The Billionaires Runaway Wife

Seraphina's fingers tightened around the edges of the marriage certificate, the paper crinkling under her grip. The words blurred before her eyes, but she didn’t need to read them. She already knew what they said. Lucian was staking his claim. She forced herself to lift her gaze, meeting his piercing gray eyes. “You can’t just walk in here and—” “I can,” he interrupted smoothly, his voice low, steady. Dangerous. “And I just did.” Heat flared beneath her skin—anger, fear, desperation, all tangled together. Seraphina glanced around the café, her stomach twisting. The other customers were pretending not to listen, their eyes darting between their drinks and the scene unfolding in front of them. She needed to get out of here. “I have customers to attend to,” she said stiffly, forcing her voice into something normal. “If you’ll excuse me—” Lucian stepped into her path. "You're not walking away from me again, Seraphina." She swallowed hard. Not here. Not in front of

The sound of the heavy oak door closing behind her sent a shiver down Seraphina’s spine. She stood frozen in the grand bedroom—their bedroom. Nothing had changed. The same luxurious king-sized bed with silk sheets, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, the scent of Lucian’s cologne lingering in the air. It was a prison disguised as paradise. Lucian leaned against the doorway, watching her with a calculating gaze. "You can stop looking for an escape," he said coolly. "There isn’t one." Seraphina turned sharply to face him, her nails digging into her palms. "You can’t keep me here against my will" A smirk tugged at Lucian’s lips. "Legally, I can. You’re my wife, and under the law, I have every right to—" "I don’t care about your damn laws!" she snapped. "You lost the right to control me the day I walked away." Lucian’s jaw tightened, but his smirk didn’t falter. Instead, he took slow, measured steps toward her, forcing her back until she hit the edge of the

The chandelier above cast a golden glow over the grand dining hall, but Seraphina felt none of its warmth. She sat stiffly at the long mahogany table, a place set for two, but the atmosphere was anything but intimate. Lucian sat across from her, calm, composed—watching her like a predator watching its prey. “I expected you to be more talkative,” he mused, twirling his wine glass between his fingers. Seraphina picked at the untouched food on her plate. “I have nothing to say.” Lucian smirked. “That’s a lie. But I’ll let you keep it—for now.” The weight of his words settled over her like a noose tightening ever so slightly. He was getting closer. Too close. The doors creaked open, and Evelyn strode in with effortless confidence, her black dress hugging her every curve. Seraphina didn’t miss the way Evelyn’s fingers trailed along Lucian’s shoulder as she leaned in, whispering something in his ear. He chuckled. Seraphina’s stomach twisted, but she refused to react. She wouldn’t

She didn’t stop walking. Not when she reached the hallway. Not when the burn in her throat became unbearable. She needed to breathe. To think. To forget. But as she pushed open the balcony doors and stepped into the cold night air, she knew one thing for certain. No matter how much distance she put between them, Lucian’s fire would never stop burning inside her. And that was the most dangerous part of all. Seraphina slammed the door behind her, the echo ringing through the dimly lit room. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as she pressed her back against the wood, eyes shut tight. Don’t think about it. Don’t feel it. Don’t let him get to you. But the image of Lucian and Evelyn was burned into her mind, taunting her. Evelyn’s smirk. Lucian’s silence. The way his eyes held hers like she was the only one who mattered—until she wasn’t. Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head. "Pathetic,

Lucian stood frozen in the doorway, his expression unreadable, but Seraphina knew what he was thinking. Raphael, ever the opportunist, smirked and took a step closer to her, deliberately invading her space. “Well, this is awkward.” Lucian’s gaze darkened, shifting between them. His jaw was tight, his breathing controlled—but Seraphina saw the telltale signs of rage. The storm brewing beneath his carefully composed mask. Raphael, however, was enjoying every second of it. He stretched his arms lazily before speaking. “You know, Lucian, barging into a woman’s room in the middle of the night is a bit rude.” Lucian’s fists clenched. “Get. Out.” Raphael chuckled, shaking his head. “I was just leaving anyway.” Then, just to push it further, he turned to Seraphina and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. It was the final straw. Lucian moved. In a blur of motion, he lunged—grabbing Raphael by the collar and slamming him against the wall. The room shook with the impact. Seraph