A stranger's care

Seraphina's POV

The first thing I felt was pain.

It wasn’t sharp at first, more like a dull, heavy ache pressing into my ribs and the back of my head.

Then it spread, pulsing, dragging me out of the dark fog I’d been floating in. My eyelids fluttered, heavy as if weights were tied to them, but I forced them open.

White. That was the first thing I saw. White walls. White curtains swaying in the faint breeze.

White sheets tucked neatly around me. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, mixed with something floral - like lavender.

I blinked again, trying to focus. It wasn’t our bedroom. It wasn’t home.

“Seraphina, you're awake.”

The voice was soft, low, warm… too warm.

I turned my head toward the sound and froze. He was sitting in a chair by my bedside, his elbows resting on his knees, his sharp jaw tilted down, his eyes locked on mine.

Lucian.

For a second, my heart stuttered in my chest. My husband was here. He looked different, though - his dark hair was a little messier, his shirt open at the collar.

And when he reached forward, brushing his knuckles gently across the back of my hand, there was a tenderness I hadn’t felt from him in months.

“I’ve got you, angel,” he whispered, his lips curving into the smallest smile.

Angel.

My breath hitched. My Lucian hadn’t called me that since our wedding night. He used to say it when we were still in love, when he kissed me under Paris skies, when he promised me the world. Hearing it now almost broke me.

My lips trembled. “Lucian…?”

“I’m right here,” he said. His voice was husky. “You’re safe. Rest.”

I wanted to ask questions - where we were, what had happened, why he suddenly sounded like the man I used to know - but my body was too heavy. My eyes slid shut again, though not before I caught something odd.

When he leaned closer, his lips parted, and for the quickest second I saw it-

A silver glint.

A piercing. On his tongue.

Lucian never had a piercing.

The days blurred together. Doctors in white coats came in and out, checking my vitals, adjusting machines.

Nurses smiled at me, whispering respectfully when “Mr. Veyron” spoke.

Every time they left, he stayed.

He fed me soup with steady hands, teasing me when I tried to protest.

“You’re too proud, angel. Just eat.”

“I can do it myself.” My voice was hoarse, my wrist trembling when I tried to hold the spoon.

“You’ll spill it all over that pretty dress,” he murmured, brushing the spoon against my lips. “Let me.”

I should have pushed him away. But I didn’t.

Another time, when I tried to sit up and the pain lanced through me, he caught me before I could fall back.

His arm wrapped around me, strong and steady, and his shirt sleeve pulled back just enough for me to see it - ink. Black lines curling up his wrist, disappearing beneath his cuff.

I frowned, staring. “When did you… get that?”

He glanced down, then smirked. “Do you like it?”

“I-” I stammered. Lucian hated tattoos. He used to sneer at people who had them, call them desperate for attention. “I just didn’t know you had one.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.” His smile widened, playful this time, and my stomach flipped in a way it hadn’t in years.

I told myself it was the pain medicine, the haze, the weakness making me imagine things.

Maybe Lucian had always had tattoos, hidden away, and I’d been too blind to notice. Maybe the accident had shaken something loose in him, softened him, made him different.

Maybe this was the man I thought I married - the one I’d dreamed of.

***

On the fourth night, I couldn’t sleep. My body ached less now, but my chest felt hollow, my mind restless.

I lay staring at the ceiling, thinking of the way his hand had brushed my cheek that evening, the way his eyes had softened when I smiled at one of his stupid jokes.

I had missed this. Missed him.

When I heard footsteps outside the door, I turned my head. He was there again, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Watching me.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he said softly.

“I can’t.” My voice broke. “I keep hearing the crash in my head.”

His jaw tightened, but he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. His fingers brushed through my hair, careful not to touch the bandage. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll take care of you.”

I closed my eyes, soaking in the warmth of his touch. For once, I didn’t feel like I was made of glass, about to shatter. I felt… cherished.

I didn’t want to let that go.

***

A week later, I was strong enough to leave. The doctors signed the papers, the nurses fussed over me, and he handled everything else.

He carried my bag, held my hand as I walked, smiled like I was the only thing that mattered.

When we got into the car, I finally asked, “Where are we, Lucian? What hospital was this? It didn’t look like the city.”

“Somewhere safe,” he said simply, starting the engine. “That’s all you need to know.”

I frowned. “Safe from what?”

He shot me a sideways look, his lips curving with that same teasing smirk. “From everything that hurts you.”

The words made my heart squeeze. I told myself not to believe him. Not to hope. But it was too late.

We drove in silence for an hour, rain tapping against the windows, headlights slicing through the darkness.

My chest tightened with every mile closer to the mansion. I wasn’t ready to face that house again. He might change if we get home.

“Lucian,” I whispered, “what if I stayed here with you instead?”

His fingers drummed against the steering wheel. “We’ll talk when we get home.”

Home. The word felt like a death sentence.

Then suddenly - smoke. The car jolted, shuddered.

“Damn it.” He swerved the car to the side of the road, cursing under his breath. Steam hissed from under the hood. Rain poured harder drumming against the roof of the car.

I hugged myself. “What now?”

He cut the engine and leaned back in his seat, chuckling low. “Now, angel, we improvise.” He turned his head, and in the flash of lightning, I saw that wicked smirk again. The glint of his tongue piercing.

“There’s a hotel up ahead,” he said. “We’ll stay there tonight. Head home tomorrow.”

My stomach dropped.

His voice dipped lower, a promise in the dark. “Unless you’d rather keep me awake all night in other ways.”