CHAPTER FOUR : FAMILY DRAMA
1205 Words
Seraphina pushed open her bedroom door.
She walked toward her wardrobe and pulled it open. Rows of dresses she had designed herself stared back at her.
A bitter smile curved her lips.
She picked a blue hoodie and a pair of jeans and placed them on the bed.
A long, exhausted sigh left her chest.
She undressed slowly, letting the fabric slide to the floor. When she lifted her eyes to the mirror, she froze.
The dark mark on her neck stood out against her pale skin.
Her cheeks burned instantly, not just from embarrassment…
but from the memory that followed.
His voice.
His touch.
The way her body had responded before her mind could stop it.
Her fingers tightened.
That was what she couldn’t forgive.
She quickly turned away.
Her chest tightened.
In the bathroom, steam clouded the glass as she scrubbed her skin under the hot water, harder than necessary, until it reddened.
As if she could wash away the humiliation.
But no matter how hard she scrubbed, the memory remained.
When she finally stepped out, she wrapped a towel around herself and tied her strawberry-blonde hair into a tight ponytail. Her reflection looked calmer now — composed.
But her eyes betrayed her.
Her mind drifted to Alexander Sinclair.
What had he told her father?
As if pulled by instinct, she dressed and slipped into her black Hermès slippers, then quietly made her way toward her father’s home office.
The door wasn’t fully closed.
She stopped when she heard Mr. Louis’ voice from inside.
“Mr. Laurent, Mr. Alexander Sinclair is willing to offer your family five percent shares in his real estate properties.”
“Miss Laurent must not be harmed in any way.”
Seraphina’s breath hitched.
Her fingers curled tightly at her sides.
So that was what she was now?
A liability to be paid for?
Or a mistake to be erased?
And he said she must not be harmed… as if he wasn’t the one who caused the problem.
Her hazel eyes darkened with shame as she bit her lower lip hard enough to taste metal.
“I am not his w***e,” she whispered under her breath.
The word burned in her throat.
She walked away — only to collide with Celeste standing in the hallway.
“Oh,” Celeste said mockingly. “The boyfriend snatcher.”
Before Seraphina could move, Celeste grabbed her arm, her fingers digging painfully into her skin.
“I told you Alexander Sinclair was off limits,” Celeste hissed. “But you just couldn’t stand seeing me happy, could you? You seduced him. You always want what’s mine.”
“Let go,” Seraphina warned quietly.
But Celeste only tightened her grip.
“You shameless—”
The slap came before Seraphina could stop herself.
The sound cracked sharply through the hallway.
Celeste staggered back, clutching her cheek in disbelief. A red mark quickly bloomed across her skin.
For a moment, there was silence.
“Oh? So you’re shocked?” Seraphina hissed. “Try me again and see if I won’t slap you.”
She brushed past her without another glance.
Behind her, Celeste let out a sharp whisper, still clutching her reddened cheek in disbelief.
“You’ll regret that,” she spat.
But Seraphina didn’t turn back.
She simply walked away and headed straight to her room.
Upstairs, Seraphina plugged in her phone.
Notifications flooded the screen.
Breaking news: Elizabeth — A-list actress and socialite — fired and permanently blacklisted from Sinclair Film she reached for her sketchpad.
Industry.
Seraphina remembered Alexander mentioning that name.
So she was the one who had drugged him.
Another headline appeared.
Flow Entertainment formally queried by Sinclair Film Industry.
She wasn’t surprised.
Alexander Sinclair didn’t forgive.
He erased.
Setting her phone aside, Designing was the only place where her thoughts quieted.
Pencils.
Papers.
These were the things she could control.
Hours slipped by unnoticed.
By the time she finished, a stunning floral evening gown filled the page — delicate straps, flowing layers, beautiful.
She carefully placed the sketch away and allowed exhaustion to pull her into sleep.
Morning sunlight woke her at 6 a.m.
After her routine, she dressed in a fitted black corporate skirt, a blue silk blouse, and black heels. She grabbed her bag containing her laptop and sketchbook.
Downstairs, the maids greeted her politely.
At the dining table sat her parents, her twin sister Celeste, and her two brothers — Cole and Vincent.
Celeste looked at her with open disgust.
Cole, dressed in a tailored suit, stared at Seraphina with disappointment.
Vincent sighed lightly.
“Come on, big brother. It was a mistake. Mistakes happen.”
Celeste suddenly began crying.
“It was my boyfriend,” she sobbed. “She slept with my boyfriend…”
Cole’s expression hardened.
“Seraphina,” he said coldly, “you slept with your twin sister’s boyfriend. You threw away your dignity and reputation. I am deeply disappointed. How could you?”
Her chest tightened.
No one mentioned Alexander Sinclair.
She kept her face calm.
“I was drunk,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t think straight.”
Celeste sniffed dramatically as Vincent patted her head.
“It’s okay, Celeste.”
Mrs. Laurent spoke sharply.
“You weren’t drunk. You tried to seduce him. We gave you one simple task and you ruined everything.”
Seraphina’s eyes narrowed.
“What task?”
Cole asked.
Silence fell.
Celeste quickly spoke, her voice soft and pitiful.
“I had the flu, so I asked Seraphina to attend the event for me. I never told her to steal my man…”
Seraphina’s patience snapped.
“Oh, Celeste, why don’t you mention the part where you never told me it was a movie premiere? You pushed me to go because you wanted to embarrass me in front of the media. So stop pretending to be the victim when you’re the villain.”
“Enough!” Mr. Laurent thundered.
The dining hall fell into suffocating silence.
Cutlery clinked softly against porcelain plates.
No one spoke again.
Seraphina forced herself to take a few bites, but the food tasted like dust.
Celeste sniffed dramatically beside their mother, while Cole continued eating as though nothing had happened.
Seraphina placed her fork down.
“I’m leaving,” she said calmly.
No one stopped her.
No one asked where she was going.
She stood gracefully, smoothing down her outfit.
Her black heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she walked away.
Outside, the morning air was crisp.
Instead of taking one of the family’s luxury cars, Seraphina walked toward her old model sedan parked quietly at the far end of the garage.
She slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
The drive to her company was peaceful. The city was slowly coming alive with movement.
But her mind wasn’t calm.
Headlines.
Judgment.
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
When she arrived at the company building, the security guard quickly straightened.
“Good morning, Miss Laurent.”
She gave him a polite nod.
“Good morning.”
As she stepped out of the car and adjusted her bag over her shoulder, a familiar voice called her name.
“Seraphina!”
She turned.
- Writer
