Dominic’s POV
“Sir…” The butler’s voice cracked like glass. His eyes couldn’t meet mine. “We just received a traffic incident report.”
My chest tightened. Something in his tone made my blood run cold.
He swallowed, trembling. “…Miss Seraphina was hit by a 12-wheeler truck. They say… she’s dead.”
For a moment, the world turned silent. My jaw clenched, my breath stuck in my throat. Dead?
Then I laughed. A hollow, broken sound. “A… truck? And you’re saying she’s dead?” My head snapped up, eyes blazing. I shook my head violently, as if I could shake the words away. “No. No, no, no. That woman should have nine lives! You hear me? Nine lives! She cannot be dead. That is impossible!”
The butler’s lips trembled, but he said nothing.
I became hysterical, my fists slamming against the dresser. “If this is her prank again—her pathetic little game to get my attention because I’m marrying Helena—then tell her to quit it!” My chest heaved. “Do you hear me? Quit it! I am not postponing this wedding. Not for her. Never for her!”
Behind me, Helena gasped, her painted lips parting in horror. “What? Dead?” She clutched her chest, feigning panic. “Oh my God, Dominic, is this true? Is this… is this a bad omen? Is she… is she cursing us? On our wedding day?”
I spun to her, my face twisted with denial. “No! Nothing. Let her. She’s not dead. She’s doing what she always does—trying to get my attention.” I let out a harsh laugh. “She’s done this before. She storms out, slams doors, shouts about leaving me forever… then comes back, crying that she has nowhere to go.”
A memory burned through me—Seraphina’s tear-streaked face, standing outside in the rain years ago, suitcase in hand, whispering, “I can’t do this anymore.” Her voice had been hoarse from crying, her fingers white from clutching the handle of that cheap, worn-out luggage.
I remembered how she had stormed out of the house that night after we argued about Helena, saying she was tired of always being second place, tired of feeling like a shadow. She swore she would leave me for good. I watched from the window as she dragged the suitcase down the driveway, her thin frame trembling under the downpour.
For hours she didn’t come back. I had half expected her to vanish completely, to disappear into the city and never return. But when midnight fell, the doorbell rang. And there she was—soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her cheeks, shivering violently. The suitcase was abandoned on the porch, her knees buckling as she whispered, “I have nowhere else to go.”
She collapsed against me, fists weakly hitting my chest before they clung to me instead. “Don’t abandon me,” she sobbed. “Even if you don’t love me… don’t leave me alone.”
Yes. That was Seraphina. She always came back. She couldn’t leave me. She never could.
Helena, still clutching her veil, pressed closer. Her voice shook, dripping with desperation. “Dominic, are you sure? Should we… maybe postpone the ceremony? What if—”
I grabbed her wrist, forcing her gaze to mine. “No. We go on. This wedding will happen. You are mine, Helena. Nothing—nothing—will stop it.”
She nodded weakly, though her eyes gleamed with a satisfaction she tried to hide.
As she left to finish preparing, I snapped at my men. “Find her. Now. If Seraphina is faking her death, if she thinks she can humiliate me on my wedding day—punish her. Teach her what happens when she mocks me.”
The butler hesitated, voice trembling. “But… sir…”
“No!” I barked. My hands trembled, rage masking fear. “I will not accept it. She is not dead. This wedding will continue.”
And then the police butt in again. “You’ll have to come with us. We have the warrant—”
I spun to my butler, fury burning through me. “Settle it. Pay them. Now. No one—no one—ruins this wedding. Not Seraphina, not the police, not anyone.”
The hall glittered with flowers and chandeliers, a stage built for victory. Guests whispered, smiling, as though nothing had touched us. I stood at the altar, my smile forced, my chest heavy. The priests waited. The music swelled.
And then Helena walked toward me, glowing in white, every inch the perfect bride.
But before her footsteps reached me, one of the butlers stumbled inside, pale, shaking. “Sir… forgive me…” His voice cracked. “…It was really her.”
I froze.
He held out a tablet, his hands trembling. The photo on the screen made my stomach drop. A body—crushed, mangled, unrecognizable, but clothed in the hospital gown Seraphina had worn.
My throat closed.
The butler’s whisper pierced me. “The detective wants to talk to you. They confirmed it’s Miss Seraphina.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My heart twisted painfully, a foreign ache stabbing my chest. And then I understood—it wasn’t my grief. No. It was Adrian’s heart inside me. Adrian, who had loved Seraphina more than his own life. Adrian, who would bleed forever for her.
Tears spilled before I could stop them.
But I gritted my teeth, forcing the ache down. “I don’t care,” I whispered, voice breaking. “Tell them… tell them it was her. And so be it.”
And then—I smiled. I turned my eyes back to Helena, radiant as she reached the altar.
She was the one. She had always been the one. If I kept saying it, maybe it would be true.
The priest began his words. Guests leaned forward. Helena’s hand slipped into mine. My lips curved into the smile they expected.
“Do you, Dominic Blackwood, take Helena—”
The world blurred.
Her face flickered. It wasn’t Helena before me—it was Seraphina. Pale, trembling, her eyes wet with betrayal.
My chest convulsed. My mouth dried.
“I…” The word stuck in my throat.
Helena’s eyes widened. The room held its breath.
And then I tore my hand from hers. I stepped back, stumbling.
“No…” My voice broke, raw and hoarse. My gaze darted, searching for a ghost I could never find.
“No. Seraphina…”
Gasps rippled through the guests. Helena screamed, her voice sharp, hysterical. “Dominic! What are you doing?!”
But I was already running. Away from the altar, away from the wedding, away from Helena’s cries.
Only one name echoed in my chest, pounding against Adrian’s cursed heart.
“Seraphina…”
