Chapter 2

SERAPHINA

Noise first—running feet, shouts that blurred into an incomprehensible cacophony. I fought to pry my eyes open, but the darkness remained, an impenetrable wall. I waved a hand before my face, fingers slicing through air I could feel but not see. Nothing. Just black, thick as water, suffocating in its totality.

"W-What happened?" The words fell flat in the quiet, swallowed by the void.

My head throbbed, each pulse a painful reminder of the chaos, every muscle singing with ache. I tried to sit up, my limbs heavy as stone, unresponsive to my will. Dead? Hit by a car? I clawed at memory, but it slipped through my fingers like soap, elusive and intangible. Car? What was I doing before…

I touched my forehead, then my eyelids—they were open, I could feel the stretch of skin, the delicate pressure. So why was the world gone, swallowed by this all-encompassing blackness?

Fragments clicked into place, sharp and sudden, piercing through the fog of confusion: the old woman hunched on the sidewalk, her face etched with fear, the glint of a knife reflecting the harsh morning light, the van's rust-colored door slamming shut with brutal finality.

Right. I'd fought with Mom at dawn—her words like shards of glass, screaming about dropping out, said school was a waste of money I didn't have. I'd stormed out, walking to campus, my anger a burning ember, when I saw them drag her in, saw the blade tear through her cotton shirt, leaving a crimson stain. I'd run without thinking, feet slamming against asphalt, propelled by a force I couldn't control.

What came after? I squeezed my lids shut, chasing the ghost of it, desperate to reclaim the lost moments.

Then I remembered.

"He sprayed something in my eyes!" I jolted upright, a gasp escaping my lips, sheets twisting around my legs like a suffocating embrace.

My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a frantic drum against my sternum, so hard I felt it in my throat, choking me with panic. I spun my head side to side, hands scrabbling over cool linen, searching for a sign, any sign. The dark didn't shift, didn't waver, remained absolute.

The truth landed slow and heavy, a crushing weight pressing the air from my lungs, stealing my breath.

"Am I… blind? Did I lose my sight?" My voice cracked, thin as spider silk, fragile and easily broken. Hot tears tracked down my cheeks, a burning trail of grief, and I didn't bother to wipe them away, surrendering to the despair. Blind.

How will I finish school? My work? How can I make something of myself when I can't even find my own hands? Fear coiled in my gut, tight as a spring, constricting my breath, stealing my hope. They'll hate me more now.

If they'd resented me when I could see—when I'd scraped for every peso to pay tuition, sacrificing everything—what would they do now? What value could I possibly have to them now?

I drew a shaky breath, forcing my hands to unclench, fighting against the rising tide of panic. That's when I heard it: a door opening, soft as a whisper, a gentle sigh against the silence, then closing with quiet deliberation. No footsteps, no words, only the hushed sounds of a presence nearby.

"H-Hello? Is anyone there?"

A pause, thick with unspoken tension, then a quiet clearing of throat. "I take it you've realized your condition, Miss Mortez." The voice was calm, even—like pouring water into a glass, soothing yet detached. A doctor, maybe, or a nurse, someone accustomed to delivering bad news.

"Am I really blind?" My hands trembled in my lap, knuckles white, a physical manifestation of the terror that consumed me.

"For now. But it isn't permanent. We expect full sight back within a year—maybe sooner."

A year. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, a small gasp of relief, but the knot in my chest didn't loosen, the fear remained, a persistent shadow. A year in darkness… who would take me in? Who would want me?

"W-What about the woman I tried to help? Is she okay?"

Another pause—long enough I could almost feel her looking at me, studying me with an unseen gaze. "You're worried about her, even now?" A hint of warmth in her laugh, a flicker of surprise. "She's stable. Healing well."

Something lightened in my chest, a small spark of hope amidst the despair. The doctor spoke of swelling, of treatment, of drops I'd need to take—but the words slid off me, meaningless sounds in the face of the one thought that consumed me: Mom.

"Would you like us to contact your family? We can have someone call them."

I froze, the question hanging in the air like a threat. "I… I don't know their numbers by heart." My voice sounded small, lost, a child in the face of overwhelming fear.

"I see. We'll find a way to—" The door slammed open with such force the frame rattled, wood groaning in protest, the sound echoing through the room like a thunderclap.

"Seraphina!"

My breath caught, a sharp intake of air that filled my lungs with dread. Mom.

"Ma'am, please—you can't just enter without—"

"M-Mom?" I cut through the doctor's protest, relief warring with dread so sharp it made my teeth ache, a conflicting wave of emotions that threatened to drown me. "How did you find me? I was so scared—"

A slap cracked through the air, landing hard on my cheek, the force of the blow sending my head reeling. I cried out, clutching my face as numbness spread over my skin, a physical manifestation of the pain that had always been present. I didn't know where to turn—there was nowhere to look, no escape from the darkness that consumed me.

"Damn you! Useless enough before—now you're blind and good for nothing!" Her voice bounced off the walls, harsh and sharp, amplified by the small space, each word a dagger twisting in my heart.

"Mom, I didn't mean—"

Another slap, harder this time, a brutal assault that left me gasping for breath. My head spun, and I tasted copper on my tongue, the metallic tang of blood a familiar taste.

"You've never brought anything but curse to this house! Why did I even have you?"

Her words cut deeper than any blow, a searing brand on my soul, confirming the fears I had always harbored. I heard her shouting at the doctor, voice rising and falling like broken glass, a storm of anger I was powerless to control. It was nothing new. Mom's anger had always been a storm I couldn't outrun, a constant presence in my life. I mumbled for the doctor to let her stay, my voice flat and heavy as stone, resigned to my fate.

The air in the room thickened, warm and sour with anger, heavy with unspoken resentments. Without sight, every sense felt amplified: the shift of the mattress as she sat beside me, the rasp of her breath, the faint smell of sweat and cooking oil clinging to her clothes, all assaulting me with their intensity. I hunched against the headboard, waiting, bracing myself for the inevitable.

"Your Aunt Mila showed up at the house to tell me where you were, you fool!" She snapped, her voice laced with disdain. "What are we supposed to do with you now?"

"I don't know, Mom. I don't know." My shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of me, and the cane beside the bed felt like a weight I'd already been carrying, a symbol of the burden I had become.

So close to graduating. I'd counted every day, every exam, every paper I'd written by hand because we couldn't afford a computer, each milestone a testament to my perseverance. Now it all felt like smoke, insubstantial and fleeting. Even if my sight came back—if—would anything be the same? Would I ever escape this cycle of abuse and despair?

Silence stretched between us, long and tight, heavy with unspoken truths and bitter regrets. Then she spoke, and the words shredded what little hope I had left, tearing through the fragile fabric of my dreams.

"I've decided. I'm selling you to Don Tiago. You're no use to us like this."

"Mom! I'm not a thing to be sold!" I cried out, the words ripped from my throat, hands fisting in the sheets until my knuckles burned, a desperate act of defiance against the crushing weight of her decision.

She smacked my thigh, hard enough to make me flinch, a sharp reminder of her power over me. "What else? You can't study, can't work—you'll just drain us dry. We need to take care of Hera, not clean up your messes!"

My chest tightened until I could barely breathe, the air thin and suffocating. How could she let me go so easy? What had I done to make her look at me like I was nothing more than a burden to be traded, a commodity to be sold?

"At least with the governor, we'll get paid. You'll finally be worth something—and you'll live in a real house!"

Fear pricked at my skin, cold and sharp, a visceral response to the terror that threatened to consume me. Don Tiago… the stories drifted through my head—whispers of young women taken to his estate, never seen again, swallowed by the darkness of his depravity. Before I could speak, before I could beg or plead or fight, the world tilted, and darkness swallowed me whole, a welcome oblivion.

"Sera! Are you done yet? Hurry—Hera's gonna fix your face so you don't look like you've been crying all week."

I dropped my head, fingers wrapped around the smooth wood of my cane. Two days had passed since I'd woken up blind. Dad had yelled until his voice gave out—exactly what I'd expected.

"I'm ready," I said, voice flat as I sat on the edge of the bed. Footsteps approached, quick and light, then Hera's voice cut through the air.

"Ugh. Why did you have to go and get yourself blinded? Now you're gonna be that creep's toy." Her fingers were cold as she grabbed my chin, dabbing something sweet-smelling on my cheeks.

I said nothing. My heart was already in pieces—what more could she do to hurt me?

"Ah well. Thanks for the money, though! Finally getting out of this hole. Guess you are the breadwinner after all."

I let her pull me to my feet, let mol adjust my dress—too tight, too fancy, nothing I'd ever wear on my own. When they said the governor was here, they guided me toward the door, their hands heavy on my arms.

"What's wrong with you? Stop crying!" mom hissed, pinching my side hard enough to make me gasp.

Who wouldn't cry when their own family is selling them? But I bit my tongue, letting her drag me forward.

"Stop it! You're making us look bad!" Hera complained beside me.

I was almost grateful for the dark—grateful I wouldn't have to see his face, or the greed shining in my family's eyes.

"Don!" mom called out, her voice bright as polished glass.

"Oh, Mrs. Mortez! Is this the girl?" The voice was slick, oily—like warm grease sliding over stone. I could almost picture his smile, too wide, too sharp.

How do I get away?

"Yes, sir! Isn't she beautiful?" mom trilled.

"Beautiful indeed. Perfect, just perfect."

"Are you happy now, mom?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, quiet as dust.

She pinched me again, and I let out a laugh that sounded like broken glass.

What else could I expect from people who never saw me as their own?

I listened as they haggled, voices rising and falling over numbers I tried not to hear. Then a hand wrapped around my arm—warm, but firm enough to make my skin crawl.

"You're a lovely thing, sweetheart," he murmured in my ear, his breath hot against my neck.

I didn't move, didn't speak, letting him lead me toward what I assumed was his car. But before I could take another step, a voice cut through the noise—deep, cold, and sharp as a blade.

"Negotiating human trafficking… is that how you conduct business, Don Tiago?"

Even I froze, every muscle going tight. The hand on my arm squeezed hard with panic.

"V-Vitale! What are you doing here?" The governor's voice shook.

Vitale?

"I'm here for Seraphina Mortez. And it seems you're holding her against her will."

The Don Tiago shoved me away so fast I stumbled, my cane clattering to the ground. Strong arms caught me before I hit the dirt, pulling me close against a chest solid as stone. His scent filled my lungs—clean pine, something sharp and warm like wood smoke.

"W-What do you want with me?" I asked, my hands finding his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket.

"Not now. We'll talk later. Just hold on." His voice was low, steady—impossible to resist.

"W-Wait! She's our daughter—" Dad stammered.

"How much did he offer you?" The man cut him off, his tone leaving no room for lies.

"H-Huh?"

"I won't ask again."

"Five hundred thousand dollars."

Five hundred thousand. I'd worked three jobs for a year to save a tenth of that. I wasn't surprised—nothing about this should have surprised me.

"I'll pay triple. In exchange, you forget Seraphina Mortez was ever your daughter. No claims, no contact. And if you ever try to find her…" He paused, and the silence that followed was more terrifying than any threat.

"You'll regret it."

I heard my family scrambling, voices rising in panic and greed all at once. Then strong arms lifted me off my feet, and I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, clinging to his neck. I said nothing as he carried me to a car, setting me gently on seats soft as buttered leather.

"Stay here. I'll handle the rest." He closed the door, leaving me alone in the quiet dark—wondering who this man was, and why he'd pulled me from a fate I'd already begun to accept.