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Chapter 58 - Macarons Before Mayhem

[Rynthall Estate—The Same Morning]

DA—DUM. DA—DUM. DA—DUM.

The sound wasn't war drums. Not hooves. Not thunder.

It was Lucien's slippers tapping against the marble floor with the purpose and presence of a man possessed. He entered the hallway like a runway model summoned from another dimension—one hand on his belly, the other raised high as if presenting the crown jewel of a forgotten empire.

Held between his fingers: a sleek, shiny, obviously anachronistic pair of… sunglasses.

The staff froze.

Alphonso blinked.

Marcel forgot how to chew.

One of the maids let out a small gasp and crossed herself.

Lucien struck a pose. Sunlight poured in behind him through the tall stained-glass windows, casting him in holy radiance.

And then, he said, solemnly:

"Finally… it's ready."

No one spoke.

Lucien looked around. Then scoffed loudly. "C'MON! ASK ME! ASK ME WHAT THIS IS!"

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