Seraphina's POV
Seraphina stormed through the halls of the Meleros estate, her heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floors. Servants scattered out of her way, sensing the fury radiating from her in waves. Her emerald green robes billowed behind her, the gold embroidery shimmering under the candlelight as she marched forward.
Her son had been attacked.
Her son had nearly been killed.
And now, she would see to it that the man responsible for his safety answered for it.
Throwing open the heavy double doors to Dorian's study, she did not wait for permission to enter. The sight before her only stoked the fire burning in her chest—her husband sat at his desk, a goblet of wine in hand, while Livia lounged gracefully beside him, pretending to be engrossed in a book. At Seraphina's entrance, both turned to her with surprise.
"What is the meaning of this, Seraphina?" Dorian asked, setting down his goblet.
Seraphina's emerald eyes burned with fury as she stepped forward, her voice sharp as steel. "My son was nearly murdered today."
Livia scoffed, barely glancing up from her book. "Really, Seraphina, must you always be so dramatic?"
Seraphina whirled to face her, fists clenched. "Do not test me, Livia. Not today."
Dorian stood, placing a hand between them. "Enough. Tell me what happened."
Seraphina's voice trembled with rage, but she kept it controlled. "Cassian was attacked. By our own guards. In broad daylight." She stepped closer, her voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "And you expect me to believe this was not orchestrated?"
Dorian's brow furrowed. "That is a serious accusation."
Seraphina scoffed. "Accusation? My son was bleeding out on the training grounds while your guards stood aside! If not for my men—men I had to place at his side because I do not trust this household—he would be dead."
Dorian's expression darkened. He turned to Livia, who now sat rigid, her fingers gripping the book too tightly.
"Is this true?" he asked.
Livia feigned offense, pressing a hand to her chest. "You would even ask me that?"
Seraphina slammed her hands on the desk, making both of them jump. "Enough of your charades! I will not sit idly by while my son is butchered under this roof. If Cassian is harmed again—if so much as a hair on his head is touched—I will burn this house to the ground with every single one of you in it."
Dorian's face hardened, but before he could respond, she turned on her heel, her cloak whipping behind her as she strode toward the door.
"This is not over."
And with that, she left, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.
________
Dorian sat in his solar, the faint scent of parchment and ink lingering in the air as he swirled the wine in his goblet. His wife, Livia, stood before him, her expression unreadable, but he had known her long enough to recognize the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes.
Seraphina had stormed in earlier, her fury like a raging tempest, demanding justice for their son. Cassian had barely escaped death, and yet here Livia stood, calm, composed, as if it were merely an inconvenience.
He let out a slow breath, placing the goblet down on the table. "Tell me, Livia," he began, his voice deceptively soft, "was it your doing?"
Livia arched a delicate brow, stepping closer. "You wound me, my love. Why would I wish harm upon our son?"
"He is not your son," Dorian corrected, his tone sharpening. "And we both know why."
Livia smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. "Cassian is too bold. Too reckless. He has no place here. My sons will inherit everything, as they should."
Dorian clenched his jaw. He had long suspected her resentment toward Cassian, but an assassination? His firstborn, nearly murdered under his own roof? He had seen the reports—Seraphina's guards had barely managed to intervene. If not for them, his son would be dead.
And yet, what could he do? Livia's family held power in Myr, influence that secured his trade routes, his wealth, his standing. Going against her was dangerous, not just for him, but for everything he had built.
"You have gone too far," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.
Livia only chuckled, pouring herself a goblet of wine. "Have I? Then prove it, husband. Have me arrested. Have me executed." She sipped leisurely. "But you won't. Because you need me. And you need my family."
Dorian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his graying hair. He wanted to argue, to fight back, but she was right. He was trapped, ensnared in the very web he had woven by marrying her.
"This is the last time, Livia," he warned. "If you ever move against Cassian again—"
"Oh, spare me the threats," she interrupted, setting her goblet down with a clink. "You are a man who values his position more than his son. You will do nothing."
Dorian's hands curled into fists beneath the table. He hated that she was right. Hated that, in the end, his silence was his answer.
....
Meanwhile, Cassian lay in his chambers, staring at the ceiling. His body ached from the attack, bandages tight around his ribs where a blade had nearly ended his life. He had survived—barely. But what now?
His mother had been livid, demanding his father take action, but Cassian knew better. Dorian Meleros was not a man who acted out of sentiment. He was a man of pragmatism, of wealth, of alliances.
Cassian knew who was behind it. He had seen the look in the guards' eyes before they struck, their hesitation, the guilt that lingered in their blades. His stepmother's reach was long, and her patience was endless.
He would not wait for another attempt.
Slowly, he sat up, wincing as pain shot through his side. He would not be a victim. He would not cower in his mother's protection while Livia plotted in the shadows.
No. If his father would not act, then he would.
His mother had her own resources, her own allies. It was time he started building his own. Time to prepare. Because the next time someone came for his life, he would be ready.