The fever hit me like a hammer after the pool. My body shook violently beneath the damp clothes clinging to my skin, chills sinking deep into my bones. Each cough tore at my throat as if shards of glass were lodged inside. My skin burned fiercely, yet I shivered uncontrollably.

And then she appeared.

Helena. Poised by my bedside, a basin and towel in hand, pretending the act of care came from a place of tenderness. Her voice dripped with feigned sweetness. “Shh… calm down, Seraphina. Rest now. You’ll be fine,” she cooed.

I remembered Dominic’s warning clearly, his sharp tone slicing through my memory: “Don’t waste your time on her, Helena.” But she ignored him, playing the part of the compassionate angel while I lay frail and helpless.

I forced my eyes shut, swallowing the tears, pretending her touch was genuine. But the moment Dominic left, her demeanor shifted. The mask fell.

“You’re not his wife,” she hissed, close to my ear, the words cold and cutting. “You were never anything more than a bed warmer. That’s your entire value. Now that I’m here? It’s over for you. Understood?”

I couldn’t answer. My throat was dry, my body shaking.

She pressed a glass of water to my lips. “Drink.”

I tried to refuse, weakly shaking my head, but she forced the liquid down until it mingled with bile in my stomach. Moments later, I bent forward, vomiting violently. Tears streaked my cheeks, burning my eyes.

Helena stepped back, an ugly smirk curling her lips. “Pathetic,” she muttered. “Sick, weak, and useless. Why would Dominic ever care about someone like you when he has me?”

And just like that, she left me trembling, fever blurring the edges of the room.

Later, I heard Dominic’s cheerful voice outside—light, casual, as if the cruelty of the world wasn’t crushing me beneath it. “Come on, Helena. Let’s go enjoy our date.”

They left together.

I drifted into a fevered sleep with the sound of their laughter echoing in my ears, my body heavy with illness, my heart heavier still.

When I awoke, the fever had broken. My body ached, but I could move without collapsing. The room was empty. No Dominic. No Helena. Not even a single maid in sight.

I rang for assistance, and eventually a maid appeared—but she wouldn’t meet my gaze. Her lips were pressed tight; her posture stiff. I asked where Dominic was. She only bowed her head and walked away.

Confusion and dread clawed at me. I turned on the television, and the headline hit like lightning.

“Second Chances: Dominic Blackwood to Wed Helena Moore at Sunset Today.”

Images flashed on the screen—Dominic in his tailored suit, Helena radiant in her gown, smiling like the world owed them nothing. The anchor gushed, “A wedding of love reborn… destiny fulfilled…”

My body went rigid.

So that was it. Fine. They could have their perfect sunset wedding. But I wouldn’t leave empty-handed.

I dragged my aching body to his office. Every shelf, every drawer, I searched. My eyes landed on the safe tucked in the corner.

My hands trembled as I typed combination after combination. Nothing. Then I noticed the photo on his desk—Helena, smiling, her arm linked with his. Her birthday. I typed it in. Click. The lock opened.

Inside were stacks of documents, bundles of cash, and a single flash drive. I knew. This was it. I plugged it into his laptop, holding my breath.

Reports, witness statements, confidential police files. Not just an accident. Not just guilt. Proof. Dominic had killed Adrian—and covered it up.

Tears blurred my vision as I gripped the flash drive like it was a lifeline. I called the police from his office phone, voice trembling. “I have evidence,” I whispered. “Adrian Cole’s death… it wasn’t an accident. I’m filing a case.”

After that, I packed in a fury, stuffing my clothes, documents, and small savings into a suitcase. Every movement fueled by rage and sorrow.

As I stepped outside, my brother waited by the car. Arms crossed, eyes sharp, softening only when they met mine.

“You’re ready?” he asked.

I nodded, tears brimming, voice shaking but firm. “Yes.”

He opened the car door. “Then let’s go.”

We drove through the city in silence. Lights streaked past as the sunset painted the horizon. At the airstrip, a private plane awaited. He guided me aboard, steadying my shaking hands.

As the engines roared, the world shrinking beneath us, I pulled out my phone one last time. Dominic’s number still at the top. I took a deep breath, removed the SIM card, and tossed it into the wind.

I was gone. And this time, there would be no return.

---

Dominic’s POV

I adjusted my cufflinks—the ones Helena had chosen. Today was supposed to mark a fresh start, a chance to bury the ghosts of my past.

The door creaked. I turned, expecting a staff member. Instead, two uniformed officers stepped in, faces unreadable.

“Mr. Blackwood,” one said, voice firm. “You are under arrest for the death of Adrian Cole.”

I laughed, though my throat constricted. “What? That’s impossible. Everyone knows it was an accident.”

The officer moved closer, holding a folder. “We have new evidence—a flash drive sent directly to us by Ms. Seraphina.”

Her name hit me like a blow. “Seraphina? Where is she? Bring her here!”

“She’s not present,” the officer replied, expression flat.

I snatched my phone, dialing her number over and over. Rings echoed, unanswered. Then dead silence.

The butler entered quietly, eyes wary. “Sir… she’s not picking up your calls.”

Helena’s voice trembled behind me. “Dominic… what’s happening? Why are they saying this? Why—”

“Shut up!” I barked, chest tightening, mind spinning. Evidence. Betrayal. Seraphina. Nothing added up. She wouldn’t dare. She couldn’t.

Then the butler’s phone buzzed. He answered, face paling. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to me.

“Sir… we just received a traffic incident report. Miss Seraphina… she was hit by a twelve-wheeler truck. She… is dead.”

Dominic’s POV

“Sir…” The butler’s voice cracked like glass. His eyes couldn’t meet mine. “We just received a traffic incident report.”

My chest tightened. Something in his tone made my blood run cold.

He swallowed, trembling. “…Miss Seraphina was hit by a 12-wheeler truck. They say… she’s dead.”

For a moment, the world turned silent. My jaw clenched, my breath stuck in my throat. Dead?

Then I laughed. A hollow, broken sound. “A… truck? And you’re saying she’s dead?” My head snapped up, eyes blazing. I shook my head violently, as if I could shake the words away. “No. No, no, no. That woman should have nine lives! You hear me? Nine lives! She cannot be dead. That is impossible!”

The butler’s lips trembled, but he said nothing.

I became hysterical, my fists slamming against the dresser. “If this is her prank again—her pathetic little game to get my attention because I’m marrying Helena—then tell her to quit it!” My chest heaved. “Do you hear me? Quit it! I am not postponing this wedding. Not for her. Never for her!”

Behind me, Helena gasped, her painted lips parting in horror. “What? Dead?” She clutched her chest, feigning panic. “Oh my God, Dominic, is this true? Is this… is this a bad omen? Is she… is she cursing us? On our wedding day?”

I spun to her, my face twisted with denial. “No! Nothing. Let her. She’s not dead. She’s doing what she always does—trying to get my attention.” I let out a harsh laugh. “She’s done this before. She storms out, slams doors, shouts about leaving me forever… then comes back, crying that she has nowhere to go.”

A memory burned through me—Seraphina’s tear-streaked face, standing outside in the rain years ago, suitcase in hand, whispering, “I can’t do this anymore.” Her voice had been hoarse from crying, her fingers white from clutching the handle of that cheap, worn-out luggage.

I remembered how she had stormed out of the house that night after we argued about Helena, saying she was tired of always being second place, tired of feeling like a shadow. She swore she would leave me for good. I watched from the window as she dragged the suitcase down the driveway, her thin frame trembling under the downpour.

For hours she didn’t come back. I had half expected her to vanish completely, to disappear into the city and never return. But when midnight fell, the doorbell rang. And there she was—soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her cheeks, shivering violently. The suitcase was abandoned on the porch, her knees buckling as she whispered, “I have nowhere else to go.”

She collapsed against me, fists weakly hitting my chest before they clung to me instead. “Don’t abandon me,” she sobbed. “Even if you don’t love me… don’t leave me alone.”

Yes. That was Seraphina. She always came back. She couldn’t leave me. She never could.

Helena, still clutching her veil, pressed closer. Her voice shook, dripping with desperation. “Dominic, are you sure? Should we… maybe postpone the ceremony? What if—”

I grabbed her wrist, forcing her gaze to mine. “No. We go on. This wedding will happen. You are mine, Helena. Nothing—nothing—will stop it.”

She nodded weakly, though her eyes gleamed with a satisfaction she tried to hide.

As she left to finish preparing, I snapped at my men. “Find her. Now. If Seraphina is faking her death, if she thinks she can humiliate me on my wedding day—punish her. Teach her what happens when she mocks me.”

The butler hesitated, voice trembling. “But… sir…”

“No!” I barked. My hands trembled, rage masking fear. “I will not accept it. She is not dead. This wedding will continue.”

And then the police butt in again. “You’ll have to come with us. We have the warrant—”

I spun to my butler, fury burning through me. “Settle it. Pay them. Now. No one—no one—ruins this wedding. Not Seraphina, not the police, not anyone.”

The hall glittered with flowers and chandeliers, a stage built for victory. Guests whispered, smiling, as though nothing had touched us. I stood at the altar, my smile forced, my chest heavy. The priests waited. The music swelled.

And then Helena walked toward me, glowing in white, every inch the perfect bride.

But before her footsteps reached me, one of the butlers stumbled inside, pale, shaking. “Sir… forgive me…” His voice cracked. “…It was really her.”

I froze.

He held out a tablet, his hands trembling. The photo on the screen made my stomach drop. A body—crushed, mangled, unrecognizable, but clothed in the hospital gown Seraphina had worn.

My throat closed.

The butler’s whisper pierced me. “The detective wants to talk to you. They confirmed it’s Miss Seraphina.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My heart twisted painfully, a foreign ache stabbing my chest. And then I understood—it wasn’t my grief. No. It was Adrian’s heart inside me. Adrian, who had loved Seraphina more than his own life. Adrian, who would bleed forever for her.

Tears spilled before I could stop them.

But I gritted my teeth, forcing the ache down. “I don’t care,” I whispered, voice breaking. “Tell them… tell them it was her. And so be it.”

And then—I smiled. I turned my eyes back to Helena, radiant as she reached the altar.

She was the one. She had always been the one. If I kept saying it, maybe it would be true.

The priest began his words. Guests leaned forward. Helena’s hand slipped into mine. My lips curved into the smile they expected.

“Do you, Dominic Blackwood, take Helena—”

The world blurred.

Her face flickered. It wasn’t Helena before me—it was Seraphina. Pale, trembling, her eyes wet with betrayal.

My chest convulsed. My mouth dried.

“I…” The word stuck in my throat.

Helena’s eyes widened. The room held its breath.

And then I tore my hand from hers. I stepped back, stumbling.

“No…” My voice broke, raw and hoarse. My gaze darted, searching for a ghost I could never find.

“No. Seraphina…”

Gasps rippled through the guests. Helena screamed, her voice sharp, hysterical. “Dominic! What are you doing?!”

But I was already running. Away from the altar, away from the wedding, away from Helena’s cries.

Only one name echoed in my chest, pounding against Adrian’s cursed heart.

“Seraphina…”

Helena’s scream echoed through the hall, sharp and panicked, slicing through the murmurs of the wedding guests. Her voice cracked, raw with desperation.

“Dominic! Dominic, wait for me! Don’t leave me!”

She ran after him, her gown tangling around her legs, her jeweled heels clicking violently against the marble floor. But her steps were frantic, clumsy, driven more by fear than grace. People turned in their seats, some rising, phones already lifted, recording the chaos.

Gasps followed her as she stumbled, her veil slipping, hair loosening from its perfect bun. Her voice carried, shrill and frantic. “Dominic, please! Don’t go! Tell me it’s not true—tell me it’s not her!”

Click. Flash. The blinding light of cameras filled her vision, each shot capturing her unraveling. Guests whispered, some horrified, some entertained, their voices a cruel chorus.

“What’s happening?”

“Why is she running like that?”

“Is it true—something about Seraphina?”

“Who’s Seraphina? Wasn’t this supposed to be Dominic’s wedding day?”

The whispers spread like wildfire, every word another lash against Helena’s pride. She tried to push forward, ignoring the laughter, the questions, the hundreds of eyes dissecting her humiliation. Her chest tightened, and her breaths grew shallow. The floor tilted, faces blurred, and the walls seemed to close in.

Her knees buckled, her heel twisted violently, and she crashed to the marble with a sickening crack. The crowd gasped again, phones flashing as her gown pooled around her like a broken veil of silk.

“Seraphina…” she whispered once, the name trembling from her lips like a curse and a prayer.

Her heart thundered painfully, her breaths rasped, and then the weight of fear, shame, and exhaustion dragged her under. She collapsed completely, fainting amidst the chaos, her body sprawled on the cold floor—immortalized in the lenses of dozens of phones.

But Dominic never saw her fall.

He was already out the doors, running into the night, chasing the nightmare he refused to believe. His voice ripped through the chaos of sirens and flashing lights.

“Seraphina! Where is she?! Let me see her!”

The scene was chaos—a mangled body covered by a white sheet, blood smeared on the asphalt, the metallic tang filling the air. Dominic’s breath seized in his lungs as he stumbled forward.

The police held him back. “Sir, please, you can’t go closer yet—”

“Move!” he snarled, thrashing against their grip, his eyes wild, desperate. “I need to see her!”

An officer stepped forward, his voice grim. “Mr. Blackwood… the victim’s identification confirms it. It’s Seraphina Reyes. We’re still waiting for DNA results, but the documents and belongings recovered—everything matches her.”

Dominic’s face twisted, his jaw tight. “No. No, that’s not her. That can’t be her!” His voice broke into a near-hysterical shout. “Do you hear me? That’s not Seraphina! She can’t die like this. She—she doesn’t just disappear!”

“Sir—”

“Find her!” he roared, his body shaking with fury and fear. “Look again! Do you hear me? She’s not dead! She wouldn’t leave me like this!”

But the sheet did not move. The stillness of the body beneath was an answer crueler than any words.

For hours, Dominic refused to leave the site. He paced, cursed, shouted at the officers, clung to denial as though it could keep her alive. But then, as dawn crept pale across the horizon, the truth arrived.

DNA confirmed.

Seraphina Reyes.

Dominic’s knees buckled. He fell, his palms smacking the wet pavement, his tears streaming without shame. A raw sound tore from his throat, half-scream, half-sob. His body shook violently, as though the world had ripped him apart.

“Seraphina!” he cried, voice breaking. “Seraphina, come back! You can’t do this to me!”

The officers gave him space, but their silence was heavy. The truth hung there, undeniable, crushing.

Rage replaced grief. Dominic staggered to his feet, his face wet with tears, his voice cracking as he demanded, “Where is the driver?! Who did this to her?!”

“The truck driver fled,” an officer admitted. “We’re still searching. A warrant has been issued—”

“Not enough!” Dominic bellowed. His hands balled into fists, trembling with fury. “I want him dragged to me in chains! Do you hear me? I’ll pay—reward money, as much as it takes! Triple, quadruple, I don’t care! Bring him to me, or I’ll destroy every one of you for failing her!”

The police tried to calm him, but he shoved them aside, his grief morphing into wild obsession. “Put him in jail! Let him rot! He killed her—he killed my Seraphina—” His voice cracked again, collapsing into sobs.

He dropped to his knees once more, clutching his chest, his breath coming in broken gasps. His body convulsed with the pain in his heart, sharp and unbearable. It felt like the very organ inside him was tearing apart.

And maybe it was.

Adrian’s heart. The one that beat inside him now. The one that had always belonged to Seraphina first. Maybe this was why it hurt so much. Maybe this was why every cry he let out was heavier, sharper, filled with more anguish than he could understand.

Or maybe it wasn’t Adrian at all.

Maybe it was him.

For years he told himself Seraphina was nothing but convenience. That she was pity. That she was never love. Yet here he was, on his knees in the middle of the street, sobbing her name, begging the universe to give her back.

Because somewhere in the years, without admitting it, without realizing it—he had loved her. Truly, deeply, helplessly.

And now, she was gone.

His hands clawed against the pavement, his voice hoarse, broken. “Seraphina… Seraphina… please, don’t leave me…”

The sirens faded, the murmurs of the crowd dimmed, but his cries remained, echoing into the night, carried on the wind.

No one—not even Dominic himself—could tell if it was Adrian’s heart breaking inside him, or Dominic’s own. All that was certain was that Seraphina had taken both with her, leaving him hollow, shattered, undone.