Chapter I
No one knew her past.
They whispered about her, making up fantastical stories to fill up the gap in her biography. They spun wonderful yarns of fallen nobility, of shady strip clubs, of nightclubs where secrets hid in between the nonexistent gaps between the bodies grinding against each other.
Some went as far as claiming that even her husband only knew part of her history, and not all of it.
They didn't know her past.
No one truly did.
But they all knew one thing.
That she was beautiful.
A lady of elegance, they would murmur. A vision of Venus, of Aphrodite herself, they would silently speculate.
Every woman who saw her wished that they were her, the woman with the exquisite and silky emerald hair, the woman with the lustrous eyelashes and clever golden eyes. And every man who met her desired her for his own, to hold her slender frame, to touch her soft alabaster kin, to kiss her wickedly tantalizing lips.
But only one man could have her.
Oh yes, she was a married woman. Four years ago, she had accepted his proposal, and four years ago, the beauty queen had given herself to one incredibly fortunate man.
Her husband… Oh, her husband.
He was handsome, and tall.
Clever, intelligent, cultured.
He was polite and respectful.
He was powerful and wealthy beyond measure.
He was Schneizel el Britannia.
C.C. was in her lavish boudoir, swathed in a dark magenta dress that had originated from some French designer's mind whose name she had forgotten nor particularly cared about… It was so difficult to keep track of all of their names as they rushed to her; Louis Vuitton, Yves Saint Laurent, Christian Dior, Chanel… Too many of them clung too closely to her, as they begged for her to be their patron and their patron only. A pity they were completely oblivious to her traitorous past.
Once she was satisfied with her appearance, the emerald-haired woman rose from her seat and left the opulent bedroom to glide down the sweeping staircase of the Schachmatt.
Her castle.
Her home.
She spied her husband, wearing a tailored dove-grey suit, waiting for her at the bottom with an obligatory compliment waiting on his lips, and, in response, she silently and discreetly reconstructed her face so that it would give off the impression of affableness. As she took the arm he offered her, he smiled, "You look stunning."
Her only reaction was the slightest of curves of her lips, and they stepped out into the cool autumn evening.
Her spouse held the door of the car open for her, waving aside the chauffeur before climbing in on the other side himself. As the sleek sedan pulled out of the driveway and passed through the iron wrought gates guarding the fortress, Schneizel sociably asked, "Did you purchase that particular dress during your last excursion to Paris?"
"Milan."
"Ah, Milan… A lovely place, with wonderful weather. Would you like to go to Florence next?"
"Perhaps," she intoned passively. As neither was much up to continuing their little façade of happy man and wife, the remainder of the journey was made in silence, with wife studying the blurred landscape rushing by and husband reading over one of the innumerable proposals or reports that were sent to him.
It wasn't until the car was pulling up to the front entrance of a luxurious hotel, when she voluntarily spoke to him for the first time that day.
"Is this for business or pleasure?"
"I thought you would be more comfortable by easing in, instead of jumping in. You'll be meeting an important figure in the Weiss Ritter this evening. Please do behave, Cecaniah. I would hate to have the two of you start off on the wrong foot, especially since you'll be interacting with him on a close level."
She gave no reply as they cut through the glamorous lobby and entered the dimly-lit five-star fine-dining restaurant. The maître d'hôtel greeted them with a wide smile and a subtle Mediterranean accent before leading them to their private dining hall.
C.C. saw a young man rising from his seat when she and her husband entered the room. Dressed all in black, from his hair to his dress shirt to his pants, he was a stark contrast to Schneizel, who was completely garbed in light colored satin.
As she came to stand across from him, she realized just how stiff and tense she was; but of course she was stiff and tense. After all, her past had finally caught up with her; who wouldn't be put on edge by the twist of fate?
"Mrs. Corabelle. What a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."
"This is Lelouch Lamperouge, Cecaniah," introduced Schneizel. "The newly instated capobastone of the Weiss Ritter."
"I see," she curtly said. Taking a seat directly across from him, the last man on Earth she wished to see, she brazenly stared at him. Noticing, he raised a brow and politely questioned, "Is there something I can help you with?"
She only looked away, turning to scrutinize the ice floating in her glass of water. She knew that he was smiling, that his eyes were focused on her with amusement, but she didn't care. Nor did she really care to know anything about him. He was just another fool who had joined the underground world because of who-knows-why, probably because of money, or power, or just the thrill of the kill. Well, whatever reason it was, she couldn't care any less about him; he'd disappear, vanish, in a matter of weeks, months if need be, withering from either drug abuse or writhing from bullet wounds. Either way, it didn't matter to her. In fact, nothing really mattered to her. Not even the well-being of her spouse.
Least of all the well-being of her spouse.
Bored with the ice, she allowed her eyes wander. Not that there was much to look at. The sparkling silverware? As if she didn't have drawers of sterling silver knives and spoons at home. The crystal wineglasses? Laughable; she had goblets made of diamond in her cabinets, what need did she have of crystal?
The dinner was going to drag on for an eternity.
For a goddamn eternity.
And the last time C.C. had checked, she wasn't an immortal being.
Perhaps she could fake an emergency? Say that one of her 'friends' urgently needed her help with something, something that only women would understand, like… Like… Oh, like picking out a dress for a date. Ah, yes, that was it. Schneizel wouldn't question her, wouldn't try to prevent her from leaving. After all, he was the one who encouraged her to reach out and make friends, not enemies.
And if he didn't, then she could just pretend she had menstruation cramps, something he really had to let her go home for. Ah, that was the perfect plan. She was ingenious for…
Dark violet irises flickered up to her from above his menu and across the chinaware. They made eye contact, and he locked her in with an unsmiling, cold gaze full of calculating determination.
It caught her off-guard; it was so familiar, the way he was fearlessly staring at her.
She had seen that light somewhere before, that frosty glare.
That stubborn light, that glint that told her that he was willing to do anything to get what he wanted, no matter who or what stood in his way.
Where had she…?
Ah, that was right.
In her own eyes. In her own reflection, she had seen those cool and emotional eyes that were blatantly staring back at her.
Damn it all.
C.C. eventually broke the spell, telling the waiter that she desired to be surprised and wanted the chef de cuisine to select her dinner course for her. When he gave a small bow and swiftly exited the room to deliver their orders to the bustling kitchen, Schneizel beckoned for Lelouch's attention, and, much to her relief, the two men began to converse.
For the rest of the dinner, she refused to meet the raven-haired man's gaze again. She was finished with him for the evening, if not for the rest of her life.
When the dinner plates had been cleared away, and the fine china tea set had returned to the kitchen, the trio finally rose to leave the suffocating prison she had been forced into. Or, they were about to leave the suffocating prison she had been forced into, when a ringing sound resounded throughout the well-furnished room.
She watched silently as her husband answered the urgent phone call, traded a few tense words, before replacing his cell-phone in his pocket. Turning to her, he tersely explained, "A development was made downtown."
"I can go home by myself," she said, just like the dutiful wife she was.
"Lelouch, I want you to escort Cecaniah home."
"Schneizel, I can-" she protested, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand. Delicately tilting her chin up, he told her how dangerous it was for her to travel alone, especially with her new status as his beloved wife.
She could feel his eyes burning into her.
His cold, hard, violet eyes.
Turning away from her husband, she muttered something about understanding why he wished for her to be accompanied by the young man.
But did she truly? Did she truly see why she had to be escorted by him?
No, of course she didn't.
Or, even if she did, she turned a blind eye to his reasoning. After all, she turned a blind eye to things that hurt her, that pained her, that brought up unnecessary and unwanted memories.
That made the wall she had built up splinter.
Oh, she didn't show it. A hard life had been a harsh mentor, and an unforgiving one, and she hadn't forgotten her lessons. With an impassive expression, she brushed by the two… The two traitors, the two conspirators, wanting nothing more than to return to her sanctuary.
Wanting nothing more than to hide from those cold, hard violet eyes.
Those beautiful violet eyes.
. . .
There was a palpable silence broken by nothing but the gentle purring of the engine of the sports car.
No music, no conversation, no nothing.
Just the purring of the engine to fill the abyss between man and woman.
C.C. noted how new the car was, and how luxurious. Laughable, really, considering how less than a decade ago, the only way either of them could have been sitting in a car of this quality was in their dreams. It would be stupid to pretend that everything was the same and that they would get along well. Because they weren't going to, and they both knew it.
They had dresses and suits, luxury cars to drive after fine dining at five-star restaurants, but not the luxury of being strangers.
"Do you even know where the Schachmatt is?" The question came out more scathing and hostile than she had intended, but it was already too late. It was already out there, and he had already received it. She saw his hand tighten ever so slightly on the steering wheel, and she concentrated on it. She concentrated on his hand, and not his face. Not his eyes.
Never his eyes.
"I never knew your opinion of me was so low."
"You-"
"Do you really think that I'd agree to take you home if I didn't know where it was?"
She scoffed.
"It's not as if you haven't done-"
"Oh? I thought we had decided not to bring up the past, what with that black look you were giving me. That is, when you cared enough to look at me," he muttered.
"… Why are you here, Lelouch?"
"Would you rather I not be here?"
"Yes, I would very much rather that you not be here. I-"
"Why? Is it making you uncomfortable? Is the fact that you just disappeared on me all of those years ago eating at you, now that I'm here?" he spat. "Is it, C2?"
"Stop fabricating the past to suit your needs. I didn't disappear on you, and you know it. I left you a-"
The car came to a screeching halt on the winding mountain road, and he turned towards her so that she was forced to meet his smoldering glare.
"We promised each other that we would-"
"What we promised each other," she calmly countered, "was inevitable death and starvation. I'm sorry, Lelouch, if my decision to keep living bothers you and broke your heart, but I did what every sensible person would have done."
He was silent. Speechless? No, not speechless. He was never speechless. Ah, that was it; he was chewing through her words, mulling over them. She could positively see the gears turning in his head as he turned her argument over and over in his head.
Now he was giving her the strangest expression, as if she had just struck him across the face. C.C. suddenly wanted to apologize to him, to tell him that she hadn't really meant the daggers she had thrown at him… But what good what that do? It wouldn't, at all. So, she simply allowed for the full consequences of her actions to unfold.
He sat back in his seat slowly before opening the center console that was acting as a barrier between the two. Much to her surprise, she watched him pull out a pack of cigarettes.
"Oh, that's just classy," she said sarcastically. He only eyed her wearily as he lit a smoke.
"Take me home, Lelouch," she demanded. He only continued to draw on the cigarette before sending a cloud of smoke outside and starting the inhale-exhale process all over again.
"Lelouch, take me home."
Inhale. Exhale.
"Have you turned deaf over the years? I want to-"
"I don't want to hear your voice for the rest of the car ride," he threatened in a low voice. "Or I'm just going to drive the both of us off a cliff."
She held her tongue. Not because she was intimidated or scared. It was just that… The realization that the Lelouch Lamperouge sitting besides her smoking wasn't the Lelouch Lamperouge she had left four years ago.
Perhaps they did have the luxury of being strangers.
When the smoke was almost nothing but a burning stub in his fingers, he tossed it out of the open window before starting the engine again. As gravel crunched under the wheels of the car, C.C. glanced at the glowing digital clock on the dashboard.
She had spent exactly 2 hours and 43 minutes in his company.
It had been the most painful 2 hours and 43 minutes of her life.
By far.
And she was sure she wasn't alone in thinking that she could have used those 2 hours and 43 minutes for something better, something that didn't leave the wedding ring on her finger feel so heavy, something that didn't make her remember things she didn't want to. Something that wouldn't make her want to break all of her rules and reach over to kiss him. Something safe.
What she needed was another lesson from life. That there was a difference between things that she wanted and things she needed. That there was always a price to pay for things she wanted, a painful price.
May the heavens have mercy on her poor, battered soul.
. . .
By the time they had passed through the gates of the Schachmatt, they had both managed to glue the shards of their fragile masks together again.
C.C. sat silently, as Lelouch opened the car door for her. He offered her his hand, which she declined. Gripping her leather clutch with trembling hands, she flashed him a small smile that came out all twisted and grim, before turning to go up the steps of the mansion, when he grabbed her wrist.
"… It was a pleasure seeing you."
Good. They were going to act as if nothing had happened, as if they both hadn't let their masks slip. It was for the best anyways; she was a married woman, and anything that had happened between her and him was in the past and should be forgotten, should never be…
He bent down to kiss her hand, cradling her small hand in his own.
Just like he used to.
"Good evening, Mrs. Corabelle."
"… Mr. Lamperouge."
She didn't look back. She told herself not to, that looking back was something she had promised herself she wouldn't do when she had left him. That was what she had said; that she wouldn't look back, and that she wouldn't cry. And she always adhered to her rules, to the rules that life had taught her.
She stopped in front of the mirror in the foyer.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
She wondered for how long she had been crying.
She wondered, and then, she cursed. She cursed him, for returning to her, no matter if it was intentional on his part or not. She cursed herself, for being so weak and breaking so many of her rules. But most of all, she cursed the heavens, for rejecting her, for denying her the pity she had prayed for, for answering her pleas with mocking laughter and a cruel twist of fate.
All she had asked for was a life of convenience, one where she could act as if she didn't carry the blemishes and scars of heartbreak and a grueling life filled with nothing but debt.
But no. She wasn't one that the heavens looked upon kindly, with her traitorous past.
And so, Venus wept, in the cold, lonely foyer of her palace, all alone and all heartbroken.