Chapter 40
Seraphina
The penthouse was too quiet when I woke. The kind of quiet that wasn’t peace, but something heavy—like the air was holding its breath, waiting for the explosion. Callum wasn’t there. The bed felt cold, his absence curling around me like a warning.
I slid from beneath the sheets, bare feet pressing against chilled wood.
The dim hallway offered no comfort. I followed the trace of his scent into the living room, already knowing.
He was there—back turned to me, fists clenched so tight his knuckles were bloodless, jaw ticking like he was grinding every word he couldn’t say into dust.
“You’re not goin’ back there.”
His voice cut the silence like a blade. Low. Dangerous. Meant to end the conversation before it began.
I folded my arms, leaning against the wall. “You don’t get to decide that, Callum.”
His head tilted slightly, but he didn’t turn around. “This isn’t about control. It’s about keepin’ you alive.”
I stepped forward, tone sharper. “Funny. Sounds like control to me.”
He spun to face me, eyes dark with something I couldn’t name—fear, fury, desperation. “ Do you even get what you’re walkin’ into? The people you're stirrin’ up—they don’t forgive, Sera. They don’t hesitate .”
“I know that.” My voice cracked. “But I also know my mother might still be out there. You don’t get to ask me to walk away from that.”
He closed the space between us in two strides. “And what if she’s not who you think she is? What if she left you on purpose? What if she’s part of Blackdawn?”
The air thinned. My stomach twisted.
“I have to know,” I whispered. “Even if the truth ruins everything.”
His hands dropped to his sides. “Why now, love? Why go chasin’ ghosts when we’re already bleedin’?”
“Because I have nothing else.”
The words were out before I could catch them. Raw. Ugly. Honest. His expression shifted. Pain. Recognition. He’d felt that way once. Maybe still did.
“You have me ,” he said, quieter now.
I met his gaze. “And I’m trying to hold on to that. But if you make me choose—”
“I’m not,” he cut in, voice tight. “I’m just scared that you’ll go walkin’ straight into the same fire I’ve been draggin’ you out of.”
I stared at him, really looked. The tension in his posture, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to touch me but didn’t know how to. He wasn’t angry. He was terrified.
And somehow, that made it worse.
“You don’t get to protect me by locking me away,” I said. “I’m not yours to cage.”
His jaw flexed. “I never wanted to cage you. I just—”
“Wanted to save me.” I nodded slowly. “Even if I didn’t ask you to.”
He dropped onto the couch, head in his hands. “You don’t understand what you are to me. I don’t know how to explain it without soundin’ like I’ve lost the plot.”
I moved toward him. Sat beside him. Close, but not touching.
“Try.”
He lifted his head, eyes shining with something raw. “I’ve spent most of my life knowin’ how to kill. You’re the only thing that’s made me want to survive.”
That stopped me cold.
We sat in silence for a while, the tension bleeding into quiet understanding. Finally, he reached out and hooked his pinky with mine—like a promise, tentative but real.
“I won’t stop you from findin’ the truth. But I won’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself doin’ it.”
I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Then don’t just watch. Come with me.”
His breath caught .
And for a second, I felt it—that fragile peace that comes not from fixing everything, but from facing it together.
We were fractured. But we were still standing.
And for now, that was enough.