The house was quiet, though Seraphina's thoughts refused to still. After Lucian's visit, the air in her room had grown suffocating, heavy with words she wished she hadn't heard. His voice still echoed inside her chest, full of longing and lies, and every repetition scraped at the raw edges of her grief. Marcelline had drifted into sleep in the armchair again, her small frame curled beneath a blanket, but Seraphina knew no rest would come for her.
She rose from the bed, her bare feet slipping onto the cool marble floor. She draped a shawl over her shoulders, thin silk against the night's chill, and wandered toward the glass doors that opened to the garden. Beyond them, the moon cast its pale glow across the Vale estate, turning the roses into silver ghosts and the gravel paths into threads of light.
She pushed the doors open and stepped outside. The air was sharp with the scent of rain-soaked earth, mingling with the perfume of roses still clinging to their petals. The wind brushed through the hedges, carrying with it the faintest chime from the brass bells her mother had once hung in the trees. It was a sound that used to comfort her. Tonight, it only reminded her of what she had lost.
Seraphina walked deeper into the garden, the hem of her nightgown brushing the gravel, her shawl slipping from one shoulder. Her body trembled, though she wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the ache that never seemed to loosen in her chest. She paused by the fountain, its water black under the moonlight, and let her eyes fall shut.
Her lips parted, the words spilling out unbidden, carried on the night air. "Why wasn't I enough?" Her voice broke on the last word. "I gave him everything, and still he… still he chose her."
She wrapped her arms around herself, holding in the sob that threatened to escape. "I would have forgiven him anything. Anything but this. To betray me with her…"
A sound behind her. The faint crunch of gravel under a footstep.
Seraphina stiffened, her breath catching in her throat. She turned slowly, her heart lurching, half-expecting Lucian to have followed her again. But the figure that stepped from the shadows was not Lucian.
"Talking to the moon won't give you answers," a voice said, low and smooth, carrying something dangerous beneath its velvet tone.
Kaelen Armand emerged from the darkness between the hedges, his black coat unbuttoned, his shirt collar open. The moonlight slid across his face, sharpening the angles of his jaw, catching in the obsidian depths of his eyes. He moved with a kind of unhurried grace, like he already owned the space he walked into.
Seraphina's breath caught. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was sharper than she intended, an attempt to hide her startled nerves.
He smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I came earlier with something for Vivienne," he said. Vivienne Armand — her sharp-tongued boss who always seemed to know too much —. "I lingered."
Her chest tightened, heat rising to her cheeks. "You were listening?"
"Only long enough to hear your questions," he said, stepping closer. "The ones you'll never get answers to if you keep asking the wrong man."
Seraphina bristled, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "You don't know anything about it."
"Don't I?" His gaze was steady, unsettling. "I know betrayal when I see it. And I know that a man who truly values his bride doesn't touch another woman, least of all her dearest friend. He broke you, Seraphina. That's the only truth you need."
Her throat closed around his words. The garden seemed too quiet now, the night pressing in on all sides. She wanted to tell him to leave, to stop, to stop looking at her as if he could see through every fragile layer she was trying to hold together. But no words came.
Kaelen's eyes softened, just slightly, though his voice remained edged. "You're shaking." He shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders before she could protest. The weight of it, warm from his body, startled her. She clutched the lapels instinctively, though she told herself it was only to ward off the cold.
"I didn't ask for this," she murmured, her voice trembling.
"I know." His gaze lingered on her face, not predatory, not pitying, but something harder to name. "But you need it."
The scent of him leather and smoke, faintly spiced wrapped around her, dizzying. She hated that it felt grounding, hated that for the first time in days she could breathe without choking.
Kaelen stepped closer, his voice dropping, intimate as a whisper. "Was he ever really enough for you, Seraphina? Or did you just convince yourself he was?"
Her lips parted, but nothing came. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that Lucian had been everything she dreamed of. But the words stuck in her throat. Hadn't she always felt some unease, even before the wedding? Hadn't something in her heart whispered doubts she refused to hear?
She shook her head, as though to drive the thought away. "You don't understand. He was… he was my future."
Kaelen's smile was small, knowing. "No. He was your cage. You just didn't see the bars until they cut your skin."
Her breath hitched, tears threatening again. "Why are you saying this?"
"Because someone needs to." His voice sharpened, though not unkindly. "You're bleeding, Seraphina, and you keep looking at him as if he's the cure. He isn't. He never was. Stop wasting your tears on a ghost."
Her heart pounded, each word striking deep. For a moment, under the weight of his gaze, she felt seen — not as a shattered bride, not as the subject of scandal, but as a woman who had been wronged and deserved better. It was terrifying, that kind of clarity, especially when it came from him.
Kaelen leaned closer, his mouth near her ear, his voice a low murmur that seemed to slip beneath her skin. "The only chains you wear now are the ones you choose to keep."
Her breath caught, her body trembling. She turned sharply, stepping back, breaking the spell. "Stop. Just… stop."
He didn't move to follow. He only regarded her, his expression unreadable, before taking a single step back. Then another. His hands slid into his pockets, casual, as though he hadn't just unraveled her with a handful of words.
"You can keep the coat," he said softly, already retreating toward the shadows. "Return it when you're ready."
And then he was gone, swallowed by the garden's darkness as silently as he had come.
Seraphina stood alone by the fountain, clutching the coat around her shoulders, her heart hammering with confusion. She hated him for daring to speak so boldly, hated the part of herself that had listened, that had trembled at his words. She hated, most of all, the small flicker of warmth that lingered even after he was gone.
She pressed a hand to her chest, as though she could quiet the storm raging there. The night was silent again, but Seraphina knew nothing inside her would ever be silent now.