Ashton's POV
When I got home, I gathered everything that once tied me to Seraphina—our love letters, the journals we shared, and all the photos we ever took together. I piled them up in the yard and set them on fire. The flames devoured everything, leaving nothing but ashes.
After that, I signed for the new portable crutch I’d ordered. It would make leaving a little easier.
Then, a new post from Christian popped up on my feed.
[Auntie’s way too worried about me! I just swallowed a bit of water, and she booked the entire hospital for a full-body check-up. So many doctors around me. I’m getting social anxiety!]
In the attached video, I could hear her voice—familiar, soft, and full of warmth.
“Be good,” she said. “Get all the tests done. Only then can I stop worrying.”
That night, Seraphina came home very late. And when she did, she wasn’t alone. Christian followed right behind her.
“He’s a little shaken and not feeling well,” she explained. “I’ll let him stay here for a few days until he’s better. He’s scared to be alone.”
I didn’t argue. Soon enough, this wouldn’t be my home anymore. What right did I have to object?
Seraphina then wrinkled her nose, noticing the faint smell of smoke in the air. “Did something burn? What’s that smell?”
“Nothing important,” I replied evenly. “I just burned some old things.”
Her expression hardened. “Don’t burn things in the house anymore. It’s bad for the boy’s health.”
I nodded since everything worth burning was already gone.
That night, I wasn’t feeling well, probably coming down with a fever, so I went to bed early.
But sometime after midnight, a loud thunderclap exploded outside my window, and I jolted awake, my heart pounding. Without thinking, I reached out, instinctively seeking Seraphina’s arms for comfort.
Ever since the car accident, loud noises like thunder made me panic. For the past three years, she was always the one who’d hold me tight, whispering, “I’m here. You’re safe.” That was the only way I could calm down.
But this time, my arms met empty air.
Seraphina was already out of bed, slipping on her coat.
“The boy’s terrified of thunder,” she said softly. “I’ll go check on him.”
I gave a small, bitter laugh at myself. Even now, I still instinctively turned to her for comfort.
Watching her leave, I slowly got up, took the signed divorce papers, and placed them neatly on the table. Then I pulled out my phone and made a call.
“You can come pick me up now,” I said quietly.
As I made my way downstairs with my crutch, I passed the guest room and heard muffled sobs inside.
“Seraphina,” Christian’s voice trembled, “you still love me, don’t you? I know you do. You’ve never gotten over me. Please don’t go. Stay with me, okay?”
Through the half-open door, I saw him wrap his arms around her neck, pressing his lips to hers.
Seraphina turned away at first, trying to resist. But eventually, she gave in, pulling him close by the waist, kissing him back deeply.
A flash of lightning illuminated the room, freezing the image in painful clarity: the two of them tangled together.
A sharp, unbearable ache tore through my chest. I turned and walked away without looking back.
Outside, rain poured down in sheets as I climbed into the waiting car. The driver started the engine, and we disappeared into the storm.
Third Person's POV
The next morning, Seraphina woke up in Christian’s bed.
He was still asleep, looking peaceful. She couldn’t resist pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before slipping out of bed.
Sunlight spilled through the curtains. Maybe she’d gone too far last night, she thought, but she could always make it up to Ashton later.
She decided to order his favorite breakfast—avocado toast—from that little shop he loved. He was picky about food, and only something fresh and light like that could please him.
Just as she was about to place the order, her phone rang. It was her assistant.
“Ma'am, something terrible’s happened!”
“What is it?” she asked, frowning.
“Mr. Chandler… last night, his car was caught in a landslide. The vehicle was swept into the lake. Both the car and he are missing!”
