Seraphina – POV
"I always know."
Those three words followed me all the way up the staircase.
I didn't respond to him.
I couldn't.
Because if I opened my mouth, I wasn't sure what would come out — anger, fear, or something far more humiliating.
Understanding.
My bedroom door closed softly behind me. The click of the lock sounded louder than usual.
I leaned against the wood and finally let myself breathe.
He didn't shout.
He didn't threaten.
He didn't drag me back.
He didn't need to.
He dismantled my escape with a canceled ticket and two text messages.
Clean. Efficient. Controlled.
Just like him.
I crossed the room slowly, my heels sinking into the plush carpet. The sunlight creeping through the curtains felt invasive, exposing everything I didn't want to think about.
Because this wasn't new.
Not really.
Daniel being fired.
The schoolboy transferring years ago.
The way every man who ever showed interest in me eventually… disappeared.
I had blamed coincidence.
Now coincidence felt like a lie I told myself to stay comfortable.
I turned toward my vanity mirror.
My reflection stared back — polished, composed, untouched.
A Vale.
Adrian's sister.
Protected.
Owned.
The thought made my stomach twist.
A soft knock came at my door.
Not even five minutes later.
Of course.
"Seraphina."
His voice.
Low.
Measured.
I didn't answer.
The handle turned anyway.
Unlocked.
I forgot.
He never liked locked doors.
He stepped inside without hesitation, closing it behind him.
"You shouldn't lock your door," he said calmly. "It suggests distrust."
"It suggests privacy," I replied, sharper than I intended.
His gaze flickered slightly.
Not anger.
Interest.
He walked further into the room, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed. He looked exactly the same as he did in the foyer — composed, immaculate.
As if he hadn't orchestrated my failure before sunrise.
"Are you angry?" he asked.
"Yes."
"At me?"
I laughed once under my breath. "Who else?"
He tilted his head slightly, studying me like he was analyzing a business variable that wasn't behaving correctly.
"You tried to leave without telling me."
"You would have stopped me."
"Yes."
No hesitation.
No shame.
Just truth.
Something inside me snapped.
"You canceled my ticket."
"Yes."
"You tracked my phone."
Silence.
That was answer enough.
I stepped toward him. "Do you monitor everything I do?"
He didn't move.
Didn't retreat.
His eyes held mine steadily.
"I ensure your safety."
"That wasn't the question."
A pause.
Then calmly:
"Yes."
The word echoed in my skull.
Yes.
He monitors everything.
My calls.
My location.
My plans.
My life.
"How long?" I whispered.
His expression softened slightly.
"Since you were sixteen."
Sixteen.
When I got my first phone.
When I started going out with friends.
When I started becoming… independent.
My chest tightened.
"That's insane," I breathed.
"No," he corrected gently. "That's responsible."
I stared at him.
"You don't get to decide that."
"I do."
The certainty in his voice was terrifying.
Not loud.
Not forceful.
Just absolute.
"You belong under my protection."
"There it is again," I said quietly. "Belong."
He stepped closer.
Not aggressively.
Just enough to close the distance.
"You think the world is kind, Seraphina?" he asked softly. "You think men approach you with pure intentions?"
"That's not your decision to make."
"It is when their intentions involve you."
His hand lifted — slowly — deliberately — and brushed a strand of hair away from my face.
The gesture was familiar.
Affectionate.
Wrong.
My breath caught.
"You're not a child," he continued quietly. "But you are mine to protect."
"Why?" I demanded. "Because you're the heir? Because you think everything in this house comes with your name on it?"
His jaw tightened — the first visible crack in his composure.
"Yes."
The honesty stunned me.
"The house," he continued. "The company. The legacy. It will all be mine one day."
"And me?" My voice barely came out.
His eyes darkened slightly.
"You were never separate from that."
The words landed like ice water down my spine.
I stepped back.
"I'm not an asset," I said. "I'm not part of your inheritance."
His gaze flickered over my face, searching, calculating.
"You're the only thing I've ever truly cared about."
The confession should have sounded sweet.
It didn't.
It sounded isolating.
Like I was the center of a world I never agreed to be part of.
"That's not love," I whispered.
He didn't respond immediately.
Then, quietly:
"I never said it was."
The air between us shifted.
Heavy.
Charged.
Honest in a way it had never been before.
Because for the first time, he wasn't hiding behind brotherly concern.
He wasn't pretending this was normal.
He was showing me exactly what this was.
Control.
Possession.
Devotion twisted into something sharp.
"I won't run again," I said suddenly.
His eyes sharpened.
"Good."
"But not because you stopped me."
Silence.
"I won't run," I continued, holding his gaze, "because next time… I won't let you see it coming."
Something flashed across his face.
Surprise.
Then amusement.
Then something darker.
"That," he said softly, "sounds like a challenge."
"It is."
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
The mansion was silent around us.
Too silent.
Like it was listening.
Like it approved.
He finally stepped back toward the door.
"You're tired," he said again, tone returning to that calm, older-brother cadence. "Rest."
He paused at the doorway.
Without looking at me, he added:
"You won't win."
The door closed behind him.
I stood in the center of my room long after he left.
My heart wasn't racing anymore.
It was steady.
Cold.
Focused.
He thought I would break.
Submit.
Accept the invisible leash he'd placed around my life.
But something had changed this morning.
At the airport.
In the taxi.
In the foyer.
For the first time, I wasn't just scared of him.
I was studying him.
And if Adrian Vale believed he controlled every variable in this house…
Then maybe it was time I became one he couldn't predict.