Serafina
The sunlight filtered through the tall windows of my study, casting warm, dappled shadows across the stacks of documents spread across my desk. For once, the quiet felt deserved. Earned.
My pen moved steadily as I reviewed the latest trade proposal; the Dorian seal shone proudly on every page, and the weight of control—real, hard-won control—settled around me like a cloak I finally felt worthy of wearing. I had built this stability. I had clawed my way to this point. And in moments like this, I could almost believe there wasn’t a single force in the world that could shake me.
Then my phone chimed.
A single, sharp vibration. Harmless. Ordinary.
I reached for it without thought, expecting a council update or a message from Antonio confirming his arrival for dinner. Instead, an unknown number flashed across the top of the screen. Beneath it, a message glowed stark black against white.
“Your husband will become a father again. Sooner than you think.”
My pulse stopped. Not slowed. Not stumbled. Stopped.
The room tilted around me, the edges of the world blurring as the words burrowed into my chest like hooked claws. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe; the air turned thick, heavy, impossible to swallow. My hand trembled violently, and I set the phone down before I dropped it. It didn’t help. The panic had already begun its relentless ascent, climbing through my ribs, tightening, squeezing.
No. No, this cannot—this cannot be happening again.
Not again. Not another betrayal. Not another man lying to me while holding the pieces of my heart between his fingers. I had survived Matteo’s destruction once; I had rebuilt myself from the ruins he left behind. Adrian was not supposed to be another crack in the foundation. Adrian was supposed to be different. Adrian was supposed to be safe.
My breaths grew shallow as Matteo’s voice echoed from the darkest part of my memory—mocking, cruel, whispering lies wrapped in false affection.
“You were never enough, Serafina.”
I slammed the memory away, forcing myself upright. “No,” I whispered, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles whitened. “Adrian is not Matteo. He would never—he would never—”
But the message sat on my phone, cold and merciless, offering no explanation, no proof, nothing but a threat wearing the shape of truth.
I couldn’t stay still. I rose from my chair so abruptly it scraped against the floor. My vision tunneled as I moved through the halls. The portraits lining the walls seemed to watch me, their painted eyes too knowing, too pitying. Every step felt heavy, as though I were wading through thick sand.
I needed answers.
So I went to the one person who might know something.
Camila.
She had been acting strangely for weeks—skittish, jittery, avoiding my gaze. I had brushed it off as nerves, stress, youth. But now? Now it twisted into something darker, something suspicious.
When I reached her office, I knocked once, twice, then pushed the door open.
Empty.
Her desk was spotless, too spotless. No pens scattered. No documents awaiting review. No sweater draped over the chair or coffee mug left behind. Instead, the top of the desk held a single envelope with her handwriting printed across it.
To Human Resources.
A resignation letter.
My heart lurched violently. “No,” I breathed. “No, no, no—”
I snatched up the envelope and tore it open, scanning the contents with frantic eyes. It was short. Curt. Formal. Effective immediately. No explanation. No farewell.
Just an exit.
I stormed down the hall, rage and fear twisting together until my vision blurred again. I found one of the administrative aides sorting documents in the corner office.
“Where is Camila?” I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended.
The woman jumped, papers nearly slipping from her hands. “Dona Serafina—she—she resigned two days ago.”
“Resigned?” My voice cracked despite my effort to keep it steady. “Without notice?”
“Yes. She said it was a family emergency. She left the city that same night.”
I stared at her, unable to form words, unable to contain the storm pounding against my ribs. She continued, voice trembling under my stare.
“She didn’t even collect her final paycheck. She just… left.”
Left.
Gone.
Vanished before I even knew to ask questions.
Why would she vanish so abruptly unless she had something to run from?
Unless we had something she didn’t want to face?
Unless she truly had been—
“No,” I whispered fiercely, forcing air into my lungs. “No. I refuse to think that.”
My voice shook, but I didn’t care.
Adrian had loved me. Had chosen me. Had stood beside me in every war we faced. He was loyal, honorable, dependable. He was not Matteo. He was not capable of deception so deep, so personal, so cruel.
I turned abruptly and walked away, though the world wavered as I moved. My hands curled into fists at my sides. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes—not of heartbreak yet, but of rage, humiliation, fear. The ghosts I had buried clawed their way up, whispering the same poison they once used to drown me.
You are easy to betray.
You are replaceable.
You are never chosen for long.
I pressed my back to the nearest wall, closing my eyes tightly. “Stop,” I hissed under my breath. “Stop this. Stop spiraling.”
But the message replayed in my mind, each word a hammer against the fragile shield I had built.
“Your husband will become a father again.”
I forced myself to breathe slowly, deliberately, until my pulse steadied. I wiped my eyes, straightened my posture, and walked toward my study with measured steps. I would not break. Not without proof. Not without truth. Not over a message sent by a coward too afraid to sign their name.
Still, the question slithered beneath my skin as I closed the door behind me.
If not Camila—who had left the city with suspicious speed…
Then who?
Who was sharing my husband’s bed?
I stared at my phone lying on the desk, the message glowing like a wound that wouldn’t close, and for the first time in years, I felt something inside me tremble in a way I could not control.
Fear.
Real fear.
Because suspicion had awakened in me a monster I thought I’d killed—a monster that remembered what betrayal tasted like.
And if Adrian, the man I rebuilt my soul with, had truly…
I couldn’t finish the thought.
But I couldn’t silence it either.