Chapter 1:The cold before the rain
The rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Carter estate didn’t sound like water. It sounded like small, sharp stones thrown against glass.
Seraphina pulled her silk robe tighter around her shoulders, but it didn't help. The chill wasn't in the room; it was in her blood.
She tried to reach for the tea on the nightstand, but her hand trembled so violently that her knuckles caught the edge of the ceramic saucer. The cup tipped. Warm, dark Earl Grey splashed across the mahogany table and seeped into the open pages of her leather sketchbook.
"Damn it..." she whispered. Her voice was thin, like paper left out in the sun.
She leaned down to wipe it with her sleeve, but her knees buckled. Her shin cracked hard against the sharp corner of the bed frame—a dull, thumping pain that barely registered compared to the icy fire burning through her veins for the past three months.
*Three months.* Ever since the night at the docks when the shadow stepped out from behind the shipping containers. She remembered the glint of the blade, the cold metal sliding into her ribs as she threw her body between the assassin and David.
They had saved his life. But the knife had been coated in something rare and slow—a refined extract of wolfsbane that the doctors couldn't neutralize. It had been eating her alive from the inside out ever since.
The heavy oak doors of the bedroom clicked open.
David walked in. He looked exhausted. His charcoal suit jacket was draped over his arm, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes. At twentyeight, he ran a multi-billion-dollar logistics empire, yet right now, he looked entirely hollowed out.
He stopped when he saw her on the floor, holding her bruised shin, the spilled tea dripping onto the rug.
"Seraphina," he said, his voice flat, controlled, and heavy with that awful, familiar restraint. He crossed the room in three quick strides, reaching down to pull her up by the arms. "Why didn't you call the nurse?"
"I just wanted some tea, David," she said quietly, letting him lift her back onto the bed. "I can still move my arms."He didn't answer. He took a hand-towel from the bathroom, wiped the spilled Earl Grey off the
mahogany table, tossed the damp cloth into the hamper, and immediately checked his watch.
He didn't ask if the tea had burned her fingers. He just straightened the items on her nightstand
into neat, parallel lines.
This was David Carter. He didn't yell. He didn't cry. He just managed things.
"Evelyn’s doctor called," David said, his back turned to her as he picked up her ruined
sketchbook. "Her autoimmune flare-up is worsening. The stress of... everything lately has
brought on another attack. She’s back on a respirator at St. Jude’s."
Seraphina let out a short, lifeless laugh that dissolved into a violent coughing fit. She wiped her
mouth with a tissue. "Of course she is. Every time you stay home with me for more than two
hours, Evelyn has a medical emergency."
David’s hands stilled on the notebook. He turned his head, his dark eyes narrowing slightly.
"She’s sick, Seraphina. She has been since we were teenagers. You know what she gave up
for this family."
"I know what she *tells* you she gave up," Seraphina corrected, leaning her head back against
the pillows. She felt so tired. So terribly tired. "David... I saved your life three months ago. I took
a poisoned blade for you. And yet, every time I ask you to stay, to just talk to me, you leave to
hold her hand."
"It’s not the same," he said coldly, setting the sketchbook down. "You have a full team of private
doctors here. Evelyn is fragile. She has no one else."
"She has no one else," David said.
Seraphina closed her eyes. "Six years, David. Six years of that exact sentence every time I ask
you to stay.”
The door chimes hummed from the main hallway downstairs. A moment later, the bedroom door
opened again. Evelyn stepped into the frame, leaning heavily on a brass cane, a silk scarf
wrapped loosely around her pale neck.
She didn't look like someone on a respirator.
"David..." Evelyn murmured, her voice breathless and delicate. "I'm sorry to intrude. The driver
brought me from the clinic. I... I couldn't sleep. The pain was too bad, and I was frightened."
David immediately stepped past Seraphina's bed, catching Evelyn by the elbow before she
could stumble. "You shouldn't have left the hospital.""I missed you," Evelyn whispered. She glanced over David’s shoulder, her eyes locking with Seraphina’s.
For a fraction of a second, the weakness vanished from Evelyn's face. In its place was a sharp, triumphant curve of her lips—a silent message that only Seraphina was meant to see.
*He will always choose me.*
David didn't catch it. He was already pulling his jacket back on. "I'll take her back to the clinic myself," he said, not looking Seraphina in the eye. "I'll be back before midnight." "Don't bother," Seraphina said softly. David paused near the threshold. "What?"
"Don't come back tonight," she repeated. Her heartbeat was slowing down now, heavy and uneven, like a clock running out of spring. "Or tomorrow."
David frowned, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "We’ll talk about this when I get back, Seraphina. Don't be dramatic." The door closed behind them. Their footsteps faded down the long carpeted hallway.
Seraphina lay in the quiet room, listening to the rain hit the glass. The poison was moving faster now, an icy knot tightening in her chest, making it hard to draw air. She reached out to touch the wooden bedframe, her fingers slipping against the polished surface until her hand slumped onto her lap.
Six years. She had wasted six years chasing a man who treated his marriage like a corporate duty and his sister like a sacred shrine. She had abandoned her own ambitions, her own career, her own life—all for a love that felt like trying to warm her hands over a block of ice.
*If there's another life...* she thought, her vision blurring into dark, heavy spots as her eyelids grew impossibly heavy. *If I ever get to breathe again... I will never love you, David Carter. I won't even remember your name.*
She closed her eyes. The cold took over completely. ---
