Engaged to Death

2: A Six Months Pattern.

The headlines were already waiting for her.

They always were.

Seraphina didn’t check her phone immediately that morning.

She didn’t need to. Silence told her everything.

The penthouse staff moved differently.

Quieter. More careful. As if even the air inside Newman Tower had learned to tread lightly around her.

Death did that.

Not to the one who died—

But to the one who remained.

Still, routine mattered. Routine meant control. Order.

She sat at the long dining table overlooking Manhattan, sunlight spilling across polished glass and an untouched breakfast of coffee, fruit and toast.

All perfectly arranged. All ignored.

Her tablet rested by her. Screen dark. Waiting.

For a moment, she simply stared at it. Then with a small sigh, she picked it up.

One swipe. And the world flooded in.

“THE CURSED HEIRESS STRIKES AGAIN”

“THIRD FIANCÉ DEAD—COINCIDENCE OR PATTERN?”

“SERAPHINA NEWMAN: LOVE OR DEATH SENTENCE?”

Her expression didn’t change.

Another swipe. This one was more detailed.

Less sensational. More dangerous.

It wasn’t just reporting. It was analysis.

A timeline.

Seraphina’s eyes moved slowly across the screen:

Michael Reeves

Engaged: January 12

Dead: July 10

Cause: Car accident

Michael - bright, ambitious, too confident for his own good.

A flash of memory crossed her mind: laughter over dinner, a careless promise, shattered glass beneath twisted metal.

She moved on.

Lucas Bennett

Engaged: October 3

Dead: April 1

Cause: Fall from balcony

Lucas was charming, restless, always chasing something just out of reach.

Another memory flickered: music, champagne, a night that ended too suddenly.

And then—

Adrian Cole

Engaged: May 22

Dead: November 14

Cause: Under investigation

Adrian.

Her fingers stilled against the screen.

He had been different.

Not softer.

Not weaker.

But more aware.

And in the end—

More afraid than Michael and Lucas.

Seraphina locked the tablet and set it aside.

Six months. Not exact. But close enough to matter.

Too close to ignore.

She stood and walked toward the window. The city stretched endlessly below—alive, moving, untouched by patterns that seemed to follow only her.

“Miss Newman.”

Clara’s voice came carefully from behind her. Seraphina didn't turn. Didn't need to.

“There’s a call from Mr. Black. He says it’s urgent.”

Of course it was.

Everything became urgent once death was involved.

“Put him through,” Seraphina said.

Darius Black never called without reason.

And he never sounded uncertain.

Today—

He did.

“He left something behind.”

Seraphina’s gaze sharpened slightly against the glass.

“Adrian?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“What kind of something?”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

“A note.”

Her breath didn’t catch.

Her expression didn’t shift.

But something inside her tightened.

“That’s not possible,” she said.

Michael hadn’t left one.

Lucas hadn’t left one.

They had died too suddenly.

Too violently.

Too completely.

But Adrian—

Adrian had time.

“Read it,” she said.

The line crackled faintly.

Then Darius spoke again, his voice lower now.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“There’s a pattern.”

“If anything happens to me—”

The line went quiet.

“Darius?”

He exhaled slowly.

“Don’t trust the six months.”

Silence followed. Not empty. Waiting.

Seraphina turned from the window slowly.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Darius admitted. “But there’s more.”

Her patience thinned.

“Say it.”

“He wrote your name.”

Her gaze sharpened.

“In what context?”

Darius hesitated.

Then—

“Tell Seraphina… I was wrong.”

Wrong. The word settled deep. Heavy.

“What was he wrong about?” she asked.

“I wish I knew.”

A memory surfaced.

Adrian standing across from her in dim light, restless, uncertain.

“You ever think about it?” he had asked.

“About what?”

“The others.”

At the time, she had dismissed it.

“There’s nothing to think about, Adrian.”

But now—

Now she wasn’t so sure.

“Send me the note,” she said.

“I already have.”

The call ended.

Silence returned. But this time— It wasn’t still.

Seraphina opened the email.

Adrian’s handwriting appeared on the screen.

Uneven. Rushed. Unlike him.

‘It’s not what it looks like.

There’s a pattern.

If anything happens to me—

Don’t trust the six months.

Tell Seraphina… I was wrong.’

Her eyes lingered on the last line.

“What exactly did you see?” she whispered.

No answer came.

Then—

Her phone rang again. The sound cut sharply through the quiet.

Different this time. Unfamiliar. Uninvited.

Seraphina looked at the screen.

Unknown number. She answered.

“Yes?”

Silence.

Then—

A voice.

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Seraphina’s gaze stilled.

“I’m sorry,” she said calmly. “Who is this?”

A bitter laugh answered her.

“You don’t recognize my voice.”

A pause.

“I’m Margaret Cole.”

Adrian’s aunt.

The memory returned instantly.

That look at the funeral—

sharp enough to wound.

“I warned him,” Margaret continued, her voice tightening. “I told him to stay away from you.”

Seraphina said nothing.

“I told him you were dangerous. That nothing good comes from getting close to you.”

A breath.

“And now he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Seraphina said.

“Don’t you dare.”

The sharpness cut through the air.

“Don’t pretend this is something that just happened.”

Seraphina’s eyes hardened slightly.

“Are you accusing me of something?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. No doubt.

“You are the common factor,” Margaret said. “Three men. Three engagements. Three funerals.”

Seraphina remained silent.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Margaret continued. “And I don’t believe your lies.”

A pause.

“They call you cursed.” Her voice dropped.

“But I think it’s worse than that.”

Seraphina’s fingers tightened around the phone.

“I think you are the curse.”

Silence stretched.

“And what exactly do you think I’ve done?” Seraphina asked.

“I think you destroy them,” Margaret said. “However you do it, I don't know.”

Another breath.

“But I will find out.”

A pause.

“And I will expose you.”

Seraphina turned slightly toward the window.

The city remained unchanged.

“You should be careful with accusations,” she said.

“No,” Margaret snapped. “You should be careful.”

Her voice dropped to something colder.

“I will tear through every lie, every secret around you…”

A pause.

“Until I prove what you are.”

“And what am I?” Seraphina asked.

The answer came instantly.

“A witch.”

The word hung heavy between them.

“And I will make sure the world sees it.”

The line went dead. And the silence returned.

But not the same silence. This one had weight.

Seraphina lowered the phone slowly.

Her reflection stared back at her from the dark screen.

Witch.

Her gaze shifted across the room— to the velvet tray. To the rings.

Three men. Three deaths. One pattern.

And now—

someone watching. Someone hunting.

She walked toward Adrian's ring slowly.

Picked it up. And held it firmly in her palm.

“Six months…”

A pattern. Not random. Not likely to be a coincidence.

Structured.

Her fingers tightened again.

For the first time—

the question changed.

Not ‘why are they dying?’

But—

what starts it?

Her gaze lifted toward the city.

Somewhere out there—

life continued. Unaware.

But around her— something else moved.

Quiet. Patient. Waiting.

Seraphina exhaled slowly.

Then placed the ring back on the tray.

Not as memory—but as evidence.

Because for the first time—

Seraphina Newman was no longer ignoring the pattern. She was watching it.

And whatever had taken three men from her—

Would not take a fourth.