Chapter 2: Never Ment to Come
847 Words
“No,” Seraphine said. “It is not all.”
For the first time, Adrien’s eyes sharpened on her like she had finally said something worth hearing.
Before he could answer, a woman’s voice came from the hall.
“Are they here?”
Seraphine turned.
Isabelle Laurent entered like she had been poured into the room by a rich hand. Her dress was pale and smooth, her hair pinned back, her face beautiful in a cold way. She smiled at Seraphine, but the smile did not touch her eyes.
“My dear,” Isabelle said. “You made it.”
Seraphine watched her carefully. “Yes.”
Isabelle stepped forward and kissed the air near her cheek, not quite touching. “Paris can be heavy at first. But you will learn the rhythm.”
“That sounds like a threat,” Seraphine said before she could stop herself.
Lucien let out a small laugh from behind her.
Isabelle’s smile stayed in place. “You have your mother’s mouth.”
Her mother, who had just arrived in the doorway, went pale at once.
“Isabelle,” she said softly.
The older woman turned to her at once and became all silk. “You look wonderful. Come. Victor is waiting for dinner.”
As if on cue, heavy footsteps came from the hall.
Victor Laurent appeared at the end of it, broad and steady, with silver in his hair and the kind of face that made people lower their voices. He did not smile. He looked at Seraphine like he was taking her measure.
“Welcome,” he said.
That one word carried too much weight.
Seraphine forced herself to stand still. “Thank you.”
Victor gave a slight nod, then looked to her mother. “We will eat in ten minutes.”
“Yes,” her mother said quickly.
Victor turned and left, and somehow that was worse than if he had stayed.
Dinner was set in a room too elegant to feel real. White plates. Candlelight. Soft music from somewhere hidden. The city glowed far below them like a field of stars.
Seraphine sat between her mother and a cold stretch of air that belonged to no one, while Adrien took the head of the table and Lucien sat opposite her like he had chosen that seat on purpose.
He kept looking at her.
Not in a rude way. In a slow, knowing way that made her want to ask him what he was staring at, and also made her not want to hear the answer.
Conversation moved around the table like careful steps on glass. Her mother spoke about the move. Isabelle smiled and asked polite questions. Victor listened more than he spoke. Adrien stayed quiet unless needed. Lucien was the only one who sounded alive.
“So, Seraphine,” Lucien said, lifting his glass. “What do you think of Paris so far?”
She looked at him. “It is pretty.”
“That is all?”
“It is also full of people who pretend they are kind.”
Lucien’s eyes lit up a little. “Good answer.”
Adrien’s voice cut in. “Eat your food.”
Lucien leaned back. “You hear that? We are already acting like a family.”
Seraphine saw the way Adrien’s jaw tightened. She also saw the small glance Isabelle gave Victor. It was fast, almost hidden. But she caught it.
Something was there.
Something old.
Something bad.
Her mother touched her glass, then looked at Seraphine with a soft smile that did not reach her eyes. “You are quiet.”
“I am thinking.”
“That is usually dangerous here,” Lucien said.
Seraphine looked at him. “Why do you say things like that?”
“Because they are true.”
Adrien set his fork down. The sound was small, but it made the whole table go still.
“Lucien,” he said.
“What?”
“Stop.”
Lucien smiled, but it was not friendly now. “She should know the truth.”
“Not tonight.”
Seraphine looked between them. “Know what truth?”
No one answered.
The silence grew long enough to hurt.
Then the lights flickered once.
Just once.
A small, cold flicker that seemed to pass through the room like a warning.
Seraphine lifted her head. “Did you see that?”
Lucien’s smile was gone now.
Adrien was already standing.
The house went quiet in a way that felt wrong. Not normal quiet. Empty quiet. Waiting quiet.
Then a scream broke somewhere upstairs.
Everyone at the table froze.
Seraphine’s heart slammed once hard in her chest.
That sound was not from fear.
It was from pain.
Adrien was already moving.
Lucien was out of his seat too, faster than she expected.
And then Seraphine saw it.
A folded note had been slipped under her plate.
Her hand shook as she reached for it.
The paper was cold.
On it, in dark ink, only four words were written.
You were never meant to come.
- Writer
