The Harrington mansion slept under a sky bruised violet, the windows glowing faintly like lanterns half-afraid to disturb the darkness. The estate grounds were quiet—too quiet—holding its breath the way people do when something terrible begins to take shape, something that cannot be undone once it is set into motion.
Seraphina Moretti had stopped crying hours ago.
There was no moisture left in her body, no softness left in her voice, no girlhood petulance left to cling to. What remained was a thin, brittle desperation stretched so tightly across her chest she could barely breathe without feeling something inside her splinter.
She moved through the hall like a ghost unearthed.Barefoot.Hair tangled.Eyes wide and fevered.
Her nails bit into her palms as she walked, step after unsteady step, toward the wing of the house she had been forbidden from entering—the part of the mansion that belonged to Adrian alone.
She no longer cared.
Her parents' threats echoed inside her skull like an iron mallet.
Fix this or be disowned.Do whatever it takes.You are nothing without him.Nothing.
The words ate at her, gnawed at her until reason dissolved into something primal and frantic. Her thoughts tangled until she couldn't separate fear from desire, shame from need, panic from stubborn pride. She didn't know what she wanted anymore—only that she needed him to stop rejecting her, needed him to stop pushing her away, needed him to look at her, see her, acknowledge her existence again.
She reached his bedroom door.
Her breath hitched.
She twisted the knob—slowly, quietly, knowing the staff had already been told to keep her from him. But they were downstairs. The estate was huge. And Adrian had returned unusually late—closer to midnight than evening.
The door opened with a soft sigh.
And she saw him.
Collapsed facedown across the bed, still half-dressed in the clothes he wore to work—shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair damp with sweat from exertion or a late night workout. His breaths were slow, heavy, dragging through exhaustion he refused to show anyone but his empty room and the ghosts within it.
He looked… dead.But alive enough to hurt.
For a heartbeat, Seraphina froze.
She had never seen him like this, not even in the days when he was a foolish, overfed heir who wasted his nights drinking himself unconscious. This was different. His body was sharp, sculpted, hardened by months of brutal self-punishment. His shoulders rose and fell with the weight of a burden she could not see but could feel clawing at her skin from across the room.
Her mouth went dry.
Her heart pounded violently.
Something in her snapped—some thread of decency, some final remnant of sense.
"Adrian…" she whispered.
His name cracked in her throat.
She stepped toward him, trembling. Her mind spun with blind panic—If he leaves me, I lose everything—if he leaves me, I'm done—I'm finished—I'm nothing—
And in the fever of that unraveling, she did something unthinkable.
She knelt on the side of his bed.Reached for him.Touched his shoulder.
He stirred slightly, but exhaustion kept him half-conscious.
Her breath shuddered.
She slid closer, her hands shaking violently. Her nails skimmed the line of his collarbone through the open collar of his shirt. She leaned down, lips trembling inches from his ear.
"Don't annul it," she whispered. "Please… don't let me go…"
He exhaled sharply, startled awake.
In a single instant, his eyes opened—glinting cold and sharp even through sleep-glazed exhaustion. His hand shot up, catching her wrist in a tight, unforgiving grip before she could press herself further against him.
"What," he said, voice hoarse with fatigue yet cutting like a blade, "are you doing in my room?"
Her breath hitched. She swallowed.
"I—I just—Adrian, I can't let you—please—please don't—"
She leaned forward again, frantic, desperate, fingers trembling along the buttons of his shirt.
"Stop."The single word cracked like a whip.
She flinched, but her desperation blinded her.
"You can't annul it," she whispered, voice breaking. "I came back for you—my parents—everyone—you can't just—just throw me away—let me stay, Adrian, I'll do anything—"
She reached for him again.
His hand closed around her arm.
Hard.
Hard enough to stop her.Hard enough to make her gasp.Hard enough to bring a sharp jolt of reality tearing through her panic.
His voice was low.Cold.Lethally controlled.
"Seraphina," he said, "let go of me."
She shook her head, tears welling again, breath stuttering.
"No—please—don't make me leave—don't throw me out—"
"Let go."
"I can't!" she cried. "I don't have anywhere else—I don't—I can't lose you—"
"You don't have me," he said sharply.
The words slapped her harder than any hand could.
Her grip loosened.
He pushed her back—not violently, but decisively, like removing a stain from his shirt. He rose from the bed with a speed she didn't expect from someone so drained moments ago. He towered over her now, breath steadying, eyes dark with something unreadable—not anger, not fear, but a deep, exhausted disappointment.
She scrambled backward on the bed.
"Adrian, please—listen—I didn't mean—I was just—"
"You were desperate," he finished flatly. "And desperation is not an excuse."
Her cheeks burned.Her throat burned.Everything burned.
He walked to the door.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet—and crueler for its calm.
"Get up."
She shook her head, hair falling over her face.
"Get up, Seraphina."
She rose on shaking legs.
He opened the door.
"Leave."
Her breath caught in her chest. "W-What…?"
"Leave my room."
Her voice trembled. "Adrian—"
"Now."
His tone was final.
Something in her collapsed. She moved toward the door, stumbling past him, tears spilling silently. She pressed a trembling hand against the wall outside his room, legs buckling.
She waited for him to say something else.Anything else.A scolding.A warning.Even an insult.
But the only thing she heard was:
"Pack your things."
Her world stopped.
"I'll have the guards escort you out by morning."
Her lips parted in silent horror.
"Adrian—please—"
"Enough," he said quietly. "I tolerated you entering my home. I tolerated your interference. But you crossed the last boundary you will ever cross."
She sobbed, collapsing to her knees.
"Adrian, I don't—please—I'll do better—I'll stop—I'll—"
"Go to your room," he said.
His voice was not cold.
It was dead.
Lifeless as a gravestone.
She stared at him, shaking, unable to breathe.
"Go," he repeated, "before I change my mind and have you removed tonight."
She fled—barefoot, broken, sobbing hysterically down the hall, disappearing into the dark.
Adrian waited until her footsteps vanished before closing his door.
He stared at the empty room.His empty life.The bed he collapsed on because it was the only place where grief didn't claw at his lungs.
He exhaled once.
Long.Slow.Shaking.
Then he sat on the edge of the mattress.
Head in his hands.
The misery didn't leave.It never left.
But now it was joined by something new—an exhausted regret, a bone-deep ache that even the coldest discipline struggle to bury.
And in the silent mansion, two broken people fell apart in different rooms—
One from guilt and desperation.The other from grief and exhaustion.