Seraphina's POV
"They've announced your death."
Those words pull me out of the shallow sleep I didn't even realize I had fallen into.
I blink slowly, my lashes heavy, my head throbbing like it's been split open and glued back together wrong. The ceiling above me is white. Too white. The kind of white that smells like disinfectant and quiet suffering. My throat is dry, my lips cracked. Every part of my body feels bruised, like I've been dropped and forgotten.
"What?" I whisper.
My voice sounds foreign. Weak. Like it belongs to someone else.
Lucien Drake stands at the foot of the bed, tall and composed, dressed in a dark suit that looks untouched by time or chaos. His hair is neat, his face sharp in a way that doesn't invite comfort. He looks like a man who survives by staying detached. Like someone who never lets the world touch him too deeply.
"They've announced your death," he repeats calmly.
I swallow hard. "That's not funny."
"This isn't a joke," he says.
He steps closer and turns a tablet toward me. The movement is slow, deliberate, like he's giving me time to brace myself.
The screen lights up.
Black background.
White letters.
My name.
TRAGIC END TO ASHFORD EX-WIFE
SERAPHINA COLE FOUND DEAD AFTER BREAKDOWN
A LIFE OF SCANDAL ENDS IN SILENCE
My chest tightens so suddenly I gasp.
"No," I whisper. "No, no, no…"
Lucien doesn't interrupt.
My hands shake as I take the tablet from him. The image on the screen is me. Smiling. Pregnant. Taken back when I still believed my life meant something to them.
"They used that picture," I murmured. "That was before everything."
"Before they broke you," Lucien says quietly.
I scroll.
Sources say Seraphina Cole had been unstable for months.
Ashford family declines comment, asks for privacy.
Funeral to be held privately. Closed casket.
Closed casket.
"They didn't even need a body," I whisper. "They buried me anyway."
"They don't need proof," Lucien replies. "They control the story."
My fingers curl around the tablet like I might crush it.
"They made me the villain," I say. "Even in death."
Lucien nods once. "Dead women can't defend themselves."
I laugh, but it comes out broken. "So this is how it ends? With lies?"
"For Seraphina Cole," he says, "yes."
I look up sharply. "What do you mean by that?"
He takes the tablet back and sets it aside. "To the world, you're gone. To the Ashfords, you're finished."
My heartbeat grows louder in my ears. "Julian… does he know?"
"Yes," Lucien answers.
"And he agreed?" I ask, my voice barely holding together.
"He didn't object," Lucien says.
That hurts more than I expected.
I turn my face away, staring at the blank wall. "He couldn't even pretend to fight."
"He didn't have to," Lucien replies. "This outcome benefits him."
Silence stretches between us.
"What about his mother?" I ask.
Lucien's mouth tightens slightly. "Margaret Ashford is organizing the funeral."
Of course she is.
I imagine her standing tall in black, her face calm, her eyes dry. I imagine her accepting condolences for a tragedy she helped create.
"She must be relieved," I whisper. "No messy daughter-in-law anymore."
"She is," Lucien confirms.
I close my eyes. My chest aches, but the tears won't come. It feels like I cried them all out the day they dragged me out of that house.
"They erased me," I say slowly. "My name. My voice. Everything."
"Yes," Lucien agrees. "And now they expect you to stay erased."
I turn back to him. "Is that what you want?"
He studies me carefully. "What I want isn't the point."
"Then what is?" I ask.
"Survival," he answers.
I scoff weakly. "This doesn't feel like surviving."
"Because you're still thinking like Seraphina Cole," he says.
I stiffen. "That's my name."
"That name is a liability," Lucien replies evenly. "It's attached to scandal, weakness, and disgrace. As long as you wear it, you're a target."
"And if I take it off?" I ask.
"Then you disappear," he says. "Completely."
My throat tightens. "Disappear how?"
"New identity. New history. No paper trail connecting you to your past," he explains. "Seraphina Cole cannot exist anymore."
I shake my head slowly. "That name is all I have left."
Lucien leans forward slightly. "That name is what they used to destroy you."
Images flood my mind. The hospital bed. The silence. The divorce papers. The headlines.
"They won't stop," I whisper. "Even now, they won't."
"No," Lucien says. "They won't."
I stare down at my hands. "If I disappear… what happens to them?"
"They relax," he replies. "They believe the threat is gone."
"And then?" I ask.
"And then," he says calmly, "you get to see them for who they really are."
My lips press together.
"You're saying I have to die," I murmur. "So I can live."
"Yes," he answers without hesitation.
The words settle heavy in my chest.
"My funeral," I whisper. "When is it?"
"Tomorrow," Lucien replies.
Tomorrow.
"Will they attend?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Julian?" I press.
"Yes."
"And Margaret?" I add.
"She'll be front and center," he says.
A strange calm washes over me.
"They'll cry," I say softly. "They'll pretend they cared."
"They'll perform," Lucien corrects.
I look at him. "I want to see it."
He pauses. "It won't be easy."
"I don't care," I say. "I want to watch them bury me."
Lucien nods slowly. "I'll arrange it."
The tablet lights up again, showing a news broadcast. A reporter stands outside a grand hall decorated in black and white. My name is displayed behind her in bold letters.
"This is real," I whisper.
"Yes," Lucien says. "It is."
I watch strangers mourn me. Watch my life reduced to a headline and a lie.
"This is the last time they see me weak," I say quietly.
Lucien's eyes hold mine. "Then you understand what must be done."
I take a deep breath, my voice steady despite the ache ripping through my chest.
"I agree," I say. "I'll disappear."