Chapter 18
“I don’t know what I’m doing here…”
Night has fallen over the Northern Quarter, as if Manchester had decided to shut itself away in a silent exhaustion that soaks the streets and blurs the neon lights. Nerissa Ashcombe stands motionless for several seconds in front of the pub’s fogged-up window before deciding to push open the door.
As soon as she crosses the threshold, the scent of aged whiskey and beer completely envelops her.
The music playing in the background barely muffles the constant murmur of scattered conversations around her.
And that is precisely what she is looking for—the noise of others, a refuge where no one recognizes her as the brilliant orthopedic surgeon who saves athletic careers, nor as the woman who, once again, has just been shut out of Seraphina Chapman’s life.
Although no one knows about that last part. No one, according to her, of course.
Daphne is already waiting for her at the back, seated in one of the private booths. She’s wearing a black turtleneck sweater and her hair is hanging loose. As soon as she sees her walk in, she looks up.
“I thought you were finally going to change your mind,” Daphne says as she approaches the table.
Nerissa drapes her coat over the back of the chair and sits down across from her. She sighs before answering.
“Well, I almost did. I had a horrible day at the clinic, and I didn’t feel like doing anything.”
Daphne studies her closely for a few seconds, noting the dark circles under her eyes, the tightness of her lips, and the shadow of exhaustion clouding her expression.
“Well, it was just a bad day,” Daphne says.
Nerissa looks away toward the bar and gives the bartender a discreet nod.
“Give me a straight whiskey, please.”
Daphne sighs and orders the same. Then she waits for the bartender to walk away before speaking again.
“Maeve called me this afternoon. She’s worried about you too.”
“Sure, of course. Because now my ex and my best friend are close. Damn it.”
Nerissa feels the exhaustion growing inside her.
“Maeve lives in a constant state of worry about everyone.”
“And you’ve been acting for weeks as if you’re trying to destroy yourself little by little,” Daphne adds sincerely, without raising her voice.
Nerissa lets out a laugh as she taps her fingers on the wood.
“You’re so observant. Always so attentive to my personal disasters.”
Daphne doesn’t respond to the provocation. That’s one of the qualities Nerissa admired—or hated—most about her. The ability to never engage in a battle when she senses the blow stems from pain. Instead, she remains silent and looks at her with infinite patience.
The waiter sets the glass down in front of Nerissa. She grabs it immediately and takes a long, deep swallow. The alcohol burns her throat and chest, but she welcomes the sensation because, for a few seconds, it pushes aside the memory of Seraphina treating her like shit.
Obviously, she doesn’t succeed. Because inside her head, a swarm of thoughts keeps replaying the icy, distant voice of Seraphina when she said, “I’d appreciate it if you maintained your professionalism.”
“She used me. Again…”
Daphne watches her in silence for a moment.
“What did she do this time?” she asks after a while.
Nerissa grips the glass between her fingers until her knuckles turn white.
“Nothing she hasn’t done before. It’s her usual pattern.”
“Then she has done something,” Daphne insists.
Nerissa closes her eyes for a moment, fighting the urge to get up and leave. It’s not exactly common to be talking about how the woman you’re in love with keeps tearing you apart in front of the woman you yourself tore apart by cheating on her for months.
She sighs.
“She’s cut me out of her life again,” she murmurs and shrugs before taking another sip of whiskey. “I was such an idiot to think that this time things would actually change, that she’d end her laughable marriage to choose me.”
Daphne lowers her head and strokes the back of her hand.
“She couldn’t even look me in the face while she told me to fuck off,” Nerissa continues.
That infuriates her even more. She downs the rest of her whiskey in another long swallow and signals for another.
“I’ve gone from being a real person for one weekend to becoming, once again, the problem that needs to be swept under the rug. ”
“You don’t deserve to live like this, trapped in this constant cycle.”
Nerissa senses the immediate danger. Daphne has always known exactly how to touch her raw spots—not physically, but emotionally.
“Please don’t start,” Nerissa pleads, exhausted.
“I’m not attacking you,” Daphne clarifies calmly. “I’m just saying what I see.”
“Everyone ends up attacking her,” Nerissa retorts, looking up sharply.
Daphne holds her gaze without flinching.
“And don’t you think she deserves it? It seems like all she wants is to play with you. That she doesn’t care about anything else.”
Suddenly, rain beats against the pub’s windows. The music shifts to a slow melody of guitar and piano that fills the space between them. For a moment, Nerissa feels such deep exhaustion that she almost struggles to stay upright in her seat.
Daphne reaches across the table and gently brushes a strand of hair from her forehead.
The gesture is so familiar and affectionate that Nerissa’s heart sinks.
With Seraphina, there are never those quiet moments.
Everything with her happens in a hurry, in the shadows, as if time were always about to run out.
With Daphne, on the other hand, things have always flowed naturally.
But love never follows a set of rules.
“She’s not going to change,” Daphne murmurs, without removing her hand. “She’ll never give up her last name, her investment funds, or her gala dinners for you. You know that as well as I do. And Maeve thinks the same thing.”
Nerissa looks down at her empty glass.
“Daphne… I didn’t come here for this.”
“I know,” Daphne replies, moving her seat a little closer. “But look at yourself. You’re exhausted, shattered, and you’re still defending her.”
Nerissa swallows hard.
“I’m fine. I’ll survive, like always.”
“No. You’re a wreck,” Daphne asserts, and it pisses Nerissa off that she’s so right. “Let someone who truly loves you in the light of day take care of you.”
Nerissa feels an immediate twinge behind her ribs.
In the light of day. That is exactly what Seraphina will never be able to offer her: the chance to exist without hiding, without secret messages or rushed goodbyes.
For a moment, she hates Seraphina Chapman for making her feel so small, for always turning her into a damn nobody.
And that thought fills her with fierce, undeniable guilt, because deep down she knows she loves her.
But love starts to feel insufficient when one of them has to constantly disappear.
Daphne orders another round, and Nerissa certainly doesn’t protest. They drink until Nerissa feels she can’t take any more, and when they leave the pub, the rain is still falling on the illuminated streets.
The taxi moves slowly through the nighttime traffic as the city parades past the fogged-up windows. Nerissa rests her head against the glass, feeling its coldness against her temple. And when it stops in front of her building, it takes her a few seconds to react.
Daphne smiles at her.
“You don’t have to invite me up if you don’t want to. I can go home,” she says.
Nerissa closes her eyes for a moment. She could say no. She could go upstairs, take a shower, and get into bed. But she knows that if she stays alone, she’ll end up staring at her phone until dawn, waiting for a message that will probably never come.
“Don’t worry, you can come up with me,” Nerissa assures her, and opens the taxi door.
*
The apartment is silent when they enter. Nerissa leaves her keys on the kitchen counter and takes off her coat. Daphne approaches slowly, stopping at a respectful distance.
“Are you sure?” she asks, searching her eyes.
Nerissa feels the question pierce her chest. No one ever asks her that.
Seraphina can’t afford to stop. Everything between them happens amid invisible alarms. But Daphne waits.
She gives her space to decide. And maybe that’s why Nerissa closes the distance and kisses her first, with weariness, with rage, and with a desperate need to stop thinking.
Daphne responds immediately, cupping her face in her hands with a tenderness that makes Nerissa want to shatter into pieces. They retreat slowly toward the bedroom as their mouths seek each other out with growing urgency. Their clothes fall to the floor without haste.
Once naked on the bed, Daphne’s caresses are warm, familiar, and patient.
Her fingers trace Nerissa’s back slowly, moving down the curve of her waist until they reach her hips.
Nerissa tries to surrender to them, focusing on their shared breath and the warmth of another person’s skin.
Daphne kisses her neck gently, then moves lower, while her hand slides between Nerissa’s thighs.
Nerissa instinctively parts her legs, letting out a low moan as Daphne’s touch finds her.
The pleasure builds slowly, warm and steady.
Daphne’s movements remain patient and deliberate as she kisses her stomach and thighs.
Nerissa arches her back, clutching the sheets, and moans louder as the sensations intensify.
“Let yourself go,” Daphne whispers against her skin, never breaking contact. “I’m here.”
Nerissa reaches climax with a deep shudder, her body trembling as waves of pleasure wash over her.
Yet even in the midst of it, Seraphina’s ghost appears: the memory of nervous hands, of the desperate intensity with which the CFO had touched her, of that mixture of hunger and fear that turned every encounter into a beautiful explosion.
Daphne moves back up and kisses her tenderly, allowing her to catch her breath.
Nerissa, still trembling, shifts closer and wraps herself around her, desperately searching for a way to silence the noise inside her.
For a while, she succeeds. The body grants a truce.
But later, when the numbing effect of pleasure begins to fade, the pain is still there, intact.
The humiliation of the morning, Seraphina’s calculated indifference, the void that opened inside her when she realized that, once again, she had been relegated to the shadows.
And now this.
It all makes her want to cry.
Daphne shifts slightly beside her and strokes her arm.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks softly.
Nerissa takes a moment to answer. The truth is too cruel.
“Nothing,” she lies.
Daphne remains silent. She probably knows she’s lying, but she doesn’t press for an explanation. That only makes Nerissa feel even more guilty.
She turns her head slightly toward her. The dim light outlines Daphne’s peaceful profile against the pillow. She is beautiful, kind, and available—a woman capable of loving her without hiding her. And yet, the void inside Nerissa’s chest still bears the exact shape of Seraphina Chapman.
That realization fills her with a devastating weariness.
She closes her eyes slowly and, for a few seconds, wishes she wouldn’t wake up the next day, wouldn’t return to the clinic, and wouldn’t have to meet Seraphina’s empty gaze again.
Daphne gently strokes her arm. Nerissa forces herself to stay still, but even there, lying beside another woman who is trying to love her well, she realizes with fierce sadness that she remains emotionally trapped in the same place, in the same woman, and in the same wound that will never heal.