Rain glazed the streets when Seraphine stepped out of her carriage.
Lysander had locked her inside her room for two days. He had hidden the carriage keys, ordered the staff, stood guard himself.
But grief gives birth to cunning.
Tonight she escaped.
She didn't come as the shattered woman Lysander found on the floor. She came as the siren Cassian once fell for.
Her gown was a waterfall of pale blue silk— the color he once said made her eyes look like fire trapped in ice. Her hair flowed down her back in loose waves he used to stroke absentmindedly. Her lips, her cheeks, her scent... every detail crafted with trembling hands and a heart full of desperate hope.
She stood before the gates of the Vale mansion and whispered to herself, "He loved me once. He will remember. He must."
The guards recognized her immediately.
"My lady—"
"I want to see him," Seraphine said softly, eyes glowing like a woman with nothing left to lose. "Open the gate."
And because even the guards had seen Cassian's gaze on her once, they obeyed.
She walked through the courtyard with the grace of a queen and the wildness of a fallen angel. Her steps were soft, but her heartbeat thundered.
She entered the mansion without waiting to be announced. She knew exactly where he would be.
His study. His place of solitude. His place of escape. His place where she once sat on his desk, laughing while he pretended not to be enchanted.
Her heels clicked down the hallway. Each step sounded like a promise.
---
Cassian stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the rain washing the gardens.
Her gardens. Her flowers.
He did not turn when she entered. But his shoulders tensed. It was enough to tell her he knew. He always knew when she was near.
"Cassian…" Seraphine whispered.
His breath hitched, barely. He didn't turn. "What are you doing here?"
"I needed to see you."
"Seraphine..." His tone sharpened. "You shouldn't have come."
She closed the door softly behind her and approached him, slow as a haunting. "I couldn't stay away," she said. "Not like this. Not after everything."
Cassian's jaw clenched. "I made things clear—"
"No." Her voice cracked. "You made nothing clear."
He still wouldn't look at her. So she walked until she stood just behind him, close enough that her warmth touched his back. "Cassian… turn around."
Silence.
"Please."
Slowly—reluctantly—he turned. When he saw her, his eyes darkened with something pained.
She was beautiful. Devastatingly beautiful. Exactly as he remembered.
"Seraphine," he whispered, the name falling from his lips like a confession, "you shouldn't be here."
She stepped closer. "You used to say my name differently," she breathed. "Say it like that again."
He looked away. She lifted a trembling hand and touched his jaw, the one Lysander bruised.
Cassian froze.
Her fingers were gentle, ghost-like, tracing the bruise with aching tenderness.
"He hurted you…" she whispered.
"I let him."
"Why?"
"Because he was right."
Her hand trembled. She slid closer, hug him tight. So close her breath warmed his skin.
"Cassian… don't do this to me. Don't marry her. Don't pretend any of this was meaningless."
"You know I had no choice."
"There's always a choice," she insisted, voice begging. "Think of what we had. Think of what we shared. Think of every night you stayed because you said you couldn't leave me."
His eyes tightened. "Seraphine—"
"Did you lie?" Her voice cracked as she look up at his eyes. "Tell me you lied and I'll walk away right now."
Cassian exhaled shakily. "That's not fair."
"Nothing about this is fair!" Her voice rose into a sob. She grabbed his coat, pressing her forehead to his chest. "Cassian… please… please look at me—look at what you're doing to me—!"
He did. And it destroyed him.
Because she had come to him in the form he loved most. Because she was trembling for him. Because she was begging. And because he wanted her. Desperately.
But he stepped back. "Seraphine. Stop."
She followed him, refusing to let him run. "No. Not this time. You don't get to turn away from me. Not after letting me love you. Not after letting yourself love me."
His breath hitched so sharply he looked as if she'd struck him. "Don't say things you can't take back," he said, voice strained.
She smiled. A broken, fragile smile. "You loved me. You may not say it, but I know it."
He said nothing. Which was an answer.
Seraphine lean closer, slower this time. Soft as snowfall. Deadly as longing. Her lips brushed the shell of his ear. And her voice became silk.
"Cassian…" she whispered, seductive as a siren pulling a man into the sea, "don't marry her."
He swallowed hard. She leaned in closer, her breath sliding down his neck like a caress.
"Don't choose a woman you do not want." Her fingers brushed his collar. "Choose me instead."
He shut his eyes. "Seraphine—"
She pressed her lips to his ear. And whispered low, sinful. "I can give you everything she cannot."
His breath shuddered.
"You know that," she murmured. "You've always known that. You know my body, my heart, my devotion... all of me was yours without question."
Her fingers moved to his jaw, turning his head toward her. "And you… you never touched her the way you touched me."
Cassian opened his eyes. Pain. Longing. Guilt. All tangled.
Seraphine's voice dropped softer, warmer, darker.
"I can be your solace. Your shelter. Your warmth." Her lips hovered dangerously close to his. "Don't throw me away for a woman you do not love."
Cassian breathed out, trembling. His hands lifted. For a moment she believed he would touch her. Hold her. Pull her close and undo everything.
But instead—
He placed his hands on her shoulders. And gently pushed her back.
The softest refusal. The cruelest one.
"Seraphine…"
She stared at him, wide-eyed, trembling. "No," she whispered.
His voice cracked. "I can't."
She starts panicking and desperation painted her beautiful face again. "No—Cassian, listen to me—please—"
He shook his head. "I can't choose you."
It felt like death. Seraphine's breath collapsed. Her knees nearly buckled.
Cassian looked away, because looking at her hurt too much.
"Please leave," he whispered.
She didn't move.
"Seraphine," he said again, voice breaking, "go. Before I do something I cannot take back."
"…Would it be so terrible," she whispered, "if you did?"
He clenched his fists, nails cutting his palms. "Leave," he repeated, voice hoarse. "Please."
She stared at him.
Beautiful. Destroyed. Feral in heartbreak.
Then slowly, brokenly, she stepped back.
Her voice came out in a whisper. "You will regret this."
Cassian flinched. But he didn't call her back. He didn't chase her. He didn't save her. He simply turned away.
And Seraphine walked out of the mansion, out of his reach, out of his life.