Chapter 9
Six in the morning turns the suite at the Midland Hotel into a ruthless place. Nerissa Ashcombe stands by the desk, finishing buttoning her shirt, and the silence surrounding them is anything but satisfying.
Sitting on the bed, Seraphina slips on one of her shoes. Her hair falls in disarray over her shoulders, and the reddish marks scattered across her neck mercilessly betray what happened hours earlier. For Nerissa, seeing her like this should still feel beautiful.
And it does.
That’s the problem.
Because she no longer has any idea how to love that woman without ending up shattered every time morning comes.
She fastens her wristwatch and watches as Seraphina buttons her white shirt with fingers that tremble slightly.
Fear.
Always the same fear.
That someone will discover the truth.
“All set,” Nerissa says after checking something on her phone. “The taxi is waiting downstairs. You’d better hurry before your husband gets home first and starts asking uncomfortable questions.”
Seraphina looks up immediately. The sarcasm hits her like a visible slap, and for a second her expression tightens.
“Nerissa…” Seraphina whispers.
“What?” the surgeon replies, shrugging as she picks up her badge from the back of a nearby chair. “Would you rather I pretend that isn’t exactly what’s going to happen the moment you walk through that door?”
Seraphina rises too abruptly. She still smells like her, like everything they shared that night, and yet the urgency to leave is already evident in every gesture, in the way she avoids looking directly into her eyes.
Nerissa hates that with all her soul.
She hates watching her transform back into the impeccable wife before she’s even left the room.
“Please, don’t do this,” Seraphina pleads, taking a hesitant step toward her.
The vulnerability in her voice would have been enough on any other day to grant her that small request.
But today, Nerissa stands her ground.
“Do what?” she shoots back, turning toward her with her arms crossed. “Tell the truth we both already know?”
Seraphina swallows hard, visibly shaken.
“You know perfectly well what I risk every time I come to see you,” she replies.
Of course.
The consequences.
The same old conversation.
The risk.
The fear.
Never a clear, courageous declaration of love.
Nerissa feels an unbearable pressure building beneath her breastbone, as if something inside her is struggling to break free.
And with that, she takes a step toward Seraphina, closing the distance.
“And what am I risking?” she challenges.
Seraphina stands motionless, her eyes wide.
Nerissa studies her closely and feels something devastating as she realizes that, even exhausted and disheveled, that woman still has the power to turn her entire world upside down just by breathing.
“I risk my dignity every time I open the door for you at two in the morning, knowing that by six you’ll leave me feeling as if none of it ever happened. Empty and without any hope,” Nerissa continues, her chest rising and falling heavily.
Seraphina’s eyes fill instantly with tears.
“Don’t say that…” she murmurs, shaking her head.
“Why not? Because it makes you feel guilty?” Nerissa lets out a bitter laugh that echoes off the walls of the damned suite.
“I wish I hadn’t given in to temptation.
I wish I hadn’t agreed to come back to Manchester.
I’m in love with you, Seraphina. And I don’t know anymore whether that makes me an idiot or just a masochistic fool. ”
Seraphina’s breathing turns ragged. She takes another step forward, then stops, as though an invisible force is holding her back.
“You’re neither of those things,” she assures her.
“No, of course not. I’m just the perfect distraction whenever your life becomes unbearable,” Nerissa retorts.
Seraphina closes her eyes for a moment, absorbing the blow, but she doesn’t leave.
Nerissa watches her and feels the emotional exhaustion of years settling over her.
Years filled with meetings in discreet hotel rooms.
With abruptly ended phone calls.
With moments stolen from time.
With always, always waiting for Seraphina to be the one making all the decisions.
“I’m sick of your crumbs,” Nerissa murmurs, completely drained. “Sick of the rushed goodbyes, of stripping the sheets alone while you go back to your perfect home. Sick of promises that never mean anything once dawn breaks and reality comes back.”
Seraphina shakes her head, her lips parted.
“They do mean something to me…” she insists.
“Then stay,” Nerissa replies without hesitation.
The silence that follows is brutal, because they both know exactly what’s going to happen.
Seraphina lowers her gaze to the floor, defeated.
And Nerissa feels, with painful clarity, the exact moment something inside her breaks once again.
“That’s what I thought,” the surgeon concludes bitterly.
She steps back, picks up her car keys from the desk, and clenches them tightly in her fist.
“Go home.”
“Nerissa…” Seraphina tries one last time.
“Go before I say something I’ll regret,” she interrupts, turning her back on her.
Seraphina remains motionless for a few more seconds.
Guilt passes across her face, but fear, as always, wins in the end.
She grabs her purse, smooths out her clothes, and slowly approaches the door.
Nerissa doesn’t look at her.
She can’t.
She knows that if she sees her tears again, she’ll end up reaching for her one more time.
And she’s too tired to keep surviving on half-measures.
When Seraphina closes the door behind her, Nerissa stands still in the middle of the room, taking in the aftermath of the disaster.
The physical evidence of something that never manages to exist in daylight.
She closes her eyes for a moment and realizes that, even broken, she still loves her with an intensity that is beginning to genuinely terrify her.
*
The days that follow become torture.
With the stress of yet another transition weighing on her, the clinics continue operating at their usual pace, oblivious to the earthquake shaking the two women walking their hallways.
Nerissa deliberately avoids any unnecessary conversation with Seraphina.
She calls her “Ms. Chapman” in meetings and doesn’t look at her any more than absolutely necessary.
And every time she feels Seraphina’s eyes on her, she responds with a coldness that, far from helping, only makes everything worse.
Because distance doesn’t diminish desire.
It sharpens it until it becomes almost painful.
On Thursday afternoon, they briefly cross paths in one of the private elevators on the executive floor.
Nerissa catches the unmistakable scent of Seraphina’s perfume while the silence fills with unbearable tension.
When the doors open on the sixth floor, Seraphina steps out without looking at her, but before disappearing, she murmurs:
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you for a single second.”
Nerissa spends the rest of the day operating with her hands tense around the instruments, struggling to stay focused.
On Friday night, she attends a cocktail party at the boutique hotel Hawthorne House, overflowing with money, small talk, and champagne glasses circulating endlessly.
Nerissa Ashcombe hates that kind of event.
She has always hated them.
But Helena Whitmore has decided—much to Nerissa’s misfortune—that keeping the “crown jewel” of the new sports medicine project in the spotlight is essential.
So there she is, dressed elegantly for the occasion.
“Dr. Ashcombe, congratulations on the sports performance center project,” says another investor with a practiced smile.
Another automatic smile follows, along with another handshake. Nerissa responds politely while her eyes sweep across the main hall almost instinctively, drawn by the magnetic pull of a woman with breathtaking curves and a gaze capable of freezing anyone.
Anyone but her.
Because what happens to Nerissa when she looks at her is very different from ice.
Seraphina Chapman is standing by the bar, talking to two financial executives. She’s wearing a black dress that accentuates her elegance. And she’s completely incapable of hiding the fact that she’s searching for her in the crowd as well.
The exchange of glances lasts barely two seconds, but it’s enough for Nerissa to feel heat beginning to spread through her body.
The evening continues around them for nearly another hour, filled with exchanged looks, carefully maintained distances, and professional remarks delivered with a tension so palpable it begins to feel obscene.
Nerissa catches herself observing everything: the glass of wine Seraphina holds between her fingers, the way she breathes, how she moistens her lips as she speaks.
Her entire body remembers Seraphina.
And that ends up becoming unbearable.
That’s why, when Seraphina discreetly slips out of the main room, it takes Nerissa exactly fifteen seconds to follow her.
She finds her in one of the private corridors leading to the hotel’s side terrace. The area is nearly deserted, and the glass door leading outside stands slightly ajar, letting in the cool night air.
Seraphina turns at the sound of her footsteps, and she can’t help but smile.
“You shouldn’t have followed me,” Seraphina whispers, though her eyes say exactly the opposite. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”
“I did, until you wouldn’t stop looking at me like that in front of everyone,” Nerissa replies, stepping toward her.
Seraphina’s breathing quickens.
Before she can say anything else, the surgeon pins her gently against the wallpapered wall of the hallway, cupping her jaw in one hand.
The atmosphere changes instantly, becoming electric.
Seraphina’s back presses softly against the wall as a quiet sound escapes her lips.
“Nerissa…” she begins.
But the surgeon wants no more words.
She’s exhausted from arguments, from accusations that change absolutely nothing.
Nerissa brings her mouth close to Seraphina’s without quite kissing her.
“I hate how you make me feel,” she confesses, and the words come out broken, raw, and painfully honest.
Seraphina looks at her with eyes darkened by longing and pulls her closer with urgent fingers at the back of her neck.
“Kiss me and shut up.”
The kiss explodes between them with fierce intensity.
Nerissa kisses her as if she wants to punish her and save herself at the same time.
Her fingers tighten at Seraphina’s waist while Seraphina responds desperately, parting her lips and clutching at her jacket as though afraid of falling.
Everything around them disappears.
All that remains is the warmth of her mouth and that devastating sensation of coming home while plunging into the void at the same time.
Seraphina trembles against her as Nerissa presses her closer to the wall.
For a few terrible seconds, neither of them remembers how to stop.
Eventually, they pull apart, breathless, their lips swollen and their breaths mingling.
Seraphina rests her forehead against Nerissa’s, and it doesn’t take long before she looks at her with a wicked smile.
What neither of them realizes is that, less than ten feet away, beneath one of the golden sconces lining the hallway, Adrian Beckett stands motionless, watching them.
His trench coat rests over his left arm, and his car keys glint between his fingers.
He doesn’t look surprised.
Nor scandalized.
His gaze slowly travels from Nerissa’s hand, still resting on Seraphina’s waist, to the CFO’s face.
Before leaving, without making the slightest sound, Adrian Beckett allows himself a faint smile, already aware of the new weapon now in his possession.