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.

Dominic’s POV

I could still see it as if it were yesterday. The first time Adrian and I laid eyes on Seraphina.

We were in college then—two young men who had always competed with each other, whether in studies, sports, or even who could drink more at a party. But when she walked into that café near the campus, everything stopped.

She wasn’t even doing anything extraordinary—just ordering coffee with that quiet confidence, her hair loose around her shoulders, her smile polite. But something about her caught the light in a way that made the whole room turn.

I remember nudging Adrian with my elbow. “She’s beautiful.”

His gaze had already fixed on her, intense, like he had been waiting his whole life for her to arrive. “She’s mine,” he said simply, as though declaring it to the universe.

I scoffed. “Yours? We don’t even know her name.”

But Adrian was always the reckless one, the one who moved before thinking. A week later, he came to me grinning, saying he’d taken a job as her bodyguard. A bodyguard. Adrian didn’t need money—his family was well-off. I thought it was ridiculous. I mocked him for it too.

“You’re going to play watchdog just to get close to her?” I had laughed. “Come on, that’s so old school.”

I rolled my eyes at him, thinking it was another one of his reckless whims that would fade after a week. But it didn’t. Everywhere Seraphina went, Adrian followed—not just as a bodyguard, but as if he’d made it his mission to guard her heart too. He memorized her favorite coffee, the way she liked her books stacked, even the songs that made her smile. I watched from the sidelines, unsettled, irritated.

And maybe, if I’m honest, jealous. Because while I laughed at his foolishness, deep down I knew Adrian was winning something I hadn’t even dared to reach for.

He didn’t care. He was already falling. And soon enough, they became inseparable.

I told myself to let it go. That if she made him happy, fine. But there was something about Seraphina—something that unsettled me. The way she laughed, the way her eyes softened when she cared, the way she moved as though she belonged to no one yet could belong to everyone. And I wasn’t blind to the pull she had on me.

I flirted sometimes, casually, half to tease Adrian, half to test her reaction. A smile here, a compliment there. I thought it was harmless. But Adrian noticed. He always noticed.

One night, he grabbed me by the collar, shoving me back. His eyes burned with rage I had never seen before. “Don’t you dare look at her like that again. Don’t you dare, Dominic.”

“It’s just a joke,” I said, though deep down I knew it wasn’t.

“It’s not funny.” His fist tightened. “She’s mine. Not yours. Don’t forget that.”

That night, we fought—words sharper than any punches. And though we called it a misunderstanding later, I knew something between us had cracked. The bond we once had was no longer the same. And perhaps that was why, slowly, we drifted apart.

Then came the accident. I was the one drunk, driving, colliding with his car. He was declared brain dead for what happened. He didn’t survive… and I paid everyone to hide the fact that I was the one driving.

I can still see Seraphina’s face when they told her he was gone. She broke in front of me. She screamed, cried, begged the heavens. And I—selfish as I was—stepped into the gap his death left.

I comforted her. I offered her stability. I told myself it was love, told myself that I had finally won against Adrian, that he had always taken what he wanted and this time, fate had chosen me instead.

And she stayed. She gave me her years, her devotion, her warmth. For five years, she was by my side. And yet… when Helena came back into my life, I thought my heart still belonged to her. I thought it was Helena who held the key. But now…

Now as I knelt before the unrecognizable remains of Seraphina, as the DNA confirmed what my eyes refused to see, I felt something crack inside me. A weight crushing my chest, a pain I could not name. My heart ached—Adrian’s heart, beating inside me, mourning the woman he truly loved.

Or was it me? Was it Dominic, not Adrian, who couldn’t stop crying her name?

“Seraphina…” My voice broke, my tears falling freely, no longer caring who saw. “Why… why did you leave me?”

A sharp sting tore me from my grief. A slap. Helena stood before me, her face contorted with rage.

“How dare you leave me at the altar!” she screamed. “Do you know what you’ve done to me? Everyone’s talking right now—about her! About Seraphina! And here you are, crying over a dead body!”

I stared at her, stunned. “How dare you slap me—she’s dead, Helena!”

“So what? You wanted her dead, didn’t you?” she spat, her eyes glinting.

My fury surged, and before I could stop myself, I slapped her back. The sound cracked in the air, and silence fell around us. Helena touched her cheek, horrified. “You slapped me? Dominic?”

“You started it,” I hissed, my chest heaving. “Can’t you see? I’m grieving!”

She laughed bitterly. “Grieving? For her? Didn’t you say you never cared for her? Didn’t you say she was nothing but pity, nothing but guilt? Why now, Dominic? Why cry now, when she’s dead? Don’t tell me… don’t you dare tell me… that you love her.”

Her words pierced me. Love. The word I had denied, twisted, buried under excuses. My lips parted, but no sound came. I shook my head, unable to answer.

Finally, I whispered, “Just… not like this. She can’t die. Not when she filed a case against me. She can’t leave without paying for it.”

But deep down, I knew. My heart wasn’t breaking because of the case. It wasn’t guilt alone. It was love. Too late, too broken, too poisoned by pride.

Seraphina was gone. And the truth I never dared admit tore me apart: she had truly loved me, and I had destroyed her.