Prologue
Seraphina
Everyone is watching me.
The courtroom smells like polished wood and judgment.
Reporters.
Strangers.
The Hale family and board members were sitting stiffly in the second row. There’s Mrs. Sterling, playing the role of a mother and my mother’s rival. My mother, while pale, maintained her composure. Nathan looks concerned. His father beside him looks the same.
And then, there is Lucian.
He stands behind the defence table in a black suit, which makes him look untouchable. The same suit I said was beautiful some nights ago.
But his hands are shaking.
No one else notices.
I do.
They ask me to raise my right hand.
I do.
“Miss Whitmore, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
My voice almost fails.
“I do.”
Lucian lifts his head slowly.
His eyes lock onto mine.
There is no hatred in them now.
Only something broken.
I’ll call it a threat.
The prosecutor steps forward.
“Miss Whitmore, on the night of Blackthorn Academy’s graduation gala, did the defendant, Lucian Hale, engage in s****l i*********e with you?”
The room goes silent.
I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.
I remember everything.
His voice.
Especially when he said he ‘wants me… all of me.’
His mouth…the way his tongue circled every intimate part of me, like he was starving…like I was the only thing he had ever wanted... And tasted.
His hands.
The way they wandered on my skin, lingered on my throat, on my…
“Miss Whitmore.” The prosecutor repeats the question.
My throat burns.
I look at Lucian.
He shakes his head once.
Not in denial.
In warning.
Because if I say yes…
He is finished.
The Hale empire collapses.
Will he truly end his own life?
The words he uttered this morning haunt me.
“I’d rather die than have any s****l relation with Sera.”
It replays in my skull.
He doesn’t call me Sera.
He didn’t know that his words carved me open.
The prosecutor’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Miss Whitmore. Did he force himself on you?”
“I can never do that,” Lucian snaps.
“The question is for Miss Whitmore, Mr. Hale," the prosecutor warns.
“Answer him.” He says quietly. This time, directed to me. “Tell him I can’t and will never touch you like that. Tell him the truth.”
I look at him.
Truth?
Which is your truth?
He looks like he’s about to explode…like he would rather burn the world down than let me answer.
I swallow.
“Miss Whitmore…”
“No.”
“Sorry?” The prosecutor takes a step further to hear me clearly.
“I said no,” I repeat.
Gasps ripple through the courtroom.
The prosecutor frowns.
“So you are saying no s****l activity occurred?”
Lucian’s eyes widen slightly.
He looks like someone who wants to know my answer too. It’s dangerous.
I hold his gaze.
And lie.
“No,” I whisper. “Nothing happened.”
The silence that follows is heavier than truth.
And when I look at him again, I realize something terrifying.
He isn’t relieved.
He’s furious.
