The house had not been quiet in days, but tonight it was suffocating. Seraphina lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, while her mind dragged her back through every moment of the afternoon — Lucian's voice breaking as he begged, Kaelen's smirk slicing through the air like a knife, Marcelline's anger ringing in her ears.
Sleep refused her. Every time her eyes closed, she saw them both: Lucian on his knees, promising futures that now felt like dust, and Kaelen standing tall, eyes gleaming as if he had already claimed something inside her. She pressed the pillow against her face until her breath came in shallow gasps, but nothing silenced the storm inside her chest.
At dawn, she rose with trembling legs, pacing the length of her room like a restless ghost. She wrung her hands until her fingers ached, her body vibrating with exhaustion that gave her no peace. When Marcelline appeared with a tray of food, Seraphina waved her away, muttering some excuse about not being hungry. Her sister's eyes darkened, but she said nothing, closing the door softly behind her.
By midday, Seraphina could not bear the walls anymore. She dressed simply, a plain gown of dove-grey silk, and covered her face with a wide-brimmed hat, praying no one would recognize her. She told Marcelline she was visiting the bookshop — a small errand, harmless enough. Perhaps the quiet company of books would steady her.
The streets, however, were alive with whispers.
She walked briskly, keeping her gaze fixed ahead, but fragments of conversation caught at her like thorns.
"Such a shame… all those preparations, wasted."
"They say she nearly fainted at the altar, imagine the scene!"
"And with her best friend, no less. Some women are cursed, I think."
Seraphina's cheeks burned. She quickened her steps, breath hitching as though the cobblestones themselves echoed the word: cursed.
Inside the bookshop, she reached for a volume without seeing the title. Her fingers shook as she clutched it to her chest. But even here, the whispers followed. Two women lingered near the poetry shelves, their heads close together, their voices sharp with amusement.
"Did you hear? They say she's already being courted again."
"By whom?"
"That dreadful Armand boy. Kaelen. Of course it would be him. Carrion circles quickly, doesn't it?"
Laughter tinkled like glass shattering.
Seraphina's throat closed. Heat rushed to her face, shame mingling with a sting of truth she did not want to admit. She slammed the book back onto the shelf and hurried from the shop, her vision blurring as tears pricked her eyes.
Outside, the sunlight struck harsh against her skin. She tried to disappear into the crowd, but every glance felt like judgment, every murmur a dagger aimed at her heart. She pressed a hand to her chest, as though she could keep herself from unraveling.
"Running away already?"
The voice slid over her like smoke.
She froze. Kaelen leaned casually against a lamppost across the street, arms folded, coat draped perfectly over his shoulders. His eyes locked on hers, sharp and unreadable. He looked as though he had been waiting.
Her stomach dropped. "You," she whispered.
He pushed off the post, crossing the street with unhurried steps, ignoring the carriages that clattered past. When he stopped before her, he smiled, not kindly, not cruelly, but with a kind of knowing that unsettled her.
"Let them talk," he said softly, his gaze sweeping her face, lingering where her tears threatened to fall. "They don't know you. They only know the story they've been given."
Seraphina's breath stuttered. His words brushed against a raw wound inside her, and she hated that part of her wanted to lean into them.
"I don't need your comfort," she said, though her voice wavered.
Kaelen tilted his head, as though amused by her defiance. "Perhaps not. But you took it last night, didn't you?"
Her cheeks flamed. She spun on her heel, desperate to flee before her heart betrayed her further. But his voice followed, low and deliberate.
"Don't let them break you, Seraphina."
She didn't look back. She couldn't.
By the time she reached home, her hands were shaking so badly she could hardly undo the buttons of her gloves. Marcelline was waiting in the hall, her eyes searching Seraphina's face with worry, but Seraphina brushed past her without a word. She climbed the stairs two at a time, the echo of Kaelen's voice clinging to her like a brand.
In her room, she locked the door and leaned heavily against it, pressing her forehead to the wood. Her chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. Slowly, she turned toward the mirror.
The woman staring back at her was not the Seraphina Vale she remembered. Her skin was pale, her lips cracked, her eyes ringed with shadows like bruises. The elegance of her gown only made the reflection crueler, as though mocking her with the ghost of who she had been.
Seraphina stepped closer. "Who are you?" she whispered.
Her reflection did not answer.
Her hands trembled as she touched the glass, fingertips smearing across the cold surface. "You were supposed to be happy. You were supposed to be his wife." Her voice cracked. "And now… now you think of him. Of Kaelen. Like some desperate fool."
The tears came hot and fast, spilling down her cheeks. She pressed her forehead to the mirror, sobbing softly. "I don't know who I am anymore."
Her reflection wavered through her tears, fractured by the rippling water on the glass. For a moment, she thought she saw someone else; a stranger, broken and dangerous, staring back at her.
"No," she gasped, stepping back, shaking her head. "No."
In a sudden burst, she struck the mirror with her fist. Pain shot through her hand as the glass splintered, a jagged crack running across her reflection, dividing her face into fragments.
She collapsed to the floor, clutching her hand, sobs racking her body. The fractured image loomed above her, pieces of herself scattered, unrecognizable.
And in the silence that followed, the only sound was her own whisper, broken and trembling.
"I'm falling apart."