Chapter 2

Seraphina POV:

I finished the steak alone, the expensive cut of meat tasting like ash in my mouth.

I raised my wine glass to the empty chair across from me.

"To new beginnings," I whispered, the words foreign on my tongue, sharp as glass.

The moment the plate was clean, I picked up my phone.

I didn't call a friend. I called a discreet service specializing in high-profile, silent relocations.

"I need a full move. Tonight. Right now," I said, my voice clipped and professional.

"Ma'am, it's past midnight. We'd have to charge double the emergency rate," the man on the other end hesitated.

"I'll pay triple," I cut him off. "Cash. Be here in thirty minutes."

I hung up before he could argue.

My eyes swept over the penthouse, this gilded cage I had called home for nearly seven years. Every piece of furniture, every painting on the wall, was a reminder of him.

A reminder that I was nothing more than a beautiful placeholder.

Walking into the bedroom, I opened the walk-in closet. My clothes-a collection of silk dresses-hung neatly beside his sharp, tailored suits.

I pulled out the three suitcases I always kept packed for emergency travel-a habit from my early days with him.

I took only what was mine, leaving behind every gift, every piece of jewelry except for the cursed ring still in my pocket.

I realized with a bitter pang that he had never given me anything of real value.

Nothing that wasn't a tool to keep me tied to him.

My phone buzzed. The movers were downstairs.

I opened the door to a team of four men, their faces impassive, their movements efficient.

The crew leader, a burly man with kind eyes, gave me a quick, assessing glance.

"I didn't used to live alone," I said, my voice steady. "But I do now."

He nodded, understanding immediately. "You got it, miss." He turned to his men. "Just her things. Quickly and quietly."

In less than an hour, the home that had once felt so warm and full was rendered stark and empty. They had packed my life into boxes with practiced ease.

On the entryway table, a single silver frame remained. It held a photo of Dante and me in Tuscany, smiling. It was the only picture of us in the entire apartment.

I walked over, picked it up, and laid it face down on the polished wood.

Then I walked away without a backward glance.

The car moved silently through the sleeping city. It wasn't heading to a hotel. It was heading to a four-bedroom apartment in a discreet building across town-one I had bought with my own savings a month ago.

A contingency plan.

A part of me, buried deep, must have known this day was coming. I was grateful I'd never told Dante about it. This last refuge would not be tainted by his memory.

Standing in the empty living room, the smell of fresh paint still lingering in the air, a profound relief washed over me.

It was a feeling I hadn't realized I'd been starving for.

It was the feeling of being truly alone, truly free.

My phone buzzed, a harsh intrusion into the quiet.

A message from Dante.

"Come back when you're done with your tantrum. Don't make me come and get you."

The words were a command, not a plea. The pure arrogance of a king who couldn't fathom being dethroned.

I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen.

He still thought he had power over me.

He was about to find out just how wrong he was.