Chapter 22 Sera
Sera
The next morning, I'm in the library when a young woman in staff uniform appears.
"Mrs. Nero?" She looks nervous. "Mrs. Bianca Nero requests your presence in the garden. For tea."
A summons.
My first instinct is to refuse. To give some excuse—I’m not feeling well is a popular one.
But I know I can’t. And besides, I am intrigued as to what Bianca might have to say. Since marrying Adrian, I’ve barely seen my mother-in-law. He wasn’t kidding when he said this house was large enough to avoid one another.
And if we couldn’t, Bianca seemed to work with the same rigor as Adrian.
Today would be the first time I’d seen her in weeks, and the first time since my wedding, we’d been alone together.
I try not to let that though intimidate me.
"Tell her I'll be down shortly," I say.
The girl nods and disappears.
I take my time getting ready. Change into something more presentable than my stained jeans.
Lord knows I now have enough clothes. And honestly, it feels good to slip on something nice. I'm not sure what one wears to tea, so I grab a floral midi dress.
Brush my hair and slick it back into a bun before slipping on a pair of heels and gold hoop earrings.
Normally, I wouldn't put in so much effort, but something about being summoned by Bianca makes me want to put in effort.
There's a desire to belong that I don't want to look deeper into.
As I step outside, I realize I haven't been in the garden since the wedding. A shame. It's lovely, especially with the late autumn flowers clinging to life against the briskness of the air.
Bianca sits at a wrought iron table, a full tea service laid out. She's dressed impeccably as always. Cream suit. Pearl earrings. Not a hair out of place. And I'm glad that I decided to dress appropriately.
"Seraphina." She gestures to the chair across from her. "Please. Sit."
I listen, sitting immediately.
She pours tea with practiced elegance and adds cream.
I sit quietly, slightly scared to say something to her.
"How are you feeling?" she asks. "After yesterday's appointment."
"Fine. Good. The baby is healthy."
"A boy." There's satisfaction in her voice. "Adrian is pleased."
"He is." It's not a question. He'd been ecstatic. I saw his happiness the moment the doctor confirmed. “Have you seen him?" I ask.
She nods but doesn't say where or when. I feel disappointed not knowing more.
Bianca studies me over the rim of her teacup. "Are you pleased?"
"Of course." I wrap my hands around my cup. "I want my baby to be healthy. Boy or girl doesn't matter."
"It matters in this family." She sets down her cup. "A male heir secures your position. Completely. Irrevocably."
The bluntness catches me off guard.
"I don't—I'm not worried about my position." I want to point out it is 2025 and Bianca herself leads this family, but the way she's looking at me with her pale silver eyes makes me hold my tongue.
"You should be." But she doesn't sound threatening. Just matter of fact. "Until you give birth, you're vulnerable. After? You're untouchable. The mother of the heir. No one would dare harm you."
"That's a comfort," I say dryly, even though I don't believe her. Personally, I think I'll be even more vulnerable.
She almost smiles. "You're frightened of me."
"Should I be?"
"No." She takes a sip of tea. "I want this marriage to work, Seraphina. For Adrian's sake. For the family's sake. And, perhaps, for your sake as well."
I don't know what to say to that.
"You are carrying my grandson. My legacy."
I look at her. Really look at her. "That's a lot of pressure to put on a person."
"It's the truth of the situation." She takes a sip of tea. "And frankly, dear, it could be so much worse."
The way she looks at me makes me feel as though I'm missing something.
"Has Adrian spoken to you of his father?"
"Yes. He told me about the…” I trail off not wanting to remind Bianca of a terrible time in her life.
Something flickers in her eyes. Surprise, maybe. That Adrian shared that with me.
"Did he." It's not a question. "Then you understand why he is the way he is."
"I'm starting to."
"Antonio was cruel. Weak. A terrible combination." Her voice is flat. Clinical. "He used violence to compensate for his inadequacies. He thought fear was the same as respect. It was a blessing when he died."
"Adrian says you don't talk about him."
"There's nothing to talk about. He's dead. The past." She refills both our cups. "Adrian, however, is very much alive. And very much not his father."
"He can be cruel too." I think about the way he orders me around, and how, even after everything between us, he still sometimes scares me.
"Adrian is nothing like his father." Her voice softens slightly. "I made sure of that. Raised him differently. Taught him that true power comes from control, not chaos. From intelligence, not brute force."
"He still uses violence."
"When necessary." She meets my gaze. "But not carelessly, despite what he might like everyone to think.
Adrian is aloof, yes. Cold, perhaps. I'll even admit that his capacity for detachment can be dangerous.
But he's not a sadist, Seraphina. He doesn't enjoy inflicting pain.
And more importantly—" She pauses. "He cares for you. "
"I don't know if that matters."
"It matters more than you realize." She leans forward slightly. "Do you know how rare it is for a man in this world to care? To feel anything beyond ambition and greed? Adrian could have married anyone. Could have chosen a woman who understood this life. Who wanted power. Instead, he chose you."
"He didn't choose me. You made sure that he married me.”
"Because you were already pregnant with his child, yes.
But he could have handled it a thousand different ways.
Paid you off. Made you disappear. Taken the child and left you with nothing.
" Her eyes bore into mine. "He didn't. He married you.
Gave you his name. His protection. His—" She stops.
"His heart, whether he's admitted it yet or not.
" She clicks her tongue. “He’s done everything he can to try and make you happy here.”
My throat tightens because she’s not wrong. Adrian had brought my tools. He’d given me a first edition of the book my mother used to read to me.
"Use it," Bianca says quietly. "His feelings for you. His desire to make you happy. That's power, Seraphina. Real power."
"I don't want power. I just want freedom."
"Freedom is power." She sits back. "The freedom to do what you want.
Go where you want. Live how you want. You think I've been trapped in this family for thirty years?
I made myself indispensable. Irreplaceable.
No man in this family would dare cross me because they need me.
My connections. My intelligence. My ability to see three moves ahead while they're still planning the first. Even when Antonio was alive, he knew I was no one to trifle with. "
I swallow heavily. "I'm not like you."
"No. But you could be." She studies me. "You're smart, Seraphina. Educated. You have skills, passions, things that make you valuable beyond your womb. Figure out what motivates you. What you want from this life. And then take it."
"Adrian won't let me—"
"Adrian will give you whatever you ask for if you ask correctly." Her voice is patient. Almost kind. "I heard he set up a workshop for you. That's progress. Build on it. Show him you're an asset, not a liability. A partner, not a prisoner."
"And if I don't want to be his partner?"
"Then you'll spend the rest of your life in this house, waiting for him to come home, wondering if he's dead. A pretty little trophy." She says it kindly, but the truth of it stings. "Is that the life you want?"
I think about yesterday. About Adrian leaving for his meeting. About me sitting alone, wondering when he'd come back.
About the constant fear that one day he won't.
"No," I whisper.
"Then decide what you do want. And fight for it." She stands. "You're not powerless, Seraphina. You're only powerless if you choose to be."
She walks away, leaving me alone in the garden with my tea and my thoughts.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I wonder if she's right.
If maybe I don't have to be a victim.
If maybe there's a way to survive this life without losing myself entirely.
I just have to figure out what I want.
And then take it.