Chapter 17 #2
The remark sends a sharp pang through Nerissa’s chest—a painful irony, because it’s something Seraphina usually says whenever they’ve been together. She accepts the cup of coffee with a murmur of thanks, seeking refuge in the unruffled familiarity Daphne offers her like a safety net.
From the far end of the floor, Seraphina watches the scene out of the corner of her eye while pretending to sign various authorizations.
She feels as though the air has stopped flowing into her lungs.
She watches the ease with which Daphne positions herself beside Nerissa, the unguarded closeness of two people who don’t have to look over their shoulders or fear the flash of a hidden camera.
Daphne is sunlight; she is the shadows of parking garages.
The terror that Adrian is using the clinic’s own security monitors to gather more evidence constricts her throat.
She cannot afford to falter. She must keep Nerissa as far away from her as possible, even if that means pushing her into the arms of her past.
“Ms. Chapman,” one of the executive secretaries interjects, “the investment committee is already in Room Two waiting for you.”
Seraphina nods mechanically. Glancing back down the hallway, she sees Nerissa and Daphne already walking away toward the operating suites.
The tension in the surgeon’s shoulders seems to have eased under Daphne’s quiet chatter.
The sight causes Seraphina physical pain, a pang of jealousy and loss so intense that she struggles to take the first step toward the meeting.
She should feel relief; Daphne represents stability, a relationship that won’t destroy careers or families.
But the relief never comes. All that remains is the certainty that she is dismantling her own life.
The following hours pass in a hazy blur of figures, liability clauses, and asset projections that Seraphina can barely process.
At the far end of the conference table, Adrian Beckett reviews the reports with an insulting calm, interjecting with his usual smug tone and flashing polite smiles at the foreign investors.
To the rest of the room, he is a brilliant executive; to Seraphina, he is the executioner keeping his thumb on the trigger of her existence.
Every time the executive’s phone vibrates in her pocket with emails from the fund, her heart skips a beat, fearing the ultimatum has been moved up.
She doesn’t touch the device again for the rest of the afternoon.
When the session ends, dusk has already blanketed Manchester in leaden hues and neon lights reflecting off the wet asphalt of the staff parking lot.
Seraphina hurries toward her car, keys clenched in her hand, eager to shut herself away in the isolation of her vehicle.
As she passes near the emergency exit of the operating room area, familiar voices force her to stop abruptly behind one of the concrete columns.
Nerissa is leaning against the building’s brick wall, still wearing the clinic’s blue scrubs beneath her half-open coat.
Her hair is slightly tousled, and she has pronounced dark circles under her eyes.
Across from her, Daphne holds two fresh cups of coffee, speaking in a slow, intimate tone devoid of any urgency.
Seraphina knows she should keep walking, get into her car, and drive to the family home where Elliot and the children are waiting for her.
She knows that staying there makes her an intruder in her own pain.
But she remains motionless, observing from the shadows the life she could have had in a universe free of blackmail and privileged surnames.
“Why don’t we have a drink to take your mind off things?” Daphne’s voice carries through the cold night air.
Nerissa lets out a long sigh, watching the steam from her own breath.
“It’s been an extremely difficult day, Daphne. And I don’t think I’m good company.”
“What do you mean? You’re always good company. Come on, have dinner with me,” Daphne suggests, her smile an unambiguous offer of peace. “Just a little time for us.”
There is a brief silence in the parking lot.
Nerissa stares at the cup she’s holding, weighing the offer.
Behind the column, Seraphina feels an unbearable tightness behind her breastbone.
She understands with perfect clarity what Daphne represents to Nerissa at this moment: a safe haven, a Saturday dinner that doesn’t end in flight, a legitimate relationship she can show to the world without the weight of guilt.
“I don’t know if this is the best idea, Daphne,” Nerissa murmurs, though the resistance in her voice is minimal.
Daphne smiles with that infinite patience Seraphina has never been able to muster.
“Okay, on second thought. Instead of a boring dinner, let’s go to the pub for a few drinks. You need to disconnect from all this noise.”
The selfless tenderness of the suggestion hurts Seraphina more than any threat Adrian could have made.
Because Daphne cares for her—it’s a kind of protection Seraphina is unable to offer Nerissa because of the walls of her own life.
After a few seconds of hesitation, Nerissa nods very slowly, letting her shoulders drop in a sign of surrender.
“All right. Let’s go get those drinks.”
Seraphina closes her eyes, pressing her back against the cold concrete of the column.
She knows she’s the one who caused this; she’s the one who publicly humiliated Nerissa at the reception and erected the wall of ice to save her from ruin.
And yet, the confirmation that the surgeon is retreating to safe ground tears a piece of her soul away.
Chester is dead for good. That brief window of time when they shared laughter, wine, and walks without looking back has been buried by Adrian’s blackmail and the terror of exposure.
Seraphina finally gets into her car, her hands trembling uncontrollably on the leather steering wheel.
Inside her pocket, her cell phone emits one last notification.
This time she doesn’t need to check the screen to be absolutely certain it isn’t Nerissa.