Chapter 9

       A week had passed.

       Seranna smiled softly as her phone screen lit up with a new message. Since that day at the racetrack, Celyth had taken to sending her snapshots of her daily life—like a child reporting back to a parent, eager for approval or simply to share a moment. It warmed her heart more than she cared to admit.

       Today was no different. The photo attached was clearly a covert shot, snapped from under the desk. It captured Celyth mid-class, half-hidden behind a textbook, but her smile—wide and unmistakably genuine—stole the focus. There was no trace of the shadow that once haunted her eyes.

       This subject is soooo boring :(

       Seranna chuckled under her breath, thumbs already flying over the screen; Put down your phone or I’ll tell Lorcan you’re not paying attention!

       She set the phone aside, the smile still lingering faintly on her lips, but it faded the moment her gaze dropped to the sleek black envelope resting on the table.

       An invitation.

       With a sigh that came from somewhere deep, she picked it up and slid a nail beneath the flap. The card inside was as lavish and cold as she expected—embossed lettering, the scent of expensive ink, and that familiar name.

       A private party.

       Held by none other than her husband. Well—soon-to-be ex-husband. Isaak Losif.

       Her eyes narrowed. She hadn’t wanted to see him, let alone attend one of his opulent, reputation-saving charades. The bitterness still tasted fresh.

       She hadn’t even changed the contact name in her phone. My Husband—it stared back at her every time he texted, like a cruel joke she kept forgetting to rewrite.

       And right on cue, the phone buzzed again;

       Have you received the invitation? Maybe if you’re afraid to feel lonely, you can come with a partner ;)

       Her lips pressed into a thin line. Of course. That tone—teasing, smug, perfectly crafted to provoke. Typical Isaak. She stared at the message a moment longer before tossing the phone onto the table, letting it land face-down.

       Unconsciously, Seranna clicked her tongue, jaw tightening as her thumb hovered over the screen. For a moment, she nearly hurled the phone across the room—but stopped herself with a sigh of restraint. She didn’t need another broken device because of him.

       The message lingered in her thoughts like a stain.

       Could she bring someone?

       She knew Isaak wouldn’t hesitate to parade his mistress through the crowd, flashing that plastic smile as if nothing were wrong, as if betrayal was some sort of performance art. He’d chat with her intentionally, interrupt her conversations, probably even raise a glass in her direction just to remind her he still knew how to rattle her nerves.

       And whatever game he was playing, she had no desire to participate. Still, her fingers floated uncertainly over the screen, torn between brushing it off or giving him the cold civility he expected.

       Okay, thank you.

       That was all she managed. Neutral. Hollow. But safe.

       She dropped the phone back onto the table and leaned into her seat, eyes drifting to the ceiling as her mind wandered to a much more frustrating thought: who she could possibly bring.

       Her chest rose with a slow inhale… then fell with a muttered curse. Jason.

       Damn it.

       Of all the people in the world, his name was the only one that surfaced. Loud. Clear. Uninvited.

       And stubbornly unwilling to leave her head.

       Her heart said Jason.

       It said it quietly, but persistently—like a melody she couldn’t forget. He was comfort, laughter, warmth. There was a magnetic pull in the way he carried himself—lighthearted, easygoing, unbothered by the weight she always seemed to carry. When she was with him, the world felt softer. Calmer. It was far too easy to get lost in the quiet spaces they shared, where time slowed and everything else blurred.

       But her mind pushed back harder.

       Jason was the kind of man who would laugh off awkward silences and charm a stranger in under five minutes. And while that might have made her feel safe in private, it wouldn’t work under Isaak’s scrutiny. Isaak wouldn’t feel threatened by Jason. He’d see a boy, not a rival. He’d see her with someone unpolished, unserious—someone who confirmed everything he wanted to believe: that she had downgraded.

       No. That wouldn’t do.

       She needed presence. Power. Precision. She needed a man who would say nothing and still make Isaak feel small.

       Lorcan.

       The thought settled with an almost brutal clarity.

       Yes. He was the answer.

       Her face felt like it was on fire, flushed with the heat of embarrassment, and she hadn’t even called the man yet. The thought alone—of asking Lorcan Millesernan to accompany her to a party—was mortifying. Shame prickled down her spine. Since when did she stoop to the point of asking a man out?

       Before she could talk herself down, her thumb had already betrayed her. The screen was lighting up. Calling.

       Lorcan Millesernan. Ringing.

       She stared at the word in horror. And then—

       0:01.

       Her breath hitched, a quiet gasp escaping as she slapped a hand over her mouth. Too late. She took a sharp inhale, straightened her posture, and tried—desperately—to compose herself.

       “Yes, what is it, Seranna?” That voice. Calm, smooth, steady.

       She swallowed hard, “How’s your schedule for tomorrow? Precisely at 8 PM?”

       A pause followed. Not long, but enough to hear the subtle confusion on his end, “None of my agenda is at 8 PM. Do you want to meet?”

       “No—I mean... yes. I need your help.”

        “Help?—wait,” Lorcan’s voice shifted abruptly, followed by muffled sounds on the other end. Seranna could tell he had turned away to speak to someone else. She held the phone tighter, her nerves climbing with each passing second. Then the line cleared again.

       “Sorry about that,” Lorcan said, his voice returning, “You said you needed help?”

       She inhaled deeply, her chest tight, “Yes,” Another pause. Then she pushed the words out, fast, before she could lose her nerve, “Isaak invited me to a private party tomorrow night at eight. And he sent a follow-up text suggesting I bring someone if I’m afraid of being lonely, which—obviously—was just to provoke me. I don’t want to show up alone. I don’t want him thinking I’ve got no one. I was thinking that maybe—”

       “Sure.”

       She blinked, taken aback, “What?”

       “I said sure,” Lorcan repeated, calm as ever.

       “You’re agreeing without even hearing the full plan?”

       “I heard enough,”

       There was something in his tone—uncomplicated, steady—that both unsettled her and made her feel... strangely safe.

       “You don’t have to say yes just to be polite,”

       “I’m not being polite,” he said simply. “You need someone. I’ll be there,”

       For a moment, Seranna didn’t respond. Her pride and gratitude tangled together in her throat, forming something too messy to put into words.

       “Thank you,” she said finally, voice low.

       “You’re welcome,” Lorcan replied, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

***

        Seranna hadn’t slept a wink. The silence of the early morning hours had done little to calm her nerves. Since the moment she ended that call with Lorcan, something had been gnawing at her chest—restless, unresolved.

       It wasn’t about the party. Not entirely.

       She knew Isaak would come with his mistress. That part was a given. He wanted her to see. He wanted a reaction. But what unsettled her more was the man she’d chosen to bring.

       Lorcan.

       Stoic. Reserved. Intimidating in all the ways Isaak wasn’t.

       It didn’t feel wrong exactly, but it didn’t feel right either.

       What if he only said yes out of obligation? Because of Celyth? Because of everything that had happened between their families?

       She rolled over in bed, the dim glow of her phone screen lighting up her face. Her fingers hovered for a few seconds before finally typing:

       You really agreed to come with me? It’s not because I helped Celyth, is it?

       She hit send before she could overthink it again. Her chest tightened as she stared at the message, half-hoping he wouldn’t reply too quickly—half-dreading that he would.

       Lorcan didn’t reply right away.

       The seconds stretched, then minutes. Seranna watched the message sit there, unread. Her stomach twisted. Maybe she shouldn’t have sent it. Maybe it had all been a misunderstanding—an act of politeness, tangled in duty.

      The silence from Lorcan’s end felt deafening.

       She stood and crossed the room, her bare feet brushing over cold floorboards. She didn’t want to feel this way—unsure, insecure, waiting on someone else’s choice to validate her own.

       Just as she reached the window, her phone buzzed.

       Her heart stuttered. She turned sharply, scrambling back toward the bed, the screen already lighting up with his name.

       I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to.

       She blinked.

       Another message followed, only a few seconds apart.

       This isn’t about Celyth. Or your family. Or mine. It’s about you.

       Her breath caught. She sat down slowly, the edge of the mattress dipping under her weight. The cold air from the window faded into the background.

       A third message came.

       You asked me because you needed someone real. I said yes because I see you. And I don’t care what Isaak wants you to feel. I care what you want to feel.

       Seranna stared at the words. Her eyes blurred slightly. Not from tears—at least not the painful kind. It was something else. Something quiet. Something steady.

       Seranna let the phone rest in her lap, her fingers still curled around its edges like she wasn’t quite ready to let it go.

       Her heart was still racing, but it had shifted—less panic, more... release. Something unclenched inside her, some invisible knot that had pulled tight the moment she’d typed that message. Lorcan hadn’t just answered. He had seen her. Not the version she tried to project, not the one Isaak had sculpted into something quiet and presentable—but the one beneath all that.

       The one she sometimes doubted even existed anymore.

       She exhaled, slow and deep, as if finally remembering how to breathe. A fourth message appeared.

       Go back to sleep, Seranna. You’ll need the strength to ignore half the room tomorrow.

       A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She replied;  And the other half?

      His reply came quickly.

       They’ll be too busy staring.

       She blinked. Her cheeks flushed with heat, though she couldn’t tell if it was from flattery or the simple, jarring directness of his words. Lorcan never flirted. Lorcan didn’t flatter. He stated. And somehow, that made everything he said hit harder. But still, it didn’t feel like it’s him.

       Lorcan, are you drunk?

       The answer immediately appeared on the screen; No. I’m not drunk.

       She narrowed her eyes, jaw tightening as she stared at the message glowing on her screen. Then, slowly, she exhaled—a breath that trembled at the edges. With a quiet click, she set the phone down on the nightstand, as if the weight of it had suddenly become too much to bear.

       Her thoughts spiraled.

       Tomorrow.

       The party loomed like a stormcloud on the edge of her mind. What would people say? What would they whisper behind raised champagne glasses when they saw a legally married couple walk in with other partners? When they saw her on the arm of someone who wasn’t Isaak?

       The very thought made her stomach twist.

       She bit her bottom lip, not realizing how hard until the sting bloomed. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. A quiet panic clawed at her chest—not loud, not dramatic, but insistent, suffocating. Isaak wouldn’t care. He’d show up untouched by shame, by judgment, by consequence. He always had that gift—his indifference polished into something almost admirable.

       But her? She cared. She always had.

       She cared about the stares, the implications, the headlines she wouldn’t be able to silence. The fragile image she’d built—of poise, of grace—could shatter in a moment. And she wasn’t sure she’d know how to piece it back together.

       The worst part? She wasn’t even sure what she feared more.

       The scandal.

       Or the fact that somewhere deep down… part of her still wished Isaak would care.

       “God…” she whispered, as if saying it might steady her breath. She was trying—desperately—to reassure herself, but the knot in her chest only tightened.

       There would be a scandal. No doubt about it. The moment they walked into that room with different partners on their arms, the whispers would begin. And then, the questions.

       Why?

       No one knew they'd been living apart. No one saw the silence that stretched between them behind closed doors. To the world, they were still a perfect pair—on paper, at least.

       And now, the truth would burn through the lies like wildfire.

       And finally she made up her mind.

***