Revenge on my ex husband

Chapter 4

Seraphina's POV

It had been two weeks since the surgeons were finished with their work, and I had spent most of that looking at a face in the mirror that was mine but felt completely alien due to the way the scars had been painstakingly etched into my skin. Uncle Silas had made all the arrangements for a private wing in the Convalescent where no one could come in without his consent, so I paced up and down the long halls trying to regain my strength and Catherine kept me company in the little lounge.

“Cillian Blackwood is not one of the others, you must keep that in mind,” Catherine warned me as she gestured to a picture of a man with dark hair and eyes that could “see through bricks.”

“He's the one your father selected to be your future husband before you were sent away, and he has a memory like a steel trap, so don’t imagine for one moment that he will be easy to fool.”

“Is Seraphina the only thing he really cares about, or is he just eyeing the merger?” I pressed, but before she could respond, the solid oak doors at the end of the corridor swung open. Heavy, rhythmic footfalls came to my ears, and Silas rose without hesitation, his face apprehensive as a man entered the chamber.

He was wearing a suit that probably cost more than my old house, and he didn't wait for an invitation before he walked right up to me.

"I heard the lost princess had returned from the dead, but I never thought she'd be so well-rested after fifteen years in a padded cell," he said, his voice a deep, smooth rumble.

Cillian, she’s still healing and her mind fragile, so I’d be grateful if you didn’t come crashing through here like you always do.” Silas moved to stand between us.

Cillian just glanced past Silas as if he wasn’t there at all. “Is she fragile, Silas? Or is she just quiet?”

I remembered what Seraphina told me about pretending to be broken, so I dropped my eyes and let my hands shake as I grasped the hospital gown.

"I don't know you, please go away," I said, my voice high and thin.

“You don’t know me?” Cillian inquired, moving closer, allowing me to catch the scent of his cologne.

“That’s funny, because when we were five, you sank your teeth into my hand so hard I still have the scar, and you told me you’d never forget the boy who tried to steal your favorite book. He extended his hand, grasped my wrist before I could pull away, and he didn't release it, rather he placed his thumb over my pulse.

“The Seraphina I knew was a wild animal who hated being touched, and yet here you are, sitting perfectly still as a stranger holds you,” he commented. "Not that your heart is racing the way a victim’s should be, but tell me, why are you so calm?"

"The trauma and the drugs have changed her, Cillian, surely you can understand that," Catherine tried to intervene, but he just laughed.

“Trauma alters people but it doesn’t alter the basic biology of fear, and this woman doesn’t smell like fear, she smells like a woman who is waiting for an opportunity to strike,” he said, retrieving a small, sterilized kit from his breastcoat pocket. "If you truly are the person you claim to be, then it shan't be any trouble to provide me with a small DNA sample I can use to confirm that my soon-to-be bride isn't an impostor sent on my stepmother's behalf."

"You think you can just come in here and treat me like a thing because I was gone?" I shouted, letting some of my fake anger break through the mask. "After letting my step mom keep your fiancee in a mental institution for a decade and a half, you don't get to call me a fraud!!"

Instead of pulling the pack away, he leaned down and examined the scars on my arm. “The scars look sufficiently real, and the face is an exact match, but there’s something in your eyes that belongs to a woman who has seen things a Lot Darker Than a Girl in an Asylum,” he said in a whisper.

I attempted to withdraw my hand, but he held on tighter and withdrew a small scalpel from the kit.

“You have two choices, you can let me have this sample and we’ll see what the lab says, or you can tell me now whose face you took,” he said, and the room went quiet.

“Silas, call security,” Catherine said, but Silas was rooted to the spot as Cillian dismissed them both.

“My name is Seraphina Thorne, and if you lay a finger on me with that blade, I will personally make sure my father knows that you attacked me in my own hospital bed," I lied, my voice calm.

"Is that so?" He bent down until his lips were just beside my ear. "I've already investigated the crash site and found a scrap of red dress caught among the branches by the side of the stream, which is odd, considering that the records have Seraphina wearing white when she left the asylum."

My breath caught, but I stayed frozen. I muttered, "I don't know anything about a red dress."

“I don’t need the DNA to know you’re a fake, but I’m going to take it anyway just to find out how much Silas paid to have you made,” he said, and as he reached for my face, I knew my time was up if I didn’t change my game right now.

"Wait," I said, my voice dropping back to its natural, cold register. "If you take that sample, you lose your leverage, and I know a man like you never gives up leverage for free."

Cillian paused, the blade just inches from my cheek, and a slow smirk spread across his face. "Finally, the real woman speaks, so let's talk about what you're actually doing in this bed.”