His Forbidden Bride

Seraphina's POV

My father didn't ask me if I wanted to marry Lucian Vale. He told me.

"He's agreed," he said, tapping his fingers against a folder on the glass table like it was any ordinary business meeting. "Lucian Vale is willing to marry Seraphina. We have a chance to save everything."

For a moment, I thought I didn't hear clearly what he said. But then the name hit me like a stone dropping into deep water.

Lucian Vale.

The sound of it pulled me under.

"I've spoken to his father," my father continued matter-of-factly. "They'll drop the acquisition and settle the case out of court if we follow through. This marriage ends it cleanly. No lawsuits. No bankruptcy."

My mother sat beside him, legs crossed neatly, posture portraying the picture of elegance. She didn't even look at me. Not for once. Her face was painted in control, her silence complicit.

It wasn't a discussion. It wasn't even a choice. It was a sentence.

And I was the sacrifice.

"You told me we'd find another way," I whispered, my voice catching before I forced it sharper. "You said the lawyers would handle it."

My father glanced at me this time, as if he had just remembered I was with them in the room. His eyes were flat. Businesslike. "We tried. This is the only option that doesn't leave our name smeared across headlines with our accounts frozen."

My hands clenched into fists in my lap. "So I'm the deal now?"

"You're the solution," he said without blinking. "Lucian gets a wife from a reputable family. We keep Cole Global. Everyone wins."

Everyone but me.

I looked between the two people who were supposed to protect me, realizing they weren't negotiating-they were waiting. Waiting for me to obey.

"I'm not a bargaining chip," I said, voice breaking but steady enough. "I'm your only daughter."

"You're also a Cole," my father replied evenly, like that ended the matter.

My throat tightened. "And what about what I want? What about Clinton?"

At his name, my mother's lips pressed together, the faintest crack in her perfect mask. "Clinton is irrelevant."

I blinked. "You liked him. You said he was good for me."

Her voice came cold, deliberate. "He was good for who you used to be. But this is about who you are now. About your future. About survival."

"So love doesn't matter anymore? My life is just...a business merger?"

"You'll grow to understand," my father said, almost bored. "Love is a luxury. People in our position don't always get it."

There it was. The truth. Cold. Final.

I gently rose from the chair where I was sitting like a shadow, my legs were shaking, but it carried me to my room. The door slammed behind me, and I leaned my back to it, shutting out their voices, but not the reality.

Lucian Vale.

The billionaire with mafia bloodlines, whose name alone made businessmen flinch. The man who never smiled, who had built an empire on ruthless precision and vengeance. The man whose empire now had my family by the throat.

And I was supposed to marry him?

I slid down to the floor, covering my face with my hands.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

Clinton: Can we talk? I'm feeling awful about something.

My heart sank not from fear but from worry about how he knew what I was going through at the moment.

My love. He wasn't perfect, but he was mine. He now happens to be the only person who saw me as something more than a surname.

My fingers shook as I reached to reply-until another notification appeared.

Unknown Number: Tell him, and you'll both pay for it. The deal is sealed. Be smart, Seraphina.

Blood drained from my body immediately. Goosebumps covered my skin, like ice was sliding underneath.

I froze while reading the words over and over until they blurred.

Slowly, I pushed myself off the floor and moved to the window like someone who is being controlled by a spell.

Across the street, a black SUV sat waiting. Dark. Still. Quiet. Watching.

The headlights flashed once, then turned off.

I stumbled back from the window.

He is already watching me.

A knock at my door made me jump in shock.

"Seraphina," my mother's voice came, too soft. "Please open up. I want us to talk."

I opened the door enough to see her full posture. Flawless, as always, but her eyes were too calm for the chaos she and Dad had caused. She stepped inside before I could stop her.

"We did this to protect you," she said.

"By forcing me into marriage?"

"By keeping our lives from falling apart, sweetheart. Lucian Vale is not the villain you think he is."

"You don't even know him," I responded in a whisper.

"I know his reputation," she countered immediately. " I also know his father. They are ruthless, yes, but they tend to take care of their own. Once you're part of their family, you'll be protected."

Protected. The word was a bitter joke.

"I don't want to be safe by fear," I snapped, my voice breaking. "I want to be loved."

Her silence was heavier than any answer.

"I love Clinton," I said finally, desperate, raw. "That's all that matters."

My mother's face didn't soften. "Clinton can't help us."

"I don't care."

"You will," she said simply. "One day you'll surely understand."

She left, shutting the door with infuriating calm, as though the matter was settled already.

I stood still, staring at nothing, trying to get a clue whether I had any ownership over my own life left. Was this what being a Cole meant now? Obedience in exchange for survival?

My phone buzzed again.

Clinton: I'm coming over. I need to see you.

My heart leapt-but before I could breathe, another message followed.

Unknown Number: If he shows up, it won't end well. Don't be foolish.

The phone slipped from my hand. My knees went weak.

Helplessness spread through me like poison. I wasn't sad. I wasn't even angry. I was trapped.

I didn't blink all night. Every creak, every moving shadow felt like danger. I stayed by the window until dawn, watching, waiting, until the black SUV finally drove off.

Relief came in a shaky breath. Maybe it was over.

Not until 6:00 a.m.

Another buzz.

Private Sender: You'll be fitted for your engagement dress at 3 p.m. today. Location has been sent to your mother. Don't be late.

I gasped for air.

Then came the second message.

Private Sender: Tell Clinton goodbye. You won't be seeing him again.

Attached was a picture of my room.

Taken from the corner near the ceiling.

I dropped the phone. My heart stopped before I could scream.

The message was still clear on my screen, sharp and threatening.

"Tell Clinton goodbye. You will never see him again". And the photo of my room.

I stared at it in fear. It wasn't just some warning; it was a command. And whoever sent it wasn't bluffing. He knew where I lived. He was watching me. Maybe he had been watching me longer than I even realized.

I moved back from the window and kept my phone under a stack of books on my desk. I couldn't reply. Not yet. Not until I knew what I was dealing with.

Not now, when everything felt like a trap.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. My parents were either pretending nothing had happened, or they were both downstairs, waiting for me to come to terms with the life they'd already signed me into.

I wasn't ready. I didn't know if I ever would be.

I kept telling myself, maybe this was all just for show. That Clinton would show up and take me far away from all of this, that my parents would suddenly remember I wasn't some piece of currency they could use to buy back their pride.

I knew better.

I quietly paced around my room, with no plan running through my mind. Something in me kept telling me to move out somewhere, even if it was only for a few hours. There, I would think, get rid of this thing that had gotten stuck in my throat and wouldn't go down. Most importantly, feel something that wasn't fear.

My hand met a small velvet box as I reached for my hoodie in my drawer. Clinton had given it to me on my final birthday. Inside was a fragile gold bracelet with our initials carved on it. But I hadn't worn it since we fought two weeks ago. The one where I told him I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore. The fight now felt like a curse.

I fit the bracelet onto my wrist and zipped up my bag. "If this was the last time I'd see him, then I needed to say goodbye pleasantly". I said to myself quietly before heading to his house.

The city felt unusual to me while walking. The streets felt like they held winter tension, even in the daylight. The kind that sank into your bones and made everything ache just a little more. The university was only a few blocks from Clinton's flat. I used the back roads, going through smaller streets and looking for any signs that someone was following me.

There were no black cars.

Maybe they weren't watching me now. Or maybe they wanted me to think that.

When I got to Clinton's flat, I knocked twice and the door opened almost instantly.

"Seraphina?" Clinton's voice was a mix of shock and relief. Are you okay? You haven't been responding to my texts. What's happening?" he asked. But before I could respond to his questions, he pulled me close to himself and gave me a tight hug. Like he was afraid I might vanish if he let go. For a minute, I felt peace, comfort and warmth, which I think was the last time I was going to feel such. The moment didn't last.

I pulled back and looked up at him. "We need to have a conversation. Inside."

He moved out of the way, and I entered the apartment we had once thought we would share someday. The space smelled like coffee and pine, which is his favorite candle. My eyes scanned the living room. The same worn couch. Same books littered all over the place, the same picture of us from last summer, looking at me laughing.

"What's the matter?" he asked, closing the door behind us. "Is what I heard the actual truth?"

I nodded slowly.

"Your parents are... marrying you off?"

"To Lucian Vale," I said, and watched the blood drain from his face.

"No." He took a step forward. "That can't be real. You hate those people."

"I didn't get a choice, Clinton. They signed the contract already."

He stared at me, mouth closed tight. "So that's it? Are you going to do it"?

"Do you think I want this?" I snapped. "Do you think I'm okay with being handed over like a debt payment?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Then come with me. Right now. We'll leave, we need to."

"You don't get the point," I said quietly, almost to myself. "He is watching me."

He froze. "Who is?"

"Lucian Vale," I said, wiping my face with my palm. " I think he is the one sending threatening messages to me. He knew I was going to meet you today."

Clinton's face darkened. "Let him come. I'm not afraid of him."

"You should be," I responded.

I brought my phone out from my hoodie pocket, unlocked it and showed him the text messages.

He read it, then read it again. His face changed. Confused at first, then fury in a second.

"This is insane," he said. "You're not a hostage, Seraphina. You're a person. We can go to the police."

"And say what?" I asked. "That the richest mafia-bred family in the city sent me a scary text?"

Clinton paced the room. "There has to be another way. A loophole. Something."

"I checked. The wedding license is already in motion. There's a media rollout coming next week. Engagement photos, a press statement. Everything."

Clinton turned to me, eyes burning. "You still love me?"

I didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Then run away with me."

I wanted to say yes. But oh my God. How can I when all I could picture was that black SUV and the life-threatening message? The more I thought about it, the more I saw reasons not to accept it. At least everyone would be safe.

"I can't," I said softly, tears rolling down my cheeks.

He moved closer and gently held my face. "You're stronger than this. Don't let them have you. Please."

I looked up at him and, seeing his face, I remembered how soft his mouth felt, how warm his eyes were and how peacefully he believed in me even when I couldn't believe in myself.

"I just needed to see you," I said softly. "One more time."

"That's not enough." He said.

"It has to be," I replied, stepping away before I changed my mind, which would endanger both of us.

He didn't stop me. Not with his hands. But I could feel his eyes on me to the door.

When I got home, I met my mother standing in the walkway, waiting. Arms folded like a prison warden.

"Where have you been?" she asked calmly.

"Out," I said.

"We had a dress fitting scheduled. You missed it."

I brushed past her. "I'll choose something out myself."

She grabbed my wrist. "This isn't just about clothes, Seraphina. You're being introduced to the Vale family tomorrow. You need to present yourself properly."

I yanked my arm free. "So I can look pretty while being sold?"

She didn't respond.

I walked straight to my room and shut the door. The room, which now felt like a mini prison. I sank onto the bed. I didn't cry this time because I couldn't afford to.

My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen.

Unknown Number:

You saw him anyway, brave or stupid. Doesn't matter. Tomorrow, you meet your fiancé. Pack a bag. You won't be coming back.

I stared at the message. The world went still, and I just sat there hollow.

And just beneath it, a photo.

Of Clinton.

Standing outside his apartment.

Followed by another.

A red dot was glowing on his chest.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown number: blink, and he's gone.

I didn't sleep. I couldn't.

I was just sitting on the bed and staring at my phone. My fingers now hurt from holding it for so long. The screen brightness of the phone had dimmed off, but I didn't care anymore. I don't want to see it again because I already know what's there.

Clinton, standing outside his apartment. Hands in his pockets. Tired. Alone.

And then the second photo. That one I hadn't expected.

A single red dot, pointed straight at the center of his chest. With a threat just after it.

Not a bullet. Not yet. But a message.

They were watching him. And they wanted me to know it.

You don't back out of a Vale engagement. You don't fall for someone else. You don't run. Not unless you want someone to bleed for it.

My chest tightened. I wanted to call him. Tell him to leave town, change his number, and go anywhere they couldn't follow.

But if they were watching him already, if they saw one wrong move from me... it would only make things worse.

At 6:47 a.m., my phone buzzed.

Private Sender:

Be ready by 9. Black car. No delays.

That was all it said. No name. No threat. But I didn't need it either. I already understood.

I looked across the room at the suitcase near the door. My mother packed it for me. Neatly and silently. Like this had been the plan all along. I didn't even think about touching it.

I stood up quietly and went to my desk. I pushed aside a few books until I found my journal. I tore out a page from the back and sat down.

If I were leaving, if they were taking me, Clinton deserved to know why I didn't fight.

I wrote the words quickly. No names. Just enough for him to understand. That this wasn't about giving up on my love for him, but love wasn't enough when someone was pointing a gun at him to keep me in line.

When I was done, I folded the note and placed it in the middle page of a book I'd borrowed from him months ago. One, he probably forgot I still had it. Then I sealed them both in a padded envelope and wrote his name across the front.

I wasn't sure if I'd deliver it. But if there was a chance, I wanted it ready.

He hadn't called.

Not once since I showed him the message.

But I knew him. He wouldn't sit still after something like that. He'd be out there already. Driving and thinking.

He always moved fast when something didn't feel right.

I just hoped he wouldn't try to protect me in a way that would get him hurt.

And I pray that whoever was watching him wouldn't take any further decision against him before the day was over.

When it was 9:00 a.m., A black car pulled into our driveway.

The engine didn't shut off.

My mother walked me outside. Her heels clicked against the tiles. Her face looked calm, almost pleased. She handed the driver my suitcase like she'd done this before.

"Keep your shoulders straight," she said to me. "And remember, speak only when spoken to. The Vales value restraint."

I didn't answer. I didn't trust my voice not to crack.

I entered the car. The driver didn't say a word. He just pulled away from the house and joined the main road, his hands steady on the wheel.

The car was quiet. Too quiet, and every second in it felt heavier.

A few minutes passed before I leaned forward.

"I need to make a stop. At the university," I said. "I left something important."

He didn't respond at first.

Then, without looking back, he said, "Mr. Vale gave strict instructions."

"I'm not trying to run," I said. "It'll take less than a minute. I swear."

He didn't speak again. But five minutes later, the car turned off the road.

We stopped near the back of the university mailroom. I stepped out, walked to the faculty drop box, and slipped the envelope inside. It would be sorted and delivered to Clinton's department. He would get it.

That was all I could do.

I got back into the car.

Still no words from the driver.

But I was sure he'd report the stop.

Vale estate wasn't what I expected.

It was big, yes. But not old or dramatic. Everywhere looked sleek and expensive. Glass, steel, Clean lines and empty spaces.

The estate didn't feel like a home, it felt like an estate meant to impress anyone who sets his eyes on it.

I noticed a woman was standing at the door when I came down from the car. She is probably waiting for someone. Her face looked like someone in her mid-forties. She was wearing a grey suit and holding a clipboard in one hand. Her hair was tied in a bun. It was so tight, tight enough to hurt.

"Miss Cole," she said, not smiling. "Welcome. I'm Elara. I'll be in charge of your preparation until the engagement dinner."

"Preparation?" I asked.

She didn't slow her pace as she turned and walked into the house.

"There are expectations. Mr. Vale is very particular. You'll be briefed."

I followed her through the house. Every room we passed was spotless and cold. No family pictures. No sign of life.

We stopped at a door on the third floor.

"This will be your room until further notice," Elara said. "Meals are scheduled. You'll be escorted when necessary."

She handed me a keycard and turned to leave. Then paused.

"You'll be summoned when Mr. Vale is ready. Until then, rest. You'll need it."

She turned and left immediately after the instruction. As if she knew I had many questions to throw at her. I needed to know what that meant.

As I stepped further in, my eyes scanned through the room. It was beautiful, painted in neutral colors which I had always loved. Soft lighting hangs in the appropriate places. Everything was perfectly in place.

But it felt empty. More like a hotel room no one had ever stayed in.

I placed my bag in a corner of the room and advanced to the glass window to take a glance at what was happening outside.

The window had a direct view of the garden, which also looked as polished as the rest of the house. Trimmed hedge, straight paths, no flowers. No mess.

That's when I saw him.

Lucian Vale.

He was walking on the stone path with another man beside him, whom I didn't recognize.

Lucian stood out.

Black suit. Sunglasses. Calm steps. Phone in one hand.

He didn't look up at first. But then, suddenly, he did.

Right at me.

Looking up at my window for a second, then smiled. Not wide, not cruel.

Just a smile that said, I see you. I know why you're here. I know what you mean to me even if you don't yet.

I stepped back from the window. My fingers felt cold.

I know that smile meant a lot more. It wasn't kindness and whatever it was, it didn't feel safe.