The morning sun hit the master suite with a blinding clarity that felt insulting. Seraphina watched the dust motes dancing in the light, realizing that for weeks, she had been just like them—floating wherever Alexander's gravity pulled her.
A known variable. The phrase echoed in her head as she watched Alexander fasten his watch, his movements as cold and efficient as a machine. He didn't look at her. He didn't need to. In his mind, he already knew exactly what she would do today: eat the breakfast his chefs prepared, attend the prenatal appointment his assistant scheduled, and wait for him to return so they could play-act for his grandfather.
"I'm going out today," Seraphina said, her voice cutting through the silence of the room.
Alexander didn't stop his movements. "The driver is downstairs. Marcus will take you to the clinic at ten."
"I canceled the appointment," she said, sitting up.
This time, he stopped. He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as if he were looking at a glitch in a sophisticated program. "You did what?"
"I'm going to a clinic of my choosing. And I'm going alone." She stood up, walking toward her closet. She bypassed the designer silk dresses he had bought for her "presentation" and reached for a simple denim jacket and leggings she'd kept from her old life. "I am not a 'variable' in your schedule, Alexander. And I am certainly not a shield for your blind dates."
Alexander moved with a predatory speed, intercepting her before she could reach the door. He didn't touch her, but his presence was a wall of pure intimidation. "This isn't a game, Seraphina. My grandfather is still in the house. The 'presentation' isn't over."
"Then tell him I'm sick. Tell him I'm temperamental," she snapped, looking him straight in the eye. "You married me because I was convenient. Well, I've decided to be inconvenient."
She stepped around him, her heart thundering. She expected him to grab her arm, to bark an order, to remind her of the contract. Instead, he simply watched her, his expression unreadable, his silence more unnerving than a shout.
Seraphina didn't take the Thorne limousine. She walked out the front gates—past the confused security guards—and hailed a regular taxi.
She went to a small, crowded café in the city center, a place where the air smelled of burnt coffee and loud conversation, not sandalwood and secrets. She sat by the window, feeling the weight of the five-million-dollar necklace—which she had shoved into the bottom of her purse—as a reminder of the cage she was trying to break.
For the first time in months, she felt like she could breathe. She pulled out her phone and called her grandmother's nurse, making arrangements for a visit that Alexander hadn't authorized.
But her peace was short-lived.
The chair across from her slid back. Seraphina looked up, expecting a stranger, but her blood turned to ice. It wasn't Alexander. It was Tiffany.
"You look remarkably ordinary for a Thorne," Tiffany sneered, glancing at Seraphina's plain clothes. She looked around the grimy café with a look of disgust. "Running away from the palace already? Or did Alexander finally realize that a cheap shell like you doesn't belong in a diamond case?"
"What do you want, Tiffany?" Seraphina asked, her grip tightening on her coffee cup.
"I want you to stop pretending," Tiffany leaned in, her voice a sharp venom. "I saw the way he looked at you at the auction. He wasn't looking at a wife. He was looking at a trophy he'd just won. My Jason actually loves me. He's taking me to the coast this weekend to celebrate our baby. What is Alexander doing for you? Buying you more jewelry to keep you quiet?"
Seraphina felt the familiar sting of Jason's betrayal, but this time, it was eclipsed by a new, sharper realization. Tiffany was right about one thing: Alexander didn't love her. But Tiffany was wrong about everything else.
"At least when Alexander buys me jewelry, he pays for it himself," Seraphina said coolly, remembering the rumors of Jason's failing firm. "How are those construction debts coming along, Tiffany? Has Jason told you yet that he's using your father's retirement fund to stay afloat?"
Tiffany's face went pale, then twisted in rage. She stood up, her voice rising. "You think you're so much better than me? You're just a rented womb in a fancy house!"
Seraphina walked out of the café, her head spinning. She hadn't gone two blocks before a black SUV pulled up onto the curb, blocking her path. The door opened, and Alexander stepped out.
He looked out of place in the bustling city street—too tall, too expensive, too dangerous. The crowd parted around him like water around a rock.
"Get in," he said. It wasn't a request.
"No."
"Seraphina," he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating growl. "You've made your point. You've proven you can hail a cab. Now, get in the car before the paparazzi realize you're standing on a street corner looking like a runaway."
"I'm not a runaway! I'm a person!" she shouted, causing a few pedestrians to stop and stare. "You don't get to manage me, Alexander! You said you married me because I was a known variable. Well, consider the variable changed. I'm going to see my grandmother."
Alexander reached out, his hand finally closing around her wrist. It wasn't rough, but it was absolute. He pulled her flush against his chest, his eyes burning into hers.
"I don't care where you go," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "But you will go there in a Thorne car, with Thorne security. Because if anything happens to you—or that child—I will lose the only thing in this world that makes sense right now."
Seraphina froze. The anger in his voice was there, but beneath it was something else. A flicker of something that wasn't logic.
"Is that a threat, Alexander?" she whispered. "Or a confession?"
He didn't answer. He simply opened the car door and waited, his jaw set in stone.