The Ashford estate had not seen such tension in years.
Lady Celestia Ashford stepped through the grand entryway, silver heels clicking on polished marble, her silver hair flowing over a navy-blue travel coat, the kind only tailored in old Parisian ateliers. The bodyguards stood straighter, the maids dropped curtsies with more haste.
She didn't smile. She didn't need to.
"So," she said calmly, setting her bag on a servant's outstretched arm. "Japan hasn't changed. Still humid. Still inconvenient."
From across the hall, Ashford raised his glass of scotch lazily. "Still dramatic, I see."
Celestia turned her gaze on him like a queen inspecting a court jester.
"And you still drink the cheap kind, I see."
"It's aged twelve years. Like my patience."
"Ah. Then clearly you've never had to raise a daughter alone."
"I let you raise her. You insisted."
"And you failed to stop me."
They both paused. One eyebrow raised. One glass tilted. A battle of wit wrapped in silk.
The bodyguards began backing out of the hallway slowly.
Marina clutched the edge of her vanity table.
"She's here," she whispered.
Her reflection stared back at her: composed, tidy, trained to smile. But inside, her heart was a mess of thunder. She hadn't seen her mother in two years. They'd last spoken briefly during a business event, nothing personal exchanged.
Marina remembered the way her mother held a teacup with elegance that could silence a room. The way she corrected Marina's posture with a single look. The way she loved her without ever being able to say it.
She took a breath. Stepped toward the door.
Celestia sat by the window in the west parlor, stroking a silver chain wrapped around her fingers. A locket. Inside was a photo of Marina as a toddler, standing beside a bunny cake.
She exhaled sharply.
"What am I even doing here..."
They saw each other in the corridor. No warning.
Marina stopped first. Then Celestia.
The hallway, long and opulent, was suddenly too tight.
"Mother," Marina managed.
Celestia blinked. Her voice was soft, breathy.
"You've grown."
Marina opened her mouth. Nothing came.
Celestia didn't move.
Marina bowed slightly—out of reflex, out of habit—and walked past.
Celestia stood alone, hand still clenched around the locket.
"I didn't even see my daughter hell. What a pathetic mother I am." inner thoughts of Celestia.
"My mother is surely mad at me." Inner thoughts of Maria.
The dinner table was a glossy expanse of wood and etiquette. Ashford at one end, Celestia at the other. Marina sat to the right. An empty chair was left next to her.
Then the butler opened the door.
"Presenting Izumi Kamizawa."
Izumi stepped in, wearing the only formal shirt he owned, hair combed so hard it practically creaked. His legs barely worked.
"G-Good evening..."
Celestia's eyes flicked to him instantly.
He sat. Marina whispered, "Just breathe."
Ashford try not to think.
Celestia set her grape juice in wine glass down gently. "So. You're the one who made such a romantic scene."
Izumi winced. "Y-Yes, ma'am. That was me."
(She is directly at the point)
"Was it scripted?"
"No! I mean—I meant everything."
She tilted her head. "Mm. Honest. Untrained. Slightly clumsy."
Ashford chuckled. "That's part of his charm."
"You have a very strange definition of charm."
"You married me."
"Temporarily."
"Happily."
Marina rubbed her forehead. Izumi stared at his soup.
Celestia leaned forward, fingers laced. Her voice softened slightly. "And what is it, Mr. Izumi Ayonama, that makes you worthy of Marina?"
Izumi looked up.
And he met her eyes.
"Nothing makes me worthy. I just... I just want to stand beside her. Even if I'm scared. Even if I have to grow a hundred times stronger. I want to make her happy. That's all."
Celestia stared.
Then slowly... she smiled. Not a grin. Not even warm. But a tiny, tired smile.
She picked up her wine glass.
"Let's begin, shall we?"
To be continued.