was larger than their entire living room. Marble floors stretched out beneath their feet, polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the chandeliers above in a dazzling dance of light and shadow.
The walls were paneled in dark wood, carved with intricate patterns that told stories of old—battles won, alliances forged, history carved into every surface.
Paintings of Eisenthurn ancestors hung at intervals, their stern faces watching the newcomers with what looked like suspicion. A grand staircase curved up toward the second floor, its banisters made of wrought iron and gold leaf, and somewhere in the distance, a grand piano played softly, the music floating through the air like perfume.
The butlers led them to a formal sitting room, where velvet couches and high-backed chairs were arranged around a massive fireplace. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm light across the room, and fresh flowers sat on every table—roses, lilies, orchids, arranged with artistic precision.
"Please sit and wait," the head butler said, his voice calm and unhurried. "The Eisenthurns will arrive shortly."
The Auclairs sat down, sinking into cushions that were softer than anything they owned. They looked around the room, their eyes wide, their mouths slightly open, admiring the beauty, power, and wealth etched into every detail of the mansion.
The crystal chandeliers. The gold leaf trim. The silk curtains that probably cost more than their car. Everything about this place screamed old money, generational wealth, the kind of power that couldn’t be bought—only inherited.
Emmaline leaned back in her chair, her fingers tracing the armrest’s intricate woodwork. "Oh my God," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I never thought they would call us to this mansion."
William leaned close to his daughter, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Don’t worry, my daughter." He patted her hand, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "You’re the one who deserves this more than that Asteria. She’s nothing—a stain on our family name. But you? You’re beautiful, intelligent, refined." He paused, his smile turning sharp.
"Daddy will make sure you’re the one to have Keres’s hand in marriage."
Emmaline’s eyes lit up. She had been dreaming of this moment—the moment when she would finally get what she deserved. Keres Eisenthurn was the prize, the ultimate catch, and Emmaline had been certain, absolutely certain, that she would be the one to win her.
Not Asteria. Never Asteria. Asteria was supposed to be invisible, quiet, beaten down. How dare she step into the light?
"Okay, Daddy." Emmaline’s voice was sweet, honeyed, the voice she used when she wanted something. "Make it my day, okay? I trust you."
William nodded, his jaw tightening. He had already begun planning, scheming, figuring out exactly how to ruin Asteria tonight. It wouldn’t be difficult.
She was fragile, broken, easy to break further. A few well-placed words, a few subtle humiliations, and Keres would see her for what she truly was—worthless.
The rest of the family sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Margaux studied her manicured nails, uninterested. Hannah scrolled through her phone, bored. Marco and Frank exchanged glances, ready to follow whatever orders their father gave.
And then, without warning, the atmosphere shifted.
Footsteps echoed from the grand staircase—slow, deliberate, commanding. Every head in the room turned toward the sound, and there, descending the stairs like royalty descending from a throne, was Alfonso Eisenthurn.
"So." His voice was cold, flat, and commanding, cutting through the silence like a blade. "You’re the Auclairs."
He was tall—almost as tall as Keres—with broad shoulders and a face that had seen decades of power and violence. His hair was silver at the temples, his eyes sharp and assessing, and he moved with the confidence of a man who had never had to ask for anything in his life.
You could see Keres in him immediately—the same cold gaze, the same commanding presence, the same way of making everyone else in the room feel small.
The Auclairs were in awe. Alfonso Eisenthurn. The man himself. Known as the best businessman in the world, the man who had helped countless people back in his twenties when he and his father lived in Germany during a plague that broke out in Berlin.
He had been a young man back then, but he had worked alongside his father to distribute medicine, food, and supplies. The Eisenthurn name had grown every year after that, spreading across continents, until they became one of the most influential and feared families in the world.
And now he was standing in front of them.
"Are you enjoying the view?" Alfonso asked as he walked toward the sitting area, his footsteps silent on the marble floor. There was no warmth in his voice—just cold, polite inquiry.
William shot to his feet so quickly that his chair scraped against the floor. He thrust out his hand, his face stretched into a wide, eager smile. "N-Nice to meet you, Mr. Eisenthurn! It’s an honor—truly an honor—"
Alfonso stopped.
His gaze dropped to William’s outstretched hand, then slowly lifted to William’s face. That single look—cold, assessing, and dismissive—made William feel like he was being dissected on an operating table. Every flaw exposed. Every weakness was laid bare.
Alfonso subtly rolled his eyes—just a small movement, barely noticeable, but devastating in its dismissal—and walked past William toward the opposite sofa. He sat down alone, spreading his arms across the back of the couch like a king on his throne, and crossed one leg over the other.
"I supposed you already know the rumors," Alfonso said, his voice flat, "that the Eisenthurn family hates shaking hands with people they barely know." He paused, letting the words hang in the air.
"That is no rumor. That is a fact."
William’s hand dropped to his side. His face flushed with shame, and he quickly tucked his hand behind his back, his fingers curling into a fist. He sat down without being invited, his earlier confidence crumbling.
Alfonso continued, his gaze never leaving the Auclairs. "We have invited you to our home because you are the family of Asteria Auclair." He paused, letting the name settle over them. "And it is our family tradition to respect and honor the family of the person who is going to marry into the Eisenthurns."
He crossed his legs, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. "I’m sure all of this is very shocking. My Keres suddenly announced that she and Asteria are fiancées." He tilted his head slightly, studying them.
"Is there anything you want to tell me before we proceed with this honoring?"
The room fell silent.
Alfonso waited. He expected protests, questions, demands. He expected William to object, to claim that Asteria wasn’t worthy, to try to push another daughter forward. He was ready for it—ready to shut it down, ready to make them understand that the Eisenthurns had made their choice and that choice was Asteria.
But the Auclair family remained quiet.
Not a single word. Not a single objection. They sat there like statues, their faces carefully blank, their hands folded in their laps.
Alfonso sighed. He nodded slowly, then gestured for Keres’s head butler to approach. The butler stepped forward silently, and Alfonso whispered something in his ear. The butler nodded, his expression unchanged, and walked gracefully toward the grand staircase.
All of the Eisenthurn servants moved like this—with class and elegance, every gesture deliberate, every movement a performance.
The Auclairs watched the butler disappear up the stairs, their curiosity piqued. Then they heard it—footsteps, slow and measured, descending from above.
Keres appeared at the top of the staircase.
She descended with the same cold aura as her father, her presence filling the room before she even reached the bottom. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders, silky and dark. She wore a black long-sleeved polo shirt tucked into gray trousers that fit her perfectly, a matching gray vest adding structure to her lean frame.
Her shoes were polished to a mirror shine, her Rolex watch glinted at her wrist, and her entire being seemed to command attention simply by existing.
Emmaline’s breath caught in her throat.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth fell open. She couldn’t take her eyes off Keres—the tall figure, the sharp features, the way she moved like she owned everything she surveyed.
Emmaline had seen photographs, of course, but photographs didn’t capture this. The presence. The power. The sheer, devastating magnetism.
Marco and Frank themselves felt overshadowed. Beside Keres, they looked plain and forgettable—like rugs beneath her feet, stepped on and ignored.
Keres reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to face the Auclairs. Her expression was cold, her eyes scanning each one of them briefly before looking away, as if they weren’t worth more than a glance.
"Good evening." Her voice was flat, polite in the way a blade is polite before it cuts. "It’s a pleasure to meet the Auclairs."
She didn’t sit down beside her father. She stood in front of them, her arms loose at her sides, her posture relaxed but commanding.
Emmaline shot up from her seat, unable to contain herself. She stepped forward, positioning herself directly in Keres’s line of sight, and thrust out her hand just as her father had done earlier.
"Oh my God, Ms. Keres!" Emmaline’s voice was breathless, almost giddy. "You look fabulous! Absolutely fabulous! My name is Emmaline. I’m older than Asteria."
Keres looked at Emmaline’s outstretched hand. Then she looked at Emmaline’s face. Her expression didn’t change—still cold, still flat—but something flickered in her eyes. Amusement? Disgust? It was hard to tell.
Like father, like daughter. Keres thought.
"Yes," Keres said slowly. "I suppose that’s true." She tilted her head slightly, studying Emmaline’s face with clinical detachment. "I see the wrinkles on your face."
Emmaline’s hand dropped. Her mouth opened, then closed. The room went silent.
Alfonso turned his head away, his shoulders shaking slightly as he tried—and failed—to contain his laugh.
"Wrinkles?" Emmaline’s voice was high, defensive. "Ah, no! No, Ms. Keres, these are not wrinkles. They’re—they’re expression lines. Laughter lines. I smile a lot, that’s all—"
"Ms. Annaline—"
"Emmaline."
Keres went silent for a moment. Her eyebrow twitched. Then she sighed, a small, irritated exhale. "Emmaline. Ms. Emmaline." She paused, letting the name hang in the air. "I only speak what I see. Please don’t come near me, presenting yourself, when you know yourself that you’re not that presentable."
The words landed like slaps. Emmaline’s face flushed crimson, her hands clenching at her sides. She wanted to scream. She wanted to curse. She wanted to wipe that cold, indifferent expression off Keres’s face.
But this was Keres Eisenthurn. She couldn’t afford to lose her temper. Not here. Not now.
"Fine!" Emmaline snapped, spinning on her heel and storming back to her seat. "Whatever!"
She threw herself into her chair, crossing her arms like a petulant child. Behind her, Hannah smirked. Margaux rolled her eyes. Emmaline was thirty-nine years old—nearly forty—and she kept forgetting that she wasn’t young anymore.
She wasn’t fresh like Hannah, the youngest daughter. She was aging, and she hated it, and everyone could see it.
Keres coldly watched Emmaline’s tantrum, then slowly rolled her eyes.
Before anyone could speak, a maid approached Alfonso and bowed deeply. "Sir Alfonso, Madam Faye and Ms. Asteria are coming down."
Alfonso nodded. "Thank you. Please tell them to take their time."
The maid bowed again and retreated back up the stairs.
And then, after a few moments that felt like hours, Asteria and Faye descended the grand staircase together.
Faye walked with her usual grace, her hand resting lightly on the banister, her dress a deep burgundy that complemented her silver hair. But it wasn’t Faye that drew every eye in the room.
It was Asteria.
Alfonso’s breath caught. His eyes fixed on his wife, as they always did—the old fool, still head over heels after all these years, still looking at Faye like she was the sun and he was just grateful to be in her orbit.
But even he couldn’t ignore the transformation happening beside her.
The Auclairs’ mouths fell open in silent shock.
Emmaline’s face contorted with envy. Margaux’s perfectly manicured fingers dug into the armrest. Hannah’s phone slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor with a soft thud that no one noticed.
Asteria looked stunning.
She wore an elegant gown in a soft shade of lavender—nothing revealing, nothing flashy, but somehow more beautiful than any of the Auclair women’s expensive dresses.
The fabric draped over her slender frame like water, flowing down to her ankles, the sleeves long and loose. Her hair was half-pulled back in a simple half-up bun, the rest cascading down her back in soft waves.
A small pearl clip held the bun in place, delicate and understated. Her face, still bearing faint traces of healing bruises, had been carefully covered with light makeup—just enough to conceal the worst of it, not enough to look painted.
She looked like a porcelain doll. Fragile. Beautiful. Untouchable.
William’s jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth ached. His hands curled into fists at his sides, and his knuckles were white. He was not pleased to see Asteria like this—glowing, elegant, standing beside Faye Eisenthurn like she belonged there.
He wanted to grab her, to pull her aside, to punish her for daring to look so beautiful in front of people who mattered.
But he couldn’t. Not here. Not in the Eisenthurn mansion. He had to smile, had to nod, had to pretend that he was proud of the daughter he had spent years breaking.
So he forced his lips into something resembling a smile and said nothing.
Keres looked up toward the stairs—and froze.
Her heart stuttered. Actually stuttered, like a car engine misfiring. She had seen Asteria before, of course—last night, this morning, in the harsh light of the underground suite. But this was different.
This was Asteria dressed like a princess, descending a staircase like she belonged in a fairy tale, her eyes soft and her cheeks faintly pink.
She was beautiful. Not in the sharp, commanding way that Keres was beautiful—but in a gentle way that made Keres want to look closer. Her petite figure, her delicate features, the way she held herself like she was still learning that she was allowed to take up space.
Keres didn’t know why her heart was beating so fast. She didn’t know why her palms felt suddenly warm, why her throat felt tight, why she couldn’t look away.
This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
She was Keres Eisenthurn. She didn’t get flustered. She didn’t get distracted and she definitely didn’t feel her heart race over anyone—especially not over the woman she had been forced to marry.
But as Asteria reached the bottom of the stairs and lifted her gaze to meet Keres’s, something shifted. Something clicked into place. Something that Keres couldn’t name and didn’t want to examine too closely.
Faye guided Asteria forward, her hand resting protectively on the small of Asteria’s back. The room was silent, every eye on the two women, but Keres only saw Asteria.
"Good evening," Asteria said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes darting nervously around the room. She looked like a deer surrounded by wolves—but still standing.
Keres stepped forward before she could stop herself.
She didn’t take Asteria’s hand. She didn’t smile. She simply stood beside her—close, present, a wall of cold protection between Asteria and the family that had hurt her.
"Good evening," Keres said, her voice steady, her eyes never leaving Asteria’s face.
"You look beautiful."
Asteria’s cheeks flushed a deeper pink. She looked down at her feet, her fingers twisting together in front of her.
"Thank you," she whispered. She felt utterly shy because no one had ever complimented her like that.
And across the room, William’s smile finally cracked.
