He didn’t deserve to hear lies in the corridors about his parents reconciling.
I didn’t have to look far. I was walking toward the west wing when I heard Blackthorne steel in the air-his father’s clipped tone, his mother’s sharper one.
They were speaking in the study. The door was ajar, just enough for the words to slide out.
“Kieran,” Leona pressed, “are the rumors true? Are you and Seraphina reconciling?”
My chest tightened.
Kieran’s voice was flat, cold. “No. It’s a misunderstanding”
A pause.
Christian’s baritone followed. “And yet, you were seen carrying her. You’ve been guarding her, tending to her religiously. You must know how that looks.”
I should have left. Respectable people didn’t eavesdrop. But my feet rooted to the floor.
Kieran scoffed, low and humorless. “She’s Daniel’s mother. She was bitten by a snake and left weak. I did what was necessary. Nothing more.”
My throat closed.
“Then you will make that clear to the household,” his mother insisted. “We cannot afford gossip undermining-“
“I already have.” Kieran’s voice sharpened, icy with finality. ” And I’ll quash any more rumors before they spread further. There is no reconciliation between me and Sera. Not now, not ever.”
“But-“
His voice dropped, a growl lurking beneath. “Ten years ago was a mistake-one I only just got free of. I assure you, I will not repeat it.”
Something fragile cracked inside me, and my feet could suddenly move again.
I drew back from the door, careful not to let the floor creak beneath my steps.
My fingers curled into my palms until my nails bit skin.
I had wanted Kieran to end the whispers. I should have felt relieved. Instead, I felt… erased.
Just Daniel’s mother. A necessity. Nothing more.
By the time I reached my room, the burn in my throat had cooled into steel. It was all for the best, after all, this visit was for Daniel’s sake alone.
Not for nostalgia, not for temptation, and certainly not for Kieran Blackthorne.
And definitely, absolutely, not for the dangerous, treacherous part of me that still remembered what it felt like to be kissed as if I were the only woman in the world.
SERAPHINA’S POV
After that day, an unspoken truce seemed to settle between Kieran and me, both of us wordlessly agreeing on one thing: distance.
We were careful with each other, deliberate, like rival soldiers who’d stumbled too close on a battlefield, retreating to their lines with weapons lowered but hands still tense on the hilts.
We fell into a strange rhythm-not the comfortable kind that soothed, but one strung taut, like a bow pulled back too far.
He no longer hovered around me or cornered me against walls and counters. No longer lingered behind me with that charged silence that made the air feel too tight.
And I no longer felt the burn of his gaze when he thought I wasn’t looking. At least, I told myself I didn’t.
And in truth, I clung to that distance as much as I resented it.
Because it was safer. For me. For him.
For my baby boy, who only ever wanted his mother to be happy.
My injury healed pretty quickly, and soon, I was back on my feet.
I spent most of my days with Daniel-morning walks on the beach (steering clear of bushes and the ocean), watching them from a safe distance as Kieran taught Daniel surfing techniques, hovering nearby while he had his lessons with his tutor.
And then, one morning, a week later at breakfast, Daniel said, his mouth smeared with mango, “Mom, now that you’re all better, can we go on a family adventure?”
His eyes shone, wide and expectant. The kind of look that made me feel like I could build an entire world with my bare hands if only it would make him smile.
“A family adventure?” I repeated, setting down my fork.
He nodded, curls bouncing. “I could plan it. We could explore the reefs, or go fishing, or sail to another island, or go on a hike, or build a bonfire on the beach, and sleep under the stars, or-“
“Slow down!” I laughed. His joy was infectious, warming the morning air more than the
Caribbean sun streaming through the windows.
For a moment, the tension that had ruled the villa felt distant, banished by nothing more than my son’s unfiltered joy.
Kieran, who had been quietly sipping from a mug at the other end of the table, gave a low chuckle but said nothing.
That’s how he was when the three of us were together-he didn’t speak unless he was spoken to. Like he was always watching our interactions from outside a window.
“Dad, what do you think?” Daniel asked, bouncing in his seat excitedly. “You’ll come with us, right?”
Before Kieran could answer, his phone buzzed against the polished wood of the table.
A shot of irritation went through me that he had his phone when I couldn’t, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity when he glanced at the screen, and his expression hardened.
He stood, turning and moving a few steps away before answering. His voice dropped low, clipped. “Hey, it’s early. What’s up?”
I tried-and failed-not to look at him, noting the way the muscles of his shoulders locked, the way his grip on the phone tightened, the flex of his jaw as he gave sharp nods and quick mumbles.
Then he turned around.
My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away quickly enough.
My brow raised when I saw that he was walking towards me.
He handed the phone to me, his expression unreadable.
“Sera,” he said, voice clipped. “It’s Celeste. She wants to speak with you.”
My stomach dropped. “Celeste?”
I didn’t know what surprised me more, the fact that it had been Celeste on the line and he’d looked so…uncomfortable-or that my sister wanted to talk to me.
His fingers brushed mine as I took it, and for a fleeting instant, I thought I saw a storm gathering behind his eyes again.
But then he stepped back, arms folding across his chest, as if insulating himself from whatever was coming.
I stared at the phone in my hand, bracing myself for…what? I didn’t know.
I pressed the phone to my ear. “Celeste?”
Her voice came through soft, almost sweet, which in itself put me on edge. “Sera. I thought it best to call Kieran since I knew you didn’t bring your phone to the island.”
My chest tightened. “What do you want?”
She exhaled heavily. “It’s Mom. She’s been hospitalized. The doctors say it’s serious. You should come.”
My grip on the phone slackened. “Hospitalized?”
“Yes.” Celeste’s tone sharpened, though she cloaked it quickly in what sounded like feigned sympathy. “I wouldn’t be calling otherwise. I thought, despite everything, you’d want to know. She’s still your mother, isn’t she?”
Conflicting emotions tore through me at once.
Anger-still simmering, because, more than my mother, Margaret Lockwood was the woman who had turned her back on me, who had stood idly while I was treated like gum under everyone’s shoe, who had chosen convenience and appearances over her own daughter.
And grief-unspoken and unacknowledged, because no matter how many ways she failed me, she was still my mother. I’d already lost my father without reconciliation, without goodbye.
“Thank you for telling me,” I managed stiffly.
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