The second letter came on a morning when the air was brittle with autumn, carrying the sting of cold against her skin even through the windows. It was slipped beneath the door by a messenger boy who vanished before she could refuse it. Seraphina stood for a long time staring at the envelope, her breath shallow, her fingers unwilling to touch it though her eyes already knew the hand that had written her name.
Lucian's handwriting. Even ruined by haste, she recognized it. The slope of the letters, the deliberate curve of his initials, all etched into her memory so deeply that seeing them now was like hearing a ghost whisper her name. Her throat tightened. She should have burned it without opening it. She should have crushed it underfoot and left it among the ashes of what he had destroyed. Yet her hands betrayed her, trembling as she tore the seal.
The words inside were nothing like his usual careful, practiced elegance. They spilled across the page in uneven strokes, desperate and raw.
Seraphina, I beg you, hear me once more. You were everything, and I was a fool. A coward. I lost myself to weakness, but that night meant nothing. It was ash in my mouth before dawn. What I feel for you was not false. It never was. I cannot breathe knowing you hate me. Please, meet me at the gardens by St. Armand's Gate. One chance. One moment. That is all I ask.
Her hand shook so violently the page rattled. Her heart twisted cruelly, trying to summon the man who had once spoken her name like a vow. But another vision intruded the image of him sprawled across white sheets, another woman's laughter caught against his throat. Isolde's hazel eyes glinting in the dim hotel light.
Her body went cold. Yet still, some poisoned thread of longing tugged at her ribs. She pressed the letter to her chest and hated herself for the tremor in her breath.
By the next morning she was walking the path to St. Armand's Gate, cloak drawn tightly around her. The gardens were hushed, wind stirring the skeletal branches, scattering brittle leaves across the gravel paths. The fountain in the center ran thin, its music hollow in the cold air. And there he was.
Lucian stood waiting, his coat unbuttoned, his hair tousled, no trace of the immaculate groom she had once adored. He looked thinner, shadows beneath his green eyes, his hands twitching as though even stillness was unbearable. When his gaze found hers, it lit with such fragile hope that her stomach lurched.
"Seraphina." His voice cracked on her name. He stepped forward, then stopped himself as though afraid she would retreat. "You came."
She folded her arms, her breath clouding in the air between them. "I shouldn't have."
"Perhaps. But you did. And for that" His voice broke again. He dragged a hand through his hair, desperate. "Sera, I cannot undo what I did. I cannot give you back the night I stole from us. But I swear to you, it was nothing. It was a weakness. A sickness. I was… blind."
Her lips curled bitterly. "Blind? You were not blind when you walked into her arms. You were not blind when you touched her with the same hands that once swore to cherish me."
He flinched as if she had struck him. "You think I never loved you?" His voice sharpened. "That it was all performance, a mask I wore? No, Seraphina. This " He pressed a hand against his chest, the gesture trembling. "This pain is my proof. I have never suffered as I have since losing you."
Her throat closed. She wanted to scream, to spit that his pain was nothing compared to hers. Yet looking at him this ruined shadow of the man who had once made her laugh until her ribs ached her heart twisted against her will.
"You speak of love," she whispered, her voice shaking, "but what is love that crumbles at the first temptation? What is love that trades vows for silk sheets and betrayal? Tell me, Lucian was her mouth sweeter than the promises you gave me?"
His face went pale. He stepped closer, his hand trembling as he reached for hers, but she recoiled as though burned. "Don't," she hissed. "Don't touch me."
Silence hung heavy. And then she felt it the weight of another gaze. She turned, and her stomach dropped.
Kaelen stood at the edge of the garden, leaning casually against the wrought iron gate, his dark coat stirring with the wind. He hadn't spoken, hadn't moved, yet his presence rolled across the space like thunder. His eyes were fixed on her, unreadable, and something in her chest clenched.
Lucian followed her gaze and stiffened, fury igniting in his expression. "Why is he here?" he spat, his voice rising. "Is that what this is? Trading me for him?"
"This isn't about him!" Seraphina snapped, but her voice cracked with the lie.
Kaelen's voice cut through, low and mocking. "Funny. He's still selling you pretty words while you already know what they're worth."
Lucian's face twisted. "Stay out of this."
Kaelen's smile was slow, dangerous. "If only you'd learned to stay faithful, Marrick. But you didn't. And now, she sees you for what you are."
Seraphina's head spun. The world tilted under the weight of both men's eyes, their words tearing at her from either side. "Enough," she whispered, but neither listened.
Lucian surged forward, his voice breaking. "I love you, Seraphina! I will not let you go to him. You are mine!"
Kaelen's voice was steel. "She's not yours. Not anymore."
Her chest burned. Her vision blurred. The garden seemed to close in on her, the fountain's trickle drowned by the roar of her blood. "Stop!" she cried, her voice raw. "Both of you stop!"
They fell silent, their glares locked, but Seraphina was already pulling away. Her steps were unsteady, her cloak catching on the gravel, her breath coming in sobs.
By the time she returned home, her hands still shook. In her pocket was the second letter, Lucian's ink still smudged from his desperate grip. She dragged it out and held it above the fire, her vision swimming.
The flames licked at the edges, curling the parchment black. She whispered aloud, her voice breaking. "If love can rot, let it turn to ash. If memory can bind, let it burn."
The paper dissolved into embers, falling into the grate in a shower of sparks. She stared at the ashes until her tears blurred them into nothing.
And though her hands were empty now, she felt no lighter. Only haunted by the shadows of two men one she could not forgive, and one she could not escape.