Chapter 21
Seraphina
The first thing I feel is warmth. Strong arms wrapped around my waist. A steady heartbeat against my back. The mattress dips slightly as I shift, and before I can even fully wake up, Callum pulls me in tighter—like his body knows mine now. Like letting go isn’t an option.
Neither of us speaks. The silence is comfortable, but it’s not calm. There’s a storm sitting just outside these walls, and we’re the only ones who know it’s coming.
Last night plays behind my closed eyes—not scandalous, not even close—but still the most intimate moment I’ve had in what feels like forever.
Not because of what we did, but because of what it meant.
His lips on mine. My hands in his hair. The feel of his breath catching against my neck like he didn’t want to stop but knew he had to.
We fell asleep like this. No promises. No plans. Just the quiet confession of two people holding on to something unspoken.
Eventually, I pull the covers back and sit up slowly. He lets me go without a word, but I feel the shift in him the moment I do. He’s already alert.
Behind me, Callum rolls onto his back, one arm bent behind his head, eyes locked on the ceiling. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s not really here anymore—not in this moment. He’s already moving the pieces in his mind, thinking five steps ahead like the tactician he is.
“We’re not safe here anymore,” he says, voice low and even.
“I know.”
I throw on one of my shirts and pad into the kitchen, the cool tile grounding me. The coffee pot makes a half-dead gurgle, like it resents being used this early.
Same.
By the time Callum joins me, I’ve poured two mugs. He takes his with a distracted nod and begins pacing almost immediately. His movements are tight, deliberate. Calculated.
I lean against the counter and sip, watching him.
This version of him—the focused, strategic one—isn’t the man the world sees.
Not the security consultant. Not the detached observer.
This version is sharp and exact, every thought clicking into place like a loaded chamber.
Dangerous, not because he’s reckless, but because he never is.
He stops and turns to me, concern written clear on his face.
“No one knows I’m in yer life, and we need to keep it that way,” he says, the lilt in his voice stronger now that he’s not hiding.
“I’ll find us another place—somewhere quiet. A spot where, if ye’re followed, it won’t lead back to either of us.”
I tilt my head, amused. “You want to move in together?” I ask lightly.
But his face doesn’t match the tone. He’s serious. Right. Not the time.
“Okay,” I say, tone sobering. “That sounds like a good idea. For now.”
I take a breath. “On another note... I was wrong.”
That makes him pause. He turns, brows slightly raised.
I trace the rim of my mug with one finger. “About Damon’s motive. Why he’s been pushing so hard for a relationship. A marriage.”
Callum doesn’t speak. He just waits—watching me, letting the silence pull the truth out.
“It’s not about love. Or lust. It’s leverage.” I glance up. “If he marries me, he becomes a Vex. That gives him a legitimate tie to Blackdawn. And if something ever happened to Dominic, or if I was maneuvered into leadership—”
“He’d control everything,” Callum finishes, voice clipped and sharp, his Irish accent curling around the words. “He doesn’t need the bloody crown. Just the keyholder.”
I nod slowly. “And he’s smart enough to know it. He doesn’t give a shite about ye. He wants access. Influence.”
“And power,” I add bitterly. “The name. The legacy.”
Callum’s jaw flexes, and he looks away. “What’s Dominic say?”
“He thinks it’s strategic.” I laugh, dry and hollow. “He thinks it’s a match. ”
Callum mutters something under his breath in Gaelic, too low for me to catch. Probably for the best.
“He went to Dominic yesterday. Asked permission to take me out. A dinner. And Dominic agreed.” I pause. “No, not agreed—ordered. It’s mandatory.”
Callum doesn’t explode like I thought he would. No thrown mug. No slammed fists.
Instead, he goes completely still. Calm. Collected. Deadly.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
A long silence stretches between us.
Then: “We need a plan.”
We sit at the kitchen table, laying everything out. He doesn’t take notes. He doesn’t need to. Every word I say gets etched into his mind like scripture.
“You’ll need to play along,” he says, tapping his fingers once on the wood before lacing them together. “Not too eager. Not too cold.”
“How interested am I supposed to be?”
“Interested enough to stroke his ego. Disinterested enough to starve his ambition.”
I nod slowly. “So, laugh at the right moments. Nod at the wrong ones. Look like I might consider him—but only if I’m bored.”
His eyes warm with approval. “Aye. That’s the tone, alright.”
“And if he pushes?”
Callum’s gaze hardens. “Then we push back harder. Quietly. No scene. Ye don’t fight a snake in the open.”
The hours pass in quiet conversation, research, and minor preparations. I help him sort through files, aliases, burner phones. We scrub the surveillance footage Reaper sent us, analyzing Damon’s body language, the way he watches me when he thinks no one else is looking.
Callum doesn’t comment, but his fists clench every time Damon’s face appears.
We don’t touch much after that. Not because we don’t want to—because if we do, I know I’ll fall apart. And tonight, I need to be steel.
As the sun begins to dip, I go to get ready. He’s crouched by his duffel bag, double-checking contents like he’s preparing for war.
“He won’t try anything,” I say, mostly to myself. “Not in public.”
Callum looks up, eyes narrowing. “Ye say that like it matters.”
I fall silent. I slip into the blouse Dominic had sent over—silk, ivory, pristine. It makes me feel like a lamb in ceremonial robes .
Callum rises and crosses to me. “Turn ’round.”
I do, and his fingers move gently over the buttons, fastening them with careful precision.
His touch is soft, but the moment isn’t.
“He won’t see it comin’,” he murmurs.
I meet his eyes in the mirror. “You’ll make sure of that.”
“No,” he says, voice firm. “ We will.”
There’s nothing else to say.
I step into my heels and grab the small clutch with the minimalist earpiece tucked inside—Reaper’s design, sleek and undetectable. The same one I wore at the gala.
Callum watches as I ease it in, his expression unreadable.
“I’ll be right there,” he says. “Every second.”
At the door, I hesitate. My fingers curl around the handle. My heart pounds like it’s warning me.
I glance back.
Callum hasn’t moved. He’s watching me with an expression that could start wars.
There’s so much he doesn’t say. But I hear it anyway.
Come back safe.
I nod once. Then step into the trap.