Helena’s scream echoed through the hall, sharp and panicked, slicing through the murmurs of the wedding guests. Her voice cracked, raw with desperation.
“Dominic! Dominic, wait for me! Don’t leave me!”
She ran after him, her gown tangling around her legs, her jeweled heels clicking violently against the marble floor. But her steps were frantic, clumsy, driven more by fear than grace. People turned in their seats, some rising, phones already lifted, recording the chaos.
Gasps followed her as she stumbled, her veil slipping, hair loosening from its perfect bun. Her voice carried, shrill and frantic. “Dominic, please! Don’t go! Tell me it’s not true—tell me it’s not her!”
Click. Flash. The blinding light of cameras filled her vision, each shot capturing her unraveling. Guests whispered, some horrified, some entertained, their voices a cruel chorus.
“What’s happening?”
“Why is she running like that?”
“Is it true—something about Seraphina?”
“Who’s Seraphina? Wasn’t this supposed to be Dominic’s wedding day?”
The whispers spread like wildfire, every word another lash against Helena’s pride. She tried to push forward, ignoring the laughter, the questions, the hundreds of eyes dissecting her humiliation. Her chest tightened, and her breaths grew shallow. The floor tilted, faces blurred, and the walls seemed to close in.
Her knees buckled, her heel twisted violently, and she crashed to the marble with a sickening crack. The crowd gasped again, phones flashing as her gown pooled around her like a broken veil of silk.
“Seraphina…” she whispered once, the name trembling from her lips like a curse and a prayer.
Her heart thundered painfully, her breaths rasped, and then the weight of fear, shame, and exhaustion dragged her under. She collapsed completely, fainting amidst the chaos, her body sprawled on the cold floor—immortalized in the lenses of dozens of phones.
But Dominic never saw her fall.
He was already out the doors, running into the night, chasing the nightmare he refused to believe. His voice ripped through the chaos of sirens and flashing lights.
“Seraphina! Where is she?! Let me see her!”
The scene was chaos—a mangled body covered by a white sheet, blood smeared on the asphalt, the metallic tang filling the air. Dominic’s breath seized in his lungs as he stumbled forward.
The police held him back. “Sir, please, you can’t go closer yet—”
“Move!” he snarled, thrashing against their grip, his eyes wild, desperate. “I need to see her!”
An officer stepped forward, his voice grim. “Mr. Blackwood… the victim’s identification confirms it. It’s Seraphina Reyes. We’re still waiting for DNA results, but the documents and belongings recovered—everything matches her.”
Dominic’s face twisted, his jaw tight. “No. No, that’s not her. That can’t be her!” His voice broke into a near-hysterical shout. “Do you hear me? That’s not Seraphina! She can’t die like this. She—she doesn’t just disappear!”
“Sir—”
“Find her!” he roared, his body shaking with fury and fear. “Look again! Do you hear me? She’s not dead! She wouldn’t leave me like this!”
But the sheet did not move. The stillness of the body beneath was an answer crueler than any words.
For hours, Dominic refused to leave the site. He paced, cursed, shouted at the officers, clung to denial as though it could keep her alive. But then, as dawn crept pale across the horizon, the truth arrived.
DNA confirmed.
Seraphina Reyes.
Dominic’s knees buckled. He fell, his palms smacking the wet pavement, his tears streaming without shame. A raw sound tore from his throat, half-scream, half-sob. His body shook violently, as though the world had ripped him apart.
“Seraphina!” he cried, voice breaking. “Seraphina, come back! You can’t do this to me!”
The officers gave him space, but their silence was heavy. The truth hung there, undeniable, crushing.
Rage replaced grief. Dominic staggered to his feet, his face wet with tears, his voice cracking as he demanded, “Where is the driver?! Who did this to her?!”
“The truck driver fled,” an officer admitted. “We’re still searching. A warrant has been issued—”
“Not enough!” Dominic bellowed. His hands balled into fists, trembling with fury. “I want him dragged to me in chains! Do you hear me? I’ll pay—reward money, as much as it takes! Triple, quadruple, I don’t care! Bring him to me, or I’ll destroy every one of you for failing her!”
The police tried to calm him, but he shoved them aside, his grief morphing into wild obsession. “Put him in jail! Let him rot! He killed her—he killed my Seraphina—” His voice cracked again, collapsing into sobs.
He dropped to his knees once more, clutching his chest, his breath coming in broken gasps. His body convulsed with the pain in his heart, sharp and unbearable. It felt like the very organ inside him was tearing apart.
And maybe it was.
Adrian’s heart. The one that beat inside him now. The one that had always belonged to Seraphina first. Maybe this was why it hurt so much. Maybe this was why every cry he let out was heavier, sharper, filled with more anguish than he could understand.
Or maybe it wasn’t Adrian at all.
Maybe it was him.
For years he told himself Seraphina was nothing but convenience. That she was pity. That she was never love. Yet here he was, on his knees in the middle of the street, sobbing her name, begging the universe to give her back.
Because somewhere in the years, without admitting it, without realizing it—he had loved her. Truly, deeply, helplessly.
And now, she was gone.
His hands clawed against the pavement, his voice hoarse, broken. “Seraphina… Seraphina… please, don’t leave me…”
The sirens faded, the murmurs of the crowd dimmed, but his cries remained, echoing into the night, carried on the wind.
No one—not even Dominic himself—could tell if it was Adrian’s heart breaking inside him, or Dominic’s own. All that was certain was that Seraphina had taken both with her, leaving him hollow, shattered, undone.
