Chapter One: The Price of Gold

Beneath the glow of chandeliers,

Where whispered words fuel fleeting years,

A man of wealth, of power grand,

Held all but love within his hand.

His name—Lucian D’Avare bold,

A prince of coin, a king of gold.

With silver tongue and cunning mind,

He bent the world to wills unkind.

Yet love, that force no wealth could sway,

Had brushed his path in reckless play.

A stolen kiss, a moonlit tryst,

With Selene, fate’s delicate twist.

Her eyes were stars, her voice a song,

Yet fate decreed their love was wrong.

For Lucian’s house, both proud and wise,

Had sealed his fate with marriage ties.

A union forged in power’s name,

A bride unknown—a lifeless claim.

Eleanor Vale, a rose confined,

Betrothed to one with heart resigned.

“My love,” Selene, in shadow, sighed,

“Why must you stand where love has died?

Your hands hold wealth, your steps command,

Yet chains are placed by duty’s hand.”

Her touch was fire, her breath was sweet,

Yet Lucian felt the ground retreat.

For though his heart in passion burned,

A silent truth within him churned.

“My fate is sealed, my path is set,

A debt repaid, a house’s bet.

Eleanor waits, with hands so pure,

Bound by a vow I must endure.”

Selene recoiled, her gaze like steel,

“A gilded cage you’ve come to feel.

But love, my dear, is not a game—

Will gold embrace you all the same?”

A storm arose within his chest,

Between his love and fate’s behest.

Yet duty’s weight, though cruel and cold,

Still bound his soul in chains of gold.

Beyond the walls of hollow halls,

Where fathers schemed and wealth enthralls,

Eleanor sat with heart confined,

A bride unseen, a fate assigned.

She traced her name in candle’s glow,

A whispered dream—a wish to go.

Yet duty’s voice, both sharp and stern,

Had taught her well—she must not yearn.

“I do not ask for grand romance,

Nor foolish dreams of lover’s dance.

But let him see beyond my name,

Beyond the chains, beyond the shame.”

Her heart was kind, her soul was deep,

Yet locked within a vow to keep.

She knew too well—the man she’d wed

Loved someone else, his heart had bled.

Still, love untainted, soft and true,

Would bloom despite the bitter view.

A patient seed in frozen earth,

That waits for spring to bring its birth.

As days marched forth, the halls were bright,

With gilded silk and pearls of white.

Yet Lucian’s steps, though firm, were slow—

A man entrapped, a heart in woe.

Selene had vanished, lost in pain,

A ghost now wreathed in love’s disdain.

Yet Eleanor, with quiet grace,

Met Lucian’s gaze—no sign of place.

No plea, no cry, no desperate vow,

Just solemn warmth upon her brow.

And in her eyes, though soft and still,

Lay something strong, a force, a will.

“I do not ask for love untamed,

Nor seek to set your heart aflame.

But let us walk not bound in hate,

And find in time a kinder fate.”

Her words were light, yet laced with steel,

A quiet strength, a fate made real.

And Lucian, bound in cold embrace,

Saw something strange within her face.

A flicker small, a whisper bright,

A seed that stirred beneath the night.

Yet love was lost, or so he swore,

For hearts once torn could heal no more.

A tale begun, yet not yet done,

Where love is lost, but wars are won.

For though the heart may fight its chains,

No fate remains untouched by pains.

And in the end, when vows are true,

Could love arise from something new?

To be continued

Chapter Two: Shadows of Desire

The halls were bright, the bells would sing,

Yet love still bowed to crown and ring.

A wedding loomed, a fate was spun,

But hearts would break ere vows were done.

Lucian stood in chambers vast,

His soul ensnared by present, past.

The lover lost, the bride unknown—

A king of wealth, yet love disowned.

Through silken drapes and candle’s gleam,

He traced the edge of fading dream.

For though his mind denied its sway,

His heart still called where shadows lay.

Selene had gone, yet not too far,

A ghost beneath the evening star.

And though he swore to let her be,

The past still clung—a raging sea.

Through hidden doors and secret halls,

Where moonlight brushed the garden walls,

A whisper called—a voice so sweet,

A shadowed form with hurried feet.

“Lucian.” Soft, yet edged with fire,

A lover’s name, a lost desire.

He turned, though knowing it unwise,

To meet the storm within her eyes.

“Selene, you should not linger near,

The walls have ears, the night can hear.”

Yet in his voice, no scorn was found,

Just longing lost, both deep and bound.

She closed the space, her breath was warm,

A fleeting touch before the storm.

“My love, though fate may tear apart,

Do you not feel it?—Heart to heart?”

He wished to speak, to pull away,

Yet silence let his hands betray.

One final kiss—a sin, a crime,

A fleeting taste of stolen time.

But love is cruel and fate unkind,

For in the dark, another spied.

A figure still—a silent wraith,

With pain disguised beneath her grace.

Beyond the hedge, where night stood tall,

Eleanor watched, but did not call.

Her heart did quake, yet lips stayed closed,

For love once known, she never chose.

She was no fool, no meekened bride,

No docile soul to stand aside.

And yet, the truth—a dagger deep,

Had found her chest but let her weep.

For all the wealth her father spun,

For all the wars her house had won,

She knew too well—a vow untrue

Would bleed and rot, then split in two.

She turned away, her step was light,

A shadow lost within the night.

Yet in her hands, her fingers curled,

For fire burned beneath her world.

“If love be lost and vows be lies,

Then let him know where duty dies.”

Her words were low, a whispered fate,

A bride now bound, but not by hate.

The wedding came, the sun stood tall,

A kingdom vast within the hall.

Yet love was but a ghostly thing,

A vow of ice, a hollow ring.

Lucian stood with eyes like stone,

A man of fate, yet still alone.

Eleanor too, though lips were tight,

Bore not a look of grief nor fright.

No whispered plea, no tearful vow,

She met his gaze and spoke aloud:

“I do not ask for love untamed,

Nor seek to set your heart aflame.

But let us stand, not bound in woe,

And walk as one, though love is slow.”

Her words did strike, a strange reprieve,

A lesson taught he’d not believe.

For in her strength, in all her grace,

A warmth had formed, a tender space.

Yet love once lost will haunt the soul,

For hearts still ache where shadows pull.

And Selene, far beyond the light,

Still cursed his name beneath the night.

A tale of fire, of hearts at war,

Where love may shift, yet wounds still score.

For though one falls, another grows,

And fate decides how passion flows.

But love is cruel and greed is blind,

And loss may teach where hearts must find.

To be Continued

Chapter Three: A Fire Rekindled

The vows were sworn, the night was cold,

Yet love was bought, like silver sold.

A kiss was placed, both firm and light,

A fleeting touch, devoid of might.

Eleanor’s hands were soft yet strong,

Yet Lucian felt that something’s wrong.

For though her lips had met his own,

His heart, it beat for one unknown.

Not Selene—no, her ghost had passed,

A fading dream, a love outcast.

But something stirred, both strange and new,

Within his bride of eyes so blue.

Beyond the gates, where shadows fell,

Selene stood still, her heart unwell.

She’d watched the vows, the rings, the fate,

And knew her love had come too late.

Her lips had cursed, her hands had fumed,

Yet deep within, her heart was doomed.

For love, once bright, now dimmed to grey,

A flame that fate had torn away.

She turned to leave, yet cast once more

A glance upon the gilded door.

“If love was true, it should have won,

Yet even gold can block the sun.”

And so she left, a phantom’s trace,

Her love now lost without a place.

No whispered name, no last embrace,

Just silence cold—a hollow space.

Within the halls of marble white,

A lonely bride had claimed her right.

Not love nor lust, nor false pretense,

But something keen—an elegance.

Eleanor sat, her hands at rest,

A regal poise within her chest.

No bitter words, no vengeful cries,

Just quiet storms behind her eyes.

Lucian watched, yet could not speak,

For though his heart still felt so weak,

He saw within her silent grace

A strength that time could not erase.

“You do not scorn, nor play the fool,”

He said, his voice now strangely cool.

“I am no fool,” was her reply,

Her words as sharp as steel passed by.

“I knew too well the path you tread,

The lover lost, the words unsaid.

But let it burn, let time decide,

And let me stand here—by your side.”

A vow of strength, no lesser creed,

Not bound by lust, nor love, nor greed.

Yet something there, beneath the guise,

Lay waiting still, in patient rise.

Days grew long, the seasons turned,

Yet something deep in Lucian burned.

Not passion fierce, nor lust’s embrace,

But something slow—a subtle trace.

For Eleanor, though firm and bright,

Had never shunned nor shown despite.

She did not beg, nor did she plea,

Yet held herself with dignity.

And Lucian, lost within his mind,

Began to see, began to find—

That love was not just fire’s kiss,

But steady hands in nights like this.

A glance, a touch, a whispered word,

A laugh too soft to go unheard.

And though his heart had once been torn,

A newer song began to form.

Yet love is cruel and fate is wise,

For shadows linger where truth lies.

And far beyond the palace walls,

A vengeful ghost still softly calls.

A tale of love once lost, now found,

Where silent hearts begin to sound.

Yet past still haunts and fate still turns,

And scorned love’s wrath forever burns.

For though a heart may shift and change,

Not all are kind within love’s range.

To Be Continued