Lucca's POV
After a week of not getting any information about the daughter of Celena Morgan, the day finally came when my assistant reported to me. He went to my mansion and handed me an envelope that contained the profile of Celena Morgan's daughter.
"Katerina Bowles is her name now since she got married. It took me a while because I thought her name was Katerina Morgan."
I took the envelope from him and read her profile. There was also an address showing where she lived.
"Let's go to this address," I said.
My assistant nodded, and we hopped into the car. I sat in the back seat, letting my assistant drive. I couldn't take my eyes off the paper I was holding. I was getting closer to obtaining the black ring I needed. The ring that could grant me eternal life.
I looked outside the car. The weather was gloomy, as if it was about to rain. It was only 4 p.m., yet it already looked like night.
"Can I ask something?" my assistant said, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
"What?"
"Who is Katerina Morgan?"
"I personally don't know her either. I just need something from her," I answered. That wasn't typical of me. I was usually irritated with my assistant, even when he did nothing wrong.
I saw him nod in the mirror and refrain from asking follow-up questions. I planned to ask him about my business later. After fifteen minutes, we arrived at the house beside a carinderia.
I immediately got out of the car and asked someone who was eating at the carinderia if the house next door belonged to Katerina Bowles.
"Yes, that's her house."
I nodded, and my assistant thanked them. I pressed the doorbell beside the gate and waited. It didn't take long before a woman—identical to the one in the photo—came out. She smiled at us and asked what we needed.
I directly told her that I wanted to speak with Katerina Bowles.
Surprisingly, she opened the gate and let us in without hesitation, even though we were strangers. She offered us seats on the balcony.
"What do you need from me?" she asked.
"Is your mother Celena Morgan?" I asked.
She looked shocked by my question. She examined me from head to toe, then glanced at my assistant.
"What do you need from her?"
"She owned a ring, right? Specifically, a black ring," I said bluntly.
Her eyebrows furrowed, clearly confused.
"My mother died three years ago," she said, then continued, "I don't know anything about a black ring either."
She looked deep in thought, as if trying to remember whether she had ever seen it.
"I'm willing to pay a huge amount," I added.
Her eyes widened. From her reaction, it was clear that the offer intrigued her.
"I'll try asking my daughter about the ring. She stayed with my mom for a long time."
"Where is your daughter now?" I asked.
She hesitated, unsure whether to reveal it.
"We're not living together. She has her own life," she replied.
I wasn't interested in this family's drama. All I needed was that damn ring to put an end to the frustration and disappointment building inside me. From her mannerisms, I could tell that her relationship with her daughter wasn't good.
"What's your daughter's name?" I asked.
"Sera—"
She wasn't able to finish her sentence when a middle-aged man entered the house and looked at us curiously.
"They're my visitors," she quickly said. "They were looking for my mom. They didn't know she already passed away."
From the man's appearance, he seemed strict and carried an authoritative aura. The woman appeared afraid of him.
My assistant and I stood up and said our goodbyes. The woman accompanied us to the gate, smiling widely.
"I'll help you find that ring," she said.
If money talks, people work. People were all the same—greedy for power, fame, and money.
We returned to the company and continued working. I had countless documents to sign and proposals to approve. My assistant had been stressed lately because I hadn't been coming to work as often.
***
Seraphina's POV
The sun was starting to go down, but I was already walking from the bus stop to our house. I was exhausted that day, and my body ached so much that I felt like I needed a massage. Since Saturday was only a half-day at work, I planned to invite Mira to give me a whole-body massage.
As I got closer to the house, I suddenly stopped when I saw a familiar face. The face I never expected to see, especially at the house where Grandma and I lived. For years, she had never visited me. She never tried to introduce me to her new family. Even my father did the same. They treated me as if I were a mistake.
I stopped walking and kept some distance between us. When she noticed me, she walked toward me with a smile. I stepped back to avoid her touch. I wasn't ready to give her my space. We were never that close.
"How are you?" she asked, smiling.
I narrowed my eyes. It was suspicious that she came all this way just to ask that. For years, she never did, even when my grandma died.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, dropping all respect and courtesy. She didn't deserve it.
"Is that how you answer your mother?" she asked, clearly offended by my tone.
I raised an eyebrow. "Do you even call yourself a mother?" I fired back. I wanted her to know how much I hated her for letting me suffer alone. She was supposed to be by my side. But my parents chose their own happiness over mine. I would never forgive them. They were the reason I fell into depression.
Her smile faded. She didn't like my words.
"Watch your words. You're being disrespectful," she warned.
"You're not worthy of my respect. Never," I emphasized, making her even angrier.
"I didn't come here to argue with you. Do you have the black ring? I need it now."
My frown deepened. What was she up to? She was never interested in my things unless she could benefit from them. And of all things, the black ring? For what?
I secretly slid my hand into my pocket where I was wearing it. Grandma gave it to me. I couldn't just hand it over, especially not to someone who felt like a stranger, someone I despised.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said calmly, hiding my emotions.
"My mother gave it to you, right? It's time to return it to its real owner," she said confidently.
I raised my eyebrows. She sounded like I should be grateful to her for taking it. Rage burned inside me. She abandoned me, yet here she was, demanding something precious to me. She never cared about the ring before, only herself.
Grandma was the one who raised me like her own daughter. While my parents lived their lives, Grandma worked hard to feed me and send me to school. My biological parents never even bothered to help.
"The ring was buried with Grandma," I lied. She would never get anything that belonged to her.
"You're lying. She gave it to you before," she said, unconvinced.
"I returned it to her when she died," I replied calmly. My hand inside my pocket was sweating.
She stared at me, examining my face. I met her gaze and let her see my rage. She looked away, unable to hold it.
"Then I'll dig up my mother's tomb."
Her words made my blood boil.
"How dare you say that? Grandma already died. Digging her grave just for a ring is disgusting and disrespectful."
"My mother will understand," she insisted. "There's a lot of money involved."
Of course. It was always about money. She planned to sell it and keep everything for herself. Such greed made me sick.
"What? You need money too? Then help me," she said shamelessly.
I clenched my teeth. "I'm not greedy like you."
She laughed, cold and cruel, and stepped closer.
"Everyone is greedy for money. You're no exception. Haven't you ever dreamed of being rich? Buying whatever you want and never working again?"
Her words made me pause. Yes, I dreamed of having money, but not at the cost of hurting others. I would never become like her. If I ever had a family, my children would never feel abandoned.
"Go home," I said firmly. "You're not welcome here."
I went inside the gate and locked it behind me. I had no intention of entertaining her or offering her anything. She was nobody to me.
And I shouldn't be talking to strangers.
I turned my back on the gate to enter the house, but she spoke again, and I heard it loud and clear.
"I regret having you as my child, you disrespectful wench," my mother said.
Moments later, I heard footsteps, signaling that she had already left.
I sighed, went inside the house, and locked the door. Suddenly, tears rolled down my cheeks. For the past few days, I had been emotional and deeply hurt. I couldn't even understand what I was feeling or what I wanted to do.
Seeing my mother made me crave having a real one. Someone willing to give all the love and care a mother should offer. I wished I had been born into a family that was responsible for its children.
I wiped the tears from my face. I shouldn't let anyone see me like this at my weakest point. I hated how people talked, how they turned pain into gossip, as if I were the problem.
I went to my room, placed my bag on the bedside table, and entered the bathroom. There, I cried my heart out, reliving the painful past that lingered inside me. The trauma created by my cruel parents haunted me endlessly. They abandoned me like a stray puppy, yet that woman came back only to demand a ring, and said it was worth money.
What about my feelings? Did she never consider them?
After taking a bath, I went to bed, but I couldn't sleep until dawn. When morning came, my eyes were swollen. Clear evidence of the tears I shed the night before. If only she hadn't shown up, this wouldn't have happened. She reopened wounds I struggled so hard to endure.
Because I wasn't okay, I called the secretary at Dr. Keith's clinic to schedule an appointment. My original schedule was next week, but I needed help now. Something to ease the trauma I was drowning in. Luckily, Dr. Keith had fewer patients that day, and the secretary scheduled me for the afternoon. I agreed and thanked her before ending the call. I also notified HR that I would be filing a sick leave for the day.
I intentionally didn't inform Mira. I didn't want questions about what happened, about how I was feeling. I wanted to clear my mind and return to work with a peaceful heart.
I didn't stay home. I unwound at the mall, ate my favorite food at a restaurant, watched a movie at the cinema, got a full-body massage, and bought things I needed for work and home.
At 4 p.m., I decided to go to Dr. Keith's clinic. My appointment was at 5 p.m., but I arrived early. I was exhausted from roaming around the mall, but at least it helped clear my mind.
When I arrived, the assistant welcomed me and asked me to wait, as Dr. Keith was still attending to a patient. I nodded and sat on the sofa, flipping through a magazine on the table.
After fifteen minutes, the patient came out, and the assistant informed me that Dr. Keith was now available.
"Seraphina," the doctor called. "Isn't your schedule next week?" he asked curiously.
I took a deep breath before answering.
"I'm not okay," I said as I sat on the stool.
"You look troubled," Dr. Keith observed.
I nodded and sighed deeply.
"I think I need medication. My chest hurts often, and I sometimes struggle to breathe."
"I was trying to avoid prescribing medicine," he said gently. "I thought therapy would help."
"I couldn't sleep at all last night. The person I least wanted to see—the one who caused my trauma—showed up."
"Your parent?" he asked.
"My mother," I corrected him.
"Why did she come?"
"She wanted to take something my grandma gave me. And you know why? Because it was worth money."
He looked at me with sympathy. "Your trauma resurfaced. It haunts you every time you're reminded of it. Your trauma is tied to a person, and when that person forces themselves back into your life, the pain deepens. What you went through is difficult. You've been carrying this burden alone for so long."
I wanted to cry, but I held it in. I had already cried in front of him before. I didn't want it to happen again.
The session ended after thirty minutes. We continued with therapy, and he finally prescribed the medication I had been asking for. He told me to contact the secretary if I felt unwell again.
I thanked the secretary before leaving the clinic.
As I opened the door and stepped outside, someone called my name.
"Seraphina?"