"B-Brother, I... I-I-I..." Lucien stammered, eyes darting side to side as everyone stared.
He looked like a trapped animal, standing under too many eyes, with no place left to run.
And then suddenly his eyes lit up with an idea.
He clutched his stomach and bent over, letting out a loud, dramatic wail. "AHHHH! My stomach! Mom! Mom! It hurts so bad—take me to the healer! I think it’s serious!"
Elira gasped and rushed to his side like it was all real. "Oh, my poor baby!" she cried, immediately wrapping her arms around him. "Don’t worry, my dear—we’re going to the healer right now!"
She turned her head sharply toward Karl, her fake tears suddenly back. "We’ll be back, Karl! We’re taking your brother to the healer!" she shouted like it was some kind of moral victory.
And without giving anyone a chance to question it, they grabbed Lucien by his arms and hurried off down the path, robes fluttering behind them like they were escaping a play gone wrong.
The crowd of ghosts who had been watching slowly began to disperse, a few still whispering under their breath.
Some rolled their eyes.
Karl stood there, arms crossed, watching them leave like a bad comedy show walking off stage.
He sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. "Never come back again."
Milo walked up beside him and smiled, pulling his robe sleeve. "That was dramatic."
Karl didn’t even blink. "You know what’s more painful than Lucien’s fake stomach pain?"
"Seeing his acting in real time."
And the two of them stood on the porch together, watching peace return once again.
"Ouch!" Milo suddenly exclaimed, his voice sharp and sudden.
Karl immediately turned around, his expression shifting in a blink—from annoyance to full concern. "What’s wrong with you?" he asked quickly, stepping closer. "Did you get hurt?"
His eyes scanned Milo’s face, then down to his arms and legs, checking if he had twisted something. There was no sign of injury, but Karl’s worry didn’t fade.
Milo placed his hand gently over his chest and gave a small, sheepish smile. "N-Nothing..." he said with a tiny laugh, "My foot was about to slip... That’s all."
He smiled wide, almost too wide, like he didn’t want to show whatever was really happening inside.
Karl stared at him for a second longer, searching his eyes. But Milo looked calm now, his usual lightness returning to his face.
Karl finally nodded, letting out a soft breath. "Be careful next time," he muttered, brushing some dust off Milo’s robe. "You scared me."
Milo tilted his head slightly, watching Karl with warm eyes. "You care too much, brother karl."
Karl rolled his eyes. "Of course I do. You’re my real family."
And with that, they turned to go inside together.
"What should we make for dinner tonight?" Karl asked.
"I don’t know, let’s see," Milo said happily.
"Alright," Karl replied.
At the same time, inside the tall, silent halls of Lex Corporation, everything felt colder.
The inspection lab was still, the air thick with tension. Several rolled bundles of freshly-made fabric were laid out across a long steel table. The lights above buzzed softly, the only sound in the room.
Lex Storar stood at the center, dressed in a fitted black robe with silver trim, her hair tied in a perfect knot, not a single strand out of place.
Her sharp eyes stared down at the fabric with no emotion.
She simply reached out and picked up one piece of the white fabric from the latest batch...the very one spun from the stolen fake Dreadmire flowers.
It looked flawless on the outside. Smooth. Shiny. Soft.
Lex stared at it for one long moment... then placed her fingers gently on the edge.
She pulled just slightly.
The sound was soft. The tear was clean.
And Lex’s face turned even colder.
The fabric had torn like paper. No resistance. No strength. Just a thin whisper of weakness pretending to be silk.
She slowly raised her hand, still holding the ruined cloth, and let it fall to the table like something rotten.
Two lab assistants stood frozen near the back, watching her carefully. No one dared to breathe.
Lex’s voice finally cut through the air, icy and sharp.
Her eyes didn’t even flicker.
She reached for another sample, tore it again. Same result.
She looked down at her fingers, then wiped them slowly on a black cloth beside her as if even touching the material had offended her.
Lex turned her head slightly toward the glass wall where her top assistant stood nervously watching.
"They cheated us," Lex said coldly, her voice as sharp as broken glass.
She didn’t raise her tone. The coldness in her voice was enough to freeze the air in the room.
Her fingers pressed down on the torn fabric again, eyes burning with quiet rage.
"Villagers..." she spat the word like poison, her teeth gritted, jaw tight. "They dared to trick me."
Behind her, two assistants stood silently, hands clutched tightly in front of their robes, not daring to speak.
Because deep down they knew.
They knew Lex had been the one who sent people to sneak in and steal the flowers from the Dreadmire fields. That she had ordered it herself. That this entire shipment had been made from stolen goods.
But no one would dare say it aloud.
Not when Lex Storar was standing in the room.
Her presence was too powerful. Too dangerous. One wrong word, and they might never walk out of that room again.
One of the assistants swallowed nervously, lowering her eyes.
The other shifted his feet slightly but kept his mouth shut.
Because even though she was the one who cheated the villagers—Lex had just decided she was the victim.
And when Lex decided something... no one argued.
She stood perfectly still for a moment, staring at the table, then turned away with a sharp swirl of her robe.
"Send someone to Dreadmire," she said coldly. "Now."
The assistants nodded quickly, almost tripping over each other as they rushed out.
—To be continued...🪄