Three months had passed.
The echo of Luna's heels against the marble floors of the Avriantya estate resonated through corridors that had once felt like a prison.
Now, they sang a different tune—one of authority reclaimed as Imperial troops that had arrived and confirmed the death of the victor at the hands of Javrian had left two months ago.
She was now the proxy and also the sole manager of this branch estate of Avriantya until the main family sent a decree of her removal—which was impossible, as it meant letting her become once again Princess Luna Avriantya.
The only thing the main family could do was leave her alone here in the countryside to rot.
Uncaring of anything else, Luna moved, a thick leather portfolio clutched against her chest, her crimson hair pinned back in an elegant twist that spoke of both practicality and nobility.
The burgundy dress she wore was perfectly tailored, its high neckline and long sleeves projecting the image of a woman who commanded respect through competence rather than charm.
Behind her, Sally's footsteps followed in perfect synchronization.
The black-and-white-haired woman had adapted remarkably well to her role as Luna's assistant, trading her former defeated posture for the sharp efficiency of someone who had found purpose again.
A leather satchel hung across her shoulder, filled with documents and evidence that would soon prove invaluable.
"The reports are all here, my lady," Sally murmured as they approached the heavy oak doors of the meeting chamber. "Every discrepancy, every suspicious transaction."
Luna's lips curved slightly. "Perfect. Let's see how creative their excuses have become."
The meeting room was exactly what one would expect from the branch nobility of the Wenhan Empire's outer territories.
Ornate but not quite grand enough to rival the capital, wealthy but with the desperate edge of those who knew their position depended entirely on the whims of those above them.
The Empire's hierarchy was a carefully constructed pyramid of power.
At the apex sat the Alpha Territories—vast domains ruled by pure-blooded nobles whose strength could level mountains and whose bloodlines traced back to the Empire's founding.
Below them came the branch families, each Alpha Territory subdivided into smaller holdings managed by lesser alphas who served the main house.
And below that? The scraps.
Territory fragments managed by whatever remained of once-proud bloodlines, their authority limited to collecting taxes and maintaining order over merchant routes and farming villages.
This was where Victor had ruled.
This was what Luna had inherited—or at least thrown away three years ago by being married to Victor.
Five men sat around the polished conference table, each representing a different aspect of the territory's economy. Transport. Trade routes. Agricultural taxes. Manufacturing permits. Border tariffs.
All of them theta or gamma ranked nobles at best—men whose power came from bureaucracy rather than bloodline, whose authority existed only as long as it served the Empire's interests.
Luna took her seat at the head of the table with fluid grace, Sally positioning herself slightly behind and to the right, her yellow eyes already cataloging every nervous twitch and guilty glance among the assembled men.
"Gentlemen," Luna began, her voice carrying composed authority. "I've called this meeting to discuss some... irregularities in our recent financial reports."
She opened her portfolio with deliberate slowness, extracting a series of documents. But as she did, she noticed how the room had gone strangely quiet.
Lord Matthias, the portly transport overseer, wasn't looking at the documents at all.
His small, greedy eyes were fixed directly on her chest, following the rise and fall of her breathing with obvious hunger.
When she glanced up, he didn't even bother looking away—just gave her a slow, predatory smile that made her skin crawl.
"Lord Matthias," Luna addressed him directly, watching as his tongue actually darted out to wet his lips. "Your department shows a fifteen percent decrease in caravan revenues, yet merchant traffic has increased thirty percent."
Instead of addressing her question, Matthias leaned back in his chair, his gaze now openly traveling down her body before returning to her face with a disgusting smirk.
"Well, my beautiful lady," he said, putting deliberate emphasis on 'beautiful' while his eyes dropped to her neckline again, "these matters can be quite... hard to handle alone." His voice turned husky on the word 'hard,' and he adjusted himself in his seat. "Perhaps you'd benefit from some private tutoring at my estate. I could show you exactly how to... manage the large holding you have."
The other men chuckled darkly, their own gazes now openly roaming her figure like she was a piece of meat at market.
Lord Garrett's eyes lingered on her lips as he spoke: "Indeed, my lady. A delicate flower like yourself shouldn't have to worry her pretty little head about such... mounting problems." He licked his lips. "I would be happy to help you get on topof something far better and deeper than these mere matters."
Lord Benedict was the worst—his gaze kept dropping to her thighs, and when she shifted uncomfortably, he actually moaned softly under his breath. "What lovely... assets you have, my lady. I'm sure we could find creative ways to... invest them properly."
Luna just sighed as she realized they weren't even pretending to discuss business anymore.
Lord Harwick was practically drooling as he stared at her chest, while Lord Crenshaw kept glancing between her face and her body like he was mentally undressing her.
"After all," Harwick said with a revolting grin, his eyes glued to her breasts, "a woman with such... impressive holdings needs experienced men to help her... handle everything properly."
They were all leaning forward now, like predators closing in on prey, their intentions written clearly across their leering faces.
Luna's expression remained perfectly neutral as she continued her systematic dismantling of their lies.
Each financial discrepancy was laid out with surgical precision, each piece of evidence presented with calm professionalism.
But with each revelation, their responses became increasingly crude.
"The reports might be wrong, true," sneered Lord Benedict, his gaze boldly traveling the length of her body. "But what do you expect from a woman trying to handle men's work? Perhaps you should focus on what nature intended you for..."
"Indeed," Lord Harwick added with a lecherous grin. "A territory needs strong leadership. Male leadership. Perhaps we could arrange something more... suitable for everyone involved."
The fifth man, Lord Crenshaw, nodded sagely. "After all, my lady, you're quite alone here. No alpha to protect you, no strong arm to lean on. We're simply concerned for your welfare."
Luna absorbed every insult, every wandering gaze, every crude suggestion with the same impassive calm she might use to observe weather patterns.
She knew exactly what they were doing.
These men had grown comfortable in their corruption under Victor's negligent rule, and they saw her as either a convenient scapegoat or an opportunity to expand their influence through more... personal means.
They had no idea they were staring into the eyes of a woman who had just pity for them—not literally, but just formally.
Rising from her chair with fluid grace, Luna closed her portfolio and straightened her dress with careful precision.
"I believe that concludes our business for today," she said, her voice carrying quiet finality. "I trust all of you gentlemen now understand the scope of these... irregularities."
She turned toward the door, Sally falling into step beside her, when Lord Matthias's voice drifted through the air.
"Leaving so soon? And here I thought we might discuss how you could benefit from... additional partnership. We could help you manage your territory much more effectively. Along with other responsibilities that might prove... overwhelming alone."
The laughter that followed held unpleasant undertones.
"After all," Lord Garrett added casually, "a woman in your position needs all the... support she can get."
Sally's hand drifted slightly toward her belt, her demeanor growing tense. But Luna's gentle touch on her arm provided quiet restraint.
For just a moment, something shifted in Luna's posture—a subtle change that would have been invisible to anyone who hadn't learned to read danger in the smallest details.
But then it was gone, replaced by that same composed mask she'd worn throughout the entire meeting.
But she, as the head of the territory, left a word of advice for those who don't understand why, even with 20 seats inside the room, all the others were empty except for their 5.
"Gentlemen, I suggest that you all refrain from discussing this when you leave this room, as I don't want my garden to be painted red."