Chapter 2

The next evening was the opening gala for my art exhibition.

I walked into the grand ballroom on Alistair’s arm, the perfect picture of the devoted artist and her patron prince.

Tonight was supposed to be my night.

The hall of the Valerius estate was dazzling, filled with the city's elite and supernatural dignitaries, all gathered to celebrate my artistic achievement.

“Madam Seraphina, your work is simply breathtaking.”

“Congratulations. This exhibition is without a doubt the art event of the year.”

I smiled and accepted their praise, but then I saw her.

And there she was. Isabella. Standing beside a massive, cloth-draped easel, smiling like she owned the damn place.

As the evening reached its peak, the host invited me to the stage to give a speech.

Just as I was about to speak, Isabella stepped forward, taking the microphone before I could.

“Thank you all for coming to my sister’s exhibition tonight.” Her smile was sweet and innocent. “But tonight, I have a surprise of my own. A debut, as a new artist.”

She pulled away the cloth behind her.

A gasp swept through the crowd.

It was drowned out by the sudden silence where my heart used to be.

It was First Light in an Endless Night. My soul on canvas. The story of being pulled from one darkness, only to be thrown into another, deeper one.

But now, in the bottom right corner, the signature read: “Isabella.”

“The core concept of this piece is ‘the hope of a new beginning’…” Isabella droned on, explaining the painting to the crowd.

She was twisting my soul, my pain, into some cheap motivational bullshit.

Ice shot through my veins. I snapped my head toward Alistair. I saw it—a flicker of guilt in his eyes, gone as quickly as it came.

“Seraphina!” Isabella’s voice called from the stage as a spotlight swung onto me. “My dear sister, thank you for all your… inspiration. This painting wouldn't exist without you. And so, I dedicate it to you.”

The entire room’s attention was on her.

Praise poured in, with people proclaiming that her artistic talent would far surpass my own.

Isabella glided down from the stage. She stopped right in front of us.

“Sister, you don’t look happy,” she whispered, her voice low enough for only the three of us to hear. “Are you… jealous?”

I stared at her, speechless.

Before I could respond, suddenly, a piercing scream ripped from her throat.

“Ah—!”

She crumpled to the floor, a trembling, sobbing mess.

“A psychic attack!” someone in the crowd shouted.

Every eye in the room locked onto me.

“It wasn’t me,” I said, my voice desperate.

“Seraphina, enough!” Alistair’s voice cracked like a whip. He didn’t even look at me. In a blur of motion, he was at Isabella’s side, scooping her into his arms.

A golden healing light poured from his palm.

And I, his wife, stood there at what was supposed to be my celebration, surrounded by looks of suspicion and condemnation.

“Thank God, she’s all right.”

Alistair let out a breath of relief.

Then he turned to me, his eyes filled with disappointment.

“Enough Seraphina. I taught you magic, and this is what you use it for? To harm your innocent sister? Whatever this is, we’ll discuss it back at the castle.”

He wasn't just accusing me. He was silencing me. Publicly.

“Alistair, that painting…” I pointed at my stolen work, my hand trembling. “You said she wouldn’t steal from me…”

He followed my finger, his gaze flickering away, unable to meet my eyes.

After a few seconds, he looked back at me, his voice hoarse.

“You inspired her. She interpreted your light in her own way. Isn’t that a form of legacy? Artistic inspiration is shared. Why would you use such a filthy word as ‘steal’ to describe your only sister? Has this fame made you so cruel? So possessive? This isn't the woman I fell in love with.”

In that moment, my world shattered.

He knew the truth. But to protect Isabella, he chose to trample on me with the most ridiculous lie.

A knot of pain twisted in my stomach. Tears slid down my cheeks, but I kept the smile plastered on my face.

Alistair saw it, and for the first time, a flicker of panic crossed his features.

He handed Isabella to a healer who had rushed over and took a step toward me.

“Seraphina, calm down…”

“I am calm.” I wiped a single tear from my cheek. My voice was dead flat. “I have never been calmer.”

“Alright, let’s go home. I can forgive everything that happened tonight. I don’t want anything to spoil your night.” Alistair reached for my hand.

I took a step back.

“No. I’m not going back to the castle.” I looked him dead in the eye, my voice so quiet it scared even me.

“Tomorrow is my birthday,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I want to go to the cathedral. The one where we first met. Just the two of us.”