Seraphina – POV
My fingers went cold around my phone.
I know where you are.
Three seconds.
That was how long I stared at the message before my lungs remembered how to breathe.
Unknown number.
No name.
No signature.
But I didn't need one.
Adrian.
The taxi moved smoothly through the empty streets, city lights streaking past the window like blurred memories. I told myself it could be anyone. A prank. A coincidence.
It wasn't.
My heart knew it wasn't.
I slowly turned my head and looked behind us through the rear windshield.
No obvious car tailing us.
No black SUV.
No familiar driver.
Nothing.
That somehow made it worse.
Because if he wasn't physically there… then how did he know?
I typed back before I could stop myself.
Who is this?
The reply came instantly.
You should be asleep.
My throat tightened.
He always told me that when I stayed up too late as a child.
You should be asleep, Seraphina.
The driver glanced at me through the mirror. "Miss, are you alright?"
"Yes," I lied softly. "Please… just keep driving."
My hands were trembling now.
I turned my phone off.
Not silent.
Off.
As if that could cut whatever invisible thread connected us.
The airport lights came into view twenty minutes later.
Bright.
Open.
Public.
Safe.
I paid the driver and stepped out, the early morning air sharp against my skin. For the first time since leaving the mansion, I allowed myself to breathe properly.
He can't stop me here.
He won't make a scene.
Adrian Vale values control too much.
Inside, the airport buzzed with quiet activity — early travelers, rolling suitcases, security announcements echoing overhead. I blended in easily. No one looked twice at me.
That felt… new.
Liberating.
At the check-in counter, I handed over my passport — the secondary one arranged through discreet channels — and forced my expression to remain neutral.
The attendant smiled. "Traveling alone?"
"Yes."
The word felt heavy.
She typed something into the system.
Paused.
Typed again.
My heartbeat quickened.
"Is there a problem?" I asked lightly.
She frowned at the screen. "One moment, please."
One moment.
I hate those words.
She picked up the phone behind the desk and spoke quietly to someone I couldn't hear.
My pulse began to pound.
No.
No, no, no.
She hung up and looked at me apologetically.
"I'm sorry, miss. This booking has been canceled."
The world tilted.
"Canceled?" My voice came out too steady. Too controlled. "By whom?"
"It doesn't specify. The ticket was voided an hour ago."
An hour ago.
4:12 a.m.
The exact time I slipped out of the mansion.
My stomach dropped.
"I didn't cancel it," I said.
"I understand. You'll need to contact your booking provider."
Contact.
Provider.
All meaningless.
Because I already knew.
Adrian didn't need to chase me.
He didn't need to drag me home.
He simply erased the path in front of me.
Clean.
Efficient.
Controlled.
Just like him.
I stepped away from the counter on numb legs.
Around me, life continued normally. Planes boarding. Announcements echoing. Laughter. Movement.
Freedom for everyone else.
Not for me.
My phone vibrated in my hand.
I stared at it for a full ten seconds before turning it back on.
One new message.
Come home.
Two words.
Not angry.
Not threatening.
Just certain.
I felt something crack inside my chest.
He hadn't yelled.
He hadn't begged.
He hadn't even confronted me physically.
He simply reminded me of something I had always known but refused to accept.
He controls everything.
My bank cards.
My tickets.
My movements.
My world.
Tears burned behind my eyes — not from sadness, but from frustration. From humiliation.
I had thought I was clever.
Prepared.
Independent.
But I was still just a girl moving inside boundaries he designed years ago.
I typed back:
Why are you doing this?
The response took longer this time.
Long enough for hope to foolishly bloom in my chest.
Then:
Because I protect what belongs to me.
My breath left my body.
Belongs to me.
Not belongs to our family.
Not belongs at home.
To me.
Something inside me shifted then — not fear.
Not entirely.
It was clarity.
This wasn't about safety.
This wasn't about reputation.
This wasn't about family.
This was about possession.
I didn't go home immediately.
I sat in the airport café for nearly an hour, staring at planes taking off.
Watching people leave.
Watching freedom rise into the sky again and again.
My phone stayed silent.
He knew I would return.
He was patient.
Adrian had always been patient.
When I was little and struggled to tie my shoes, he didn't rush me. He simply waited, watching, until I gave up and let him do it.
When I tried to argue with him at fifteen about going to a school party, he didn't shout. He calmly listed every reason I shouldn't go — until I agreed with him myself.
He doesn't force.
He corners.
And I was finally beginning to understand the difference.
By the time I returned to the mansion, the sun was rising.
The gates opened automatically.
Of course they did.
He knew I was coming.
The front door was unlocked.
Of course it was.
He was standing in the foyer when I stepped inside.
Perfect suit.
Perfect posture.
Perfect composure.
As if he had just woken up.
As if he hadn't dismantled my escape before dawn.
His eyes met mine.
No anger.
No triumph.
Just quiet certainty.
"I told you," he said softly, "you can't run from me."
I wanted to scream at him.
To demand answers.
To call him insane.
Instead, I asked the only question that mattered.
"How did you know?"
A small smile touched his lips.
"I always know."
The simplicity of it chilled me more than any explanation could have.
He stepped closer, adjusting the collar of my coat like I had just come home from a normal morning walk.
"You look tired," he murmured. "You should sleep."
There it was again.
That tone.
That soft command wrapped in care.
I didn't pull away this time.
I couldn't.
Because somewhere between the airport and this foyer, something terrifying had settled inside me.
If he could control the outside world so easily…
What else had he been controlling all these years?
And how much of my life had ever truly been mine?