Chapter 3
1172 Words
Seraphina Vale did not slow down until she had put several streets between herself and the bar. Her steps were rushed and uneven, her body moving on pure instinct while her thoughts tangled into knots.
She had kissed him.
She had kissed Lucien Blackthorne.
The realization slammed into her chest with brutal clarity, stealing the air from her lungs. What on earth had she been thinking? What kind of impulse possessed her to do something so reckless, so out of character, so dangerous?
The moment she stepped fully into the open night, the cold air struck her face like punishment. It burned her skin and crept beneath her coat, forcing a sharp breath from her chest. Maybe it was the wind. Or maybe it was the sudden crash of adrenaline leaving her body all at once.
Seraphina stopped beside a streetlamp and leaned back against the cold metal pole. Her fingers trembled as she pressed them to her lips, as if rubbing hard enough might erase the memory completely. The heat. The closeness. The way her heart had nearly burst when she felt him still beneath her touch.
He had not kissed her back. Not in the way she imagined or hoped. Not like a man desperate for a woman. But he had not pulled away either. He had stayed still and allowed it to happen. That fact alone unsettled her more than rejection ever could.
If she had pushed just a little more, she might have found out the truth. Whether he wanted her. Or whether he had only been indulging a moment of weakness.
Seraphina lifted her eyes toward the dark sky, blinking rapidly.
What now? This was supposed to feel powerful. It was meant to give her control. It was meant to be revenge. Instead, she felt unsteady, exposed, and strangely hollow.
“Seraphina?”
Her entire body stiffened.
She turned slowly, dread pooling in her stomach. Adrian Hawke stood a few steps away, hands relaxed, posture careless, as if he had not shattered her world just weeks ago.
He looked effortlessly confident. His sleeves were rolled up, collar open, that familiar crooked smile resting on his lips. Once, she might have found him irresistible. Now, all she could see was arrogance wrapped in charm.
“I thought that was you,” Adrian said lightly. “Didn’t expect to see you storming out of my uncle’s favorite bar.”
Her stomach sank.
He stepped closer, tilting his head as he studied her face. “So,” he continued, voice laced with mock curiosity, “what were you doing in there? Trying to convince him to invest in your little sob story?”
Seraphina stayed silent. She didn’t trust herself to speak. One wrong word and she might scream.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed as realization dawned. He glanced toward the bar entrance, then back at her, his mouth slowly curling into disbelief.
“Wait,” he said. “You didn’t.”
She forced herself to blink calmly. “Didn’t what?”
His expression twisted between laughter and shock. “You kissed him,” he said. “Didn’t you?”
She said nothing. She didn’t need to.
“Wow,” Adrian scoffed. “You’re even more pathetic than I thought.”
Something inside her snapped.
Seraphina straightened and stepped closer, refusing to back down. Her voice dropped, controlled and sharp. “Do not confuse grief with weakness,” she said. “And do not mistake cruelty for intelligence.”
For the first time, his smirk faltered.
She smiled then. Sweet. Deliberate. “And if I were desperate,” she added softly, “I would still choose a man who actually knows how to use his mouth.”
His expression darkened instantly. “You think kissing my uncle will make me jealous?”
She leaned in just enough for him to hear her whisper. “I don’t want you jealous,” she said calmly. “I want you embarrassed.”
Back inside the bar…
Lucien Blackthorne finally stood once Seraphina walked away from Adrian. Remaining on that stool had become unbearable. Her presence still clung to him like smoke, lingering in his lungs, under his skin.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, jaw tight as he selected a contact.
“Jackson,” he said when the call connected. “I need information on someone.”
“Name?” came the reply.
Lucien turned away from the glass doors. “Seraphina Vale.”
A brief pause followed. “That’s Adrian Hawke’s girlfriend.”
Lucien’s voice hardened. “Not anymore.”
Later that night…
Seraphina stepped into her apartment and kicked off her heels with a tired sigh. The silence felt loud as she curled her toes into the thin carpet, grounding herself in the familiarity of her small living space.
She poured herself a glass of water, hands still shaking, and perched on the edge of the couch as if relaxing too much might cause her to fall apart completely.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
A message from Adrian: You’re insane.
Another followed quickly: My uncle? Seriously?
She flipped the phone face down and exhaled. She didn’t owe him an explanation. Not anymore.
Across town…
Lucien sat alone in his car, engine running, heat humming softly as the city slept around him. Yet nothing warmed the chill creeping up his spine.
Seraphina Vale.
He had barely noticed her before tonight. Now she occupied every corner of his thoughts. The way she had looked at him. The way she kissed him like she was shedding an old version of herself and reaching for something new.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
She was young. Adrian’s ex. Too inexperienced to understand what she was playing with. She should not matter to him at all.
“Mr. Blackthorne?” Jackson’s voice came through the speakers. “I have the basics.”
Lucien closed his eyes. “Go on.”
“Seraphina Vale. Twenty-three. Lives alone. Took a break from her master’s program after her mother’s death. Former publishing assistant. No criminal record. Degree in psychology.”
Lucien let out a quiet breath. “She’s intelligent.”
“Smart enough to stay away from you,” Jackson replied.
Lucien said nothing.
“Want me to dig deeper?”
“Not yet.”
The next morning…
Seraphina woke to multiple missed calls from her best friend, Amara. Before she could react, the phone rang again.
She answered with a tired groan. “What?”
“Are you alive?” Amara shrieked. “And more importantly, did you really kiss Lucien Blackthorne?”
Seraphina sank back into the couch. “It was one kiss,” she muttered. “A bad decision.”
“That man is emotional destruction in a suit,” Amara laughed. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Seraphina buried her face in a pillow. “Can we not talk about this?”
“Too late,” Amara said cheerfully. “Everyone already is.”
Seraphina sighed. “Wonderful.”
- Writer
