Chapter 6

The three of them stepped back into the club.

Just then, a waiter pushed in a massive bouquet of red roses. "Mr. Hardy, here are the 999 roses you ordered for Miss Seraphine Cox."

In that instant, the atmosphere shifted.

Luke's expression darkened first.

Nine hundred ninety-nine roses symbolized an all-consuming love—anyone witnessing such a grand gesture would read into it. He stole a glance at Daphne, a flicker of unease in his eyes, but she remained unfazed.

"Daphne, don't misunderstand. This is just to welcome Seraphine back—"

"I know. You don't have to explain." Daphne smiled. Her reaction was so calm that even Luke hesitated, momentarily thrown off.

Lately, he'd felt something off about Daphne—she was too serene, so at ease it was as if she had stopped caring altogether.

Her gaze drifted to the enormous bouquet, then she recalled the flowers Luke had casually bought her at a roadside stall a few days ago. One was exquisite and luxurious; the other, careless and perfunctory.

Just like in his heart—Daphne and Seraphine were worlds apart.

She had once come across a handwritten letter from Luke on Seraphine's Instagram.

In it, he had written how relieved he was that they had never been together. That back then, he had nothing to his name and would have only given her a life of hardship.

On the other hand, Daphne had stayed by his side through those years of struggle, never wavering, never leaving. Yet he had never once given her a gift he had truly put thought into.

What he did give her were things Seraphine had rejected.

In Luke's eyes, she had always been just a substitute, something to pass the time while Seraphine wasn't around.

At that moment, the towering building outside the window lit up, massive glowing words flashing across its surface: "Luke & Seraphine—Be Each Other's Light."

Luke saw them, and his face instantly drained of color.

"I—I can explain..."

Panicked, Luke grabbed Daphne's wrist.

Seraphine let out a soft cry, "Daphne! Please don't get the wrong idea! Luke and I are just really good friends!"

But something inside Daphne cracked. A sharp, dull pain pressed against her chest, so suffocating she couldn't even force a smile.

They were each other's light.

Then what was she?

An obstacle? An eyesore?

She had thought she was past this, that nothing he did could hurt her anymore. But clearly, she had been wrong.

Luke had never been a romantic man. He was even a little reserved.

Once, all she had wanted was to hold his hand while walking down the street. But even that had been too much for him. "There are too many people. It wouldn't look good," he had said.

Yet for Seraphine, he had been willing to spend a fortune, to make a grand confession in the heart of the city for all to see.

In this story of love between them, Daphne was nothing but an unwanted third party.

"Excuse me." Daphne picked up her bag and turned to leave.

Luke immediately followed. "Daphne, listen to me—I have no feelings for Seraphine."

"I know. It's fine." Her voice was calm, effortlessly cutting off every excuse he tried to give.

Again, that unbearable feeling—the push and pull, the endless cycle of distance and false closeness.

Luke's brows furrowed.

As Daphne stepped away, Seraphine hurried after her, her voice laced with grievance. "Daphne, please, don't misunderstand—"

She reached out, catching Daphne's hand.

Before Daphne could react, the sharp sound of a slap rang through the air.

Seraphine staggered backward, hitting the ground hard.

Her hand flew to her cheek, her eyes wide with shock. "Daphne, why did you hit me?"

Daphne froze, momentarily stunned by the sheer theatricality of it. Then, in the next breath, she understood exactly what Seraphine was doing.

Luke rushed over.

Daphne turned her head, meeting his gaze just as his face twisted into something unreadable—his expression shifting to one of cold fury.

Instinctively, she reached for his hand, desperate to explain. "No—Luke, I didn't—"

She had assumed he wouldn't fall for such an obvious trick.

But there wasn't the slightest doubt in his eyes.

He simply looked at her, then violently shook off her hand.

The force of it sent her stumbling backward. The world spun for a moment before she hit the ground.

Stunned, she stared up at him. In all their years together, he had never once laid a hand on her.

And now, for Seraphine, he had.

Tears blurred her vision before she could stop them.

And then she laughed.

Laughed at herself, at the absurdity of it all.

Even if she was hurt, would it matter?

His entire world, at this moment, revolved around Seraphine.

He bent down, carefully helping Seraphine up. He gently pried her hand away from her cheek to check for any signs of injury.

Only after a long moment did he finally exhale in relief. His voice was gentle. "Seraphine, don't cry. There's no mark. No one at the party will be able to tell."

Then he turned to Daphne. His tone, now cold and sharp, cut through the air. "Daphne, you've gone too far. Apologize to Seraphine!"