At the back of my mind, I was aware that I sounded borderline hypocritical. Divided hearts, tug of wars between the past and future…
I wasn’t even sure which one of us I was talking about anymore.
Gods, it was all so messy.
The quiet stretched again. The faint sounds of the exhibition-distant footsteps, muted voices-became almost unbearably loud. I forced myself to look up at him one last time.
“Lucian,” I said, barely above a whisper, “I need space. Please.”
Something flickered behind his eyes-pain, restraint, maybe both. He exhaled, long and hard, like he was forcing himself to let go.
“Alright,” he said finally. “If that’s what you need.”
I nodded once. Firmly.
And then he was gone.
I stood there long after the sound of his footsteps faded, staring at the spot where he’d been. The atmosphere in the hall wrapped around me, dense and cold.
And then I raised my head to look at Zara’s portrait. Her eyes seemed to lock onto mine-cerulean on cerulean.
It was like looking through a warped mirror. At a version of myself I would never be.
This is what Lucian saw when he looked at me, I was sure of it.
I pressed my hand to my chest, half-expecting to feel something burning there-jealousy, anger, heartache.
Instead, there was only stillness.
SERAPHINA’S POV
The short drive home felt endless.
The city lights blurred through the car window, gold and silver against the dark glass; the hum of the tires was steady but distant. My thoughts, however, were anything but steady.
I couldn’t stop thinking about my conversation with Lucian. About how every man I’d ever loved seemed to have loved someone else first.
My ex-husband loved my sister.
And now, my boyfriend’s heart still belonged to another woman.
It felt like fate was mocking me. The same cruel story, woven again and again-different characters, same ending.
Kieran, with Celeste.
Lucian, with Zara.
Sera, left on the outside, longing for hearts that would never wholly be hers.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel. Was that all I was destined for? To live in the shadows of women men couldn’t forget?
“You’re stronger than that,’ Alina’s voice murmured in the quiet of my mind. Her tone wasn’t soft exactly; it was the kind of firmness that steadied rather than scolded. ‘Don’t you dare let their ghosts define you.’
“I’m tired of being strong,” I whispered, voice cracking. “I just want to be enough for someone. Just once.”
“You already are,’ she said, her voice like a low, familiar hum in the back of my skull. ‘You’ve carried yourself through fire, Sera. You survived where others would’ve fallen apart. You don’t need anyone’s love to make you whole.’
I knew that. I knew deep down, I didn’t need anybody’s love to survive-not after everything I’d endured and overcome.
But Gods, I wanted it.
I ached for it.
Was that so bad? Wasn’t I worthy of at least that?
“You are worthy of the kind of love that moves mountains, Sera. Do not settle until you get it.’
A shaky breath left me. ‘Does that even exist?’
Alina was silent, and I could feel her uncertainty like it was mine. The kind of love that moves mountains? Yeah, right.
‘Either way,’ she finally said, ‘I’ll always be here, Sera. Me, and that little wolf who calls you Mom.’
That pulled a reluctant smile out of me. “You mean Daniel?”
‘Exactly.’ There was a warmth in her tone now. ‘Between the two of us, you’ve already got all the love you need.”
I didn’t answer. But the ache in my chest eased just a little.
That night, I lay awake in the dark, listening to the steady rhythm of my son’s breathing against me.
The silence stretched long, pulling me into old memories-nights spent in a house that never felt like home, Kieran’s indifference cutting sharper than words, Celeste’s presence shadowing every move I made, even when she wasn’t around.
The cold indifference in Kieran’s eyes when he’d said, ‘I want a divorce.’
And then Lucian’s: ‘More than anything in the world.”
He’d loved Zara more than anything in the world. How could I possibly compare to that?
Gods, I despised this-no matter how deeply I buried my insecurities, they clawed their way back to the surface at the slightest provocation.
I thought I was more than this. I thought I’d built something stronger out of my scars.
But maybe, deep, deep down, I was still the same girl-waiting to be chosen by someone who couldn’t quite let go of someone else.
And that was the cruelest part. That even after everything, I still wanted to be chosen.
The next morning dawned gray and cool, matching my mood.
If I had my way, I would have spent the whole day curled up in bed feeling sorry for myself.
But Daniel had asked me, quietly, carefully, “Mom, can we go see Grandpa Edward?”
I had no idea where that request had come from. I hadn’t visited my father’s grave since the nightmare that was his funeral, and quite frankly, I would rather dive back into the Snowfield Arena butt naked than sit in front of Edward Lockwood’s gravestone.
But he was Daniel’s grandfather, and we’ve already established that I would find a way to shrink the moon and hang it on a necklace if my son asked.
So I kissed his head gently and whispered, “We’ll go after breakfast.”
Daniel and I stopped by the florist on the way, and he picked out a small bouquet of white lilies.
“Grandpa’s favorite,” he told me. I had no idea.
By the time we arrived at the cemetery, the morning fog had lifted, leaving the air clear and crisp.
The stone paths were slick with dew, the grass freshly trimmed. The cemetery was as beautiful as it was silent, its stillness broken only by rustling leaves and the distant call of birds.
Edward Lockwood’s grave sat at the top of a hill-an elevated, pristine plot overlooking the valley below. Typical of him, even in death, to want to be exalted above others.
I stopped a few paces away, my heart twisting.
Maybe I should have been angry-angry at him for being so pitiless to me. Angry that his legacy and family image were all that mattered to him. Angry that he’d died before I ever got a chance to prove my worth.
Instead, hollow, heavy sadness washed over me.
I stared at the photograph inset in the gravestone. A man who’d once seemed larger than life-and yet now was reduced to this cold, weatherworn slab.
My eyes locked on the engraved name.
Edward Lockwood, Visionary Alpha, Beloved Husband and Father.
Beloved. The irony was almost as funny as it was cruel.
“Hi, Grandpa,” Daniel said softly, stepping forward. His little hand set the flowers neatly at the base of the headstone. “Mom and I came to visit you.”
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