Chapter 1 – Broken Vases

POV: Seraphina Marcell

The first sound is her mother’s voice, sharp, slicing through the walls like glass.

Then comes her father’s, low and dangerous, the way thunder growls before a storm.

“Damian, for God’s sake…”

“Elara, don’t you dare…”

Seraphina sits on the edge of her bed, spine rigid, fingers tightening around her phone. She shouldn’t be surprised. The Marcell house is always loud in the quietest ways, anger polished until it sounds like elegance. Even their fights have choreography.

But tonight, something feels different.

The chandelier light flickers across her bedroom’s marble floor, glinting off her silver nail polish. She lifts her phone and slips in her Air Pods, drowning out the argument with music, something calm, something meaningless. The bass hums through her chest, but it can’t erase the tension bleeding through the walls.

She presses call.

“Hey,” comes the voice, warm, careless.

“Alex?” she whispers.

A pause, then a smile hidden in his tone. “Hey, angel. Late-night panic call?”

Her lips twitch despite herself. “Something like that.”

“What happened this time?”

Seraphina exhales, eyes flicking to the closed door. “Same thing that always happens. They pretend to love each other until the wine runs out.”

He chuckles softly. “You sound like a poet again.”

She doesn’t tell him that sometimes poetry is the only way to survive this house. Instead, she stares at the city beyond her window, the skyline glowing, each light a promise of a life she hasn’t lived yet.

“Can you come get me?” she asks quietly.

A beat of silence. Then, “Now?”

“Yes.”

“Your dad’s gonna kill me.”

“He doesn’t even know you exist,” she says, a bitter laugh escaping. “So technically, he can’t.”

Alex sighs but she can hear him moving, keys clinking, a car door shutting. “I’ll be there in ten. Stay in your room, alright?”

“I always do,” she says, and hangs up before he can ask if she’s okay.

Because she isn’t. And admitting that would make it real.

She moves to her vanity, watching herself in the mirror. The reflection stares back: the daughter of perfection. The girl with glossy hair, pale skin, a silk camisole that costs more than most people’s rent.

And yet, there’s a crack somewhere beneath all that polish. A tremor she can’t quite name.

Downstairs, her mother’s voice rises again.

“You think money fixes everything?”

“Money built this house!” her father snaps. “It bought your dresses, your silence, your damn comfort!”

Seraphina flinches. She turns the volume up.

The music swells, until she can’t hear the words anymore. Just noise. Just rhythm.

But her heart is still pounding to the sound of their voices.

She remembers when this house felt like safety. When her mother would tuck her into bed and whisper stories about angels and constellations. When her father smiled like the world itself bent for her.

Now, everything feels like glass. Beautiful, fragile, one wrong move away from ruin.

A crash slices through her thoughts, something heavy hitting the wall downstairs.

She freezes.

Even with the music still playing, the sound is sharp enough to cut through. She yanks an Air Pod out.

“...Damian, stop…”

Then another crash. Louder. Shattering.

Her mother’s scream follows.

Seraphina’s breath catches in her throat.

Her phone slips from her hand, bouncing softly on the rug.

“Mom?” she whispers, though no one can hear her.

Her legs feel like air as she stands. She walks to the door but doesn’t open it. Her hand hovers over the handle. Her mind flashes with images, her father’s red face, her mother’s trembling hand, the glittering perfection of their dinners that always end in silence.

She swallows hard. “Not tonight,” she murmurs to herself.

Alex will be here soon. She’ll leave before they even notice. Just a night out. Just air.

Her phone buzzes again. Alex: five minutes.

She texts back: Gate code’s the same.

Another crash. Then, silence.

A deep, cold silence that fills every corner of her room.

She feels it in her chest like a warning. Like the pause before something breaks again.

Her pulse thunders in her ears.

Slowly, she takes out the second Air Pod. The music cuts off.

Downstairs, nothing moves. No footsteps. No voices.

Only the soft hum of the chandelier’s lights.

“Mom?” she tries again, a little louder this time.

Still nothing.

Her throat tightens. She takes a hesitant step toward the door, then stops herself.

Her parents fight all the time. This isn’t new. She shouldn’t make it worse.

But that sound…

That shattering sound.

She presses her ear to the door. Nothing. Not even breathing.

Her hand trembles as she reaches for her phone again. The time reads 11:47 PM. Alex will be here in three minutes.

She could wait. She should wait.

Her eyes flick toward her window. From her second-floor room, she can see the driveway below, the black stretch of asphalt gleaming under rain light. No headlights yet. Just emptiness.

Then another sound, a faint thud, dull, final.

Seraphina’s breath hitches.

“Please, don’t…” Her voice cracks before she can stop it.

And then…

Crash.

A vase hits the floor below, the sound splintering through the silence like a gunshot.

She flinches back, hand pressed against her mouth. The echo lingers, porcelain, glass, something else breaking with it.

And then, just as quickly…

Nothing.

No shouting.

No footsteps.

No sound at all.

Only the faint drip of something, water, maybe, echoing up the stairwell.

Her heartbeat is too loud now, drowning out the quiet.

She steps backward, eyes locked on the door.

Whatever happened out there, she doesn’t want to see it.

She sits back on her bed, forcing her hands to stay still, though every part of her wants to run. Her breath comes shallow, chest tight with panic she can’t explain.

A car horn sounds faintly from outside, the signal she’s been waiting for. Alex.

But she can’t move yet.

Her gaze drifts to the door again, waiting for a voice, her mother’s, her father’s, anything to prove the silence wrong.

None comes.

Only that terrible, heavy quiet.

And for the first time in her life, Seraphina Marcell realizes she’s afraid of her own home.

Her phone buzzes again. Alex: I’m here.

She stares at the message, fingers frozen over the screen, the silence pressing closer, heavier, until she can barely breathe.

A faint creak sounds from the hallway.

And in that breathless stillness, Seraphina knows,

whatever broke downstairs, it wasn’t just a vase.