Chapter3

Seraphina’s POV 

I ended the last call with Dante and sat alone on a bench by the bustling street.

Cars honked, engines rumbled, and the air carried the scent of roasted chestnuts and expensive perfume.

I watched well-dressed people hurry past, immersed in their own conversations and laughter, while my reflection stared back at me from the shop window—disheveled brown hair clinging to my damp cheeks, blue eyes once full of life now rimmed with exhaustion, lips chapped from the wind.

I looked as if life had been drained out of me.

Flipping through my phone contacts, I suddenly realized that in Blancréaux, I didn’t know anyone except Dante.

Finally, I came across Everett’s name.

Everett had been my childhood best friend and schoolmate. We grew up together on the streets of Robin Town, Galvoire, before his family moved away. Later, we reunited at Hopkins Illyria University, and he went on to become a finance expert and a skilled stock trader.

After some hesitation, I sent him a message—I wanted to ask if I could rent his apartment on Russell Avenue for a while.

Sliding my phone back into my coat pocket, I wasn’t sure if he’d even see my text right away.

The night deepened, and the cold wind howled between the towering buildings.

My fingers had gone numb when, through the shifting crowd, a familiar figure emerged.

Everett.

He was dressed in a tailored suit, the crisp white of his shirt peeking from beneath his coat. The streetlights cast soft shadows over his refined features—sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes, wavy blond hair, and an air of composed elegance.

For a fleeting moment, his presence melted the chill in my heart.

I blinked, unsure if I was imagining things.

I had only sent a simple message.

He hadn’t even replied.

Yet here he was.

Cutting through the chaotic crowd, he rushed straight toward me, with worried eyes and knitted brows.

“Seraphina, what happened? Are you alright? What are you doing on a bench?”

He bombarded me with questions the moment he reached me, his gaze shifting between my disheveled appearance and my suitcase.

I exhaled a shaky breath. “Everett, I filed for divorce.”

His expression barely shifted, but for a split second, something flickered in his eyes.

Excitement.

I almost thought I had imagined it. Before I could be sure, his face settled back into its usual gentle, kind smile.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “Seraphina, have you made up your mind? To leave him—the man you once loved?”

I answered calmly, “I’ve thought it through.”

“Where are you planning to stay tonight?” He seemed unsurprised by my decision and nodded as if he had expected it.

I hesitated before finally speaking. “Can I rent your apartment on Russell Avenue for a little while?”

His lips curled slightly.

“Of course. You don’t even have to ask. Let’s go.”

He picked up my luggage with his usual gentlemanly ease.

Relief flooded through me, but before we could leave, my phone buzzed.

An unknown number.

Did you two fight again? You actually moved out of that villa? Now that’s good news.

A chill crept down my spine.

My fingers hovered over the screen before I quickly typed: Who are you? How do you know I moved out?

No reply.

Everett noticed my unease and stepped closer. “Something wrong?”

I forced a smile. “Nothing. Just spam.”

He didn’t look convinced but didn’t press further. Instead, he picked up my suitcase and led me away.

***

Everett’s apartment was warm, a stark contrast to the bitter cold outside. It smelled faintly of leather and something woody—his cologne, maybe.

He set down my luggage and helped me organize my clothes, reminiscing.

 “When my family moved to Robin Town, you and your parents were the first to welcome us. You helped us unpack, settle in… Your family was so hospitable.”

A small smile tugged at my lips. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget?” he said with a soft chuckle.

To show my gratitude, I asked, “Have you had dinner yet?”

He hesitated before shaking his head. “Not yet.”

I knew he was lying but appreciated the effort. Rolling up my sleeves, I moved to the kitchen, already feeling more at home in his space than I had in my own house for years.

Searching through his pantry, I pulled out eggs, butter, vegetables, and a fresh loaf of bread.

“When did you learn to cook?” Everett asked, watching me curiously.

I smirked. “In recent years. But I still get disoriented in the kitchen sometimes. Hope you don’t mind.”

The rhythmic chopping of onions filled the quiet space between us.

Everett leaned against the counter. “You always burned the eggs back then.”

I smirked. “I’ve improved. Barely.”

He chuckled, and the warmth of it felt unfamiliar after all the cold silences I had grown used to in Dante’s mansion.

As I stirred the eggs in the pan and toasted the bread, the scent of butter and spices wafted through the air.

“So, what’s your favorite food these days?” I asked.

He looked surprised at the sudden question but answered, “Steak… medium-rare. Not the burnt one. With mashed potatoes if I get lucky.”

He shrugged, and I laughed.

“I knew it. You’re so predictable.”

We ate in silence at first, the clinking of utensils the only sound between us. But slowly, we started talking—about everything and nothing. The past, our families, even the way the city had changed.

It was easy, natural—a stark contrast to the suffocating quiet resentment that had settled between Dante and me over the years.

With Everett, I wasn’t walking on eggshells, measuring every word, fearing that any misstep would set off the raging bull that was my husband.

After dinner, Everett insisted on doing the dishes, but I refused.

As I reached into the sink, my sleeves slipped down, soaking at the edges. Before I could roll them up, Everett stepped in behind me, his hands brushing against mine as he gently rolled them up for me.

His chest barely grazed my back, and despite the layers of clothing between us, I felt his warmth seep into me.

My breath hitched.

His voice was low. “You always make a mess.”

The air thickened.

My ears burned, and I quickly stepped away, forcing a laugh. “Some things never change.”

Everett’s gaze darkened for the briefest moment before he smiled. “What are your plans after divorcing Dante?”

I steadied my breathing.

“I’m not cut out for the housewife lifestyle. I’ve been working on a new perfume. If it gets recognized like Sanctuary Iris, I’ll be one step closer to my dream. Once the divorce is settled, I plan to open my own perfume store.”

“And if Dante refuses to let you go?”

A bitter chuckle left my lips. “Dante doesn’t love me. He’ll let me leave.”

Everett leaned against the counter, watching me carefully. “If you ever need help, you know where to find me.”

I nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before he left, I handed him a small vial of my perfume. He took it, eyes lingering on it with quiet appreciation.

Before he could say anything, a sharp knock sounded at the door.

Frowning, I walked over and opened it.

A rain-soaked hand pressed against the frame.

Thunder rumbled, and a flash of lightning illuminated the visitor’s face.

Calliope.

My twin sister who has been missing for three years.

Her pale features looked ghostly under the stormy sky, as if she had crawled straight out of hell to claim her due.