Chapter 2

Seraphina stared at herself in the mirror. The makeup artist had done a perfect job. Her hair was flawless, her lipstick only slightly faded. She looked like the heroine of some grand love story. She didn’t feel like one.

Her heart thudded faster as the door opened behind her.

Damian closed it softly, sliding his hands into his pockets as he watched her reflection.

“Nervous?” he asked.

She forced a smile. “A little. Aren’t you?”

“No.”

He said it without cruelty, but also without hesitation.

She turned slowly to face him.

“Damian…” Her voice trembled despite her best effort. “Do you ever regret this?”

One dark brow lifted. “Regret what?”

“Choosing me,” she whispered. “You could’ve married anyone. A politician’s daughter, a business ally, someone from your world. But you chose me.”

His gaze swept over her face, unreadable. “I chose what made sense.”

Her stomach dipped. “What… made sense?”

“You’re loyal by bloodline. Your family owed me.” His eyes didn’t flinch as he said it. “This way, the debt is settled, and I gain what I need.”

“What you need,” she echoed quietly. “Which is…?”

Damian stepped closer, shadows clinging to him like a second suit. “An heir, Seraphina.”

The word hit harder than any slap.

He didn’t say wife.

He didn’t say partner.

Heir.

She tried to laugh it off, but it came out thin and broken. “I thought.. I hoped this was… more than that.”

His eyes flickered, and for a second she thought she saw something like regret. It vanished too quickly to catch.

“You’ll be cared for here,” he said instead. “You’ll never want for anything. Your parents are safe. Your brother is safe. You have my name. My protection. That’s more than most people get from a marriage.”

She swallowed. “And what about love?”

A beat of silence.

“That,” Damian said quietly, “has never been part of the deal.”

The deal.

Not the vows.

Not the marriage.

The deal.

Her fingers dug into the satin of her dress so hard she almost ripped it.

He reached for the buttons at the back of her gown, movements controlled, efficient, like he was unwrapping something he’d bought.

“Tonight,” he murmured, “we do what is necessary.”

Her throat burned.

“Damian, wait,” she whispered. “Can we just… talk? For a minute? Pretend this isn’t just...”

“Seraphina.” His tone sharpened, eyes hardening. “This isn’t about pretending. This is reality. The sooner you accept it, the less painful it will be.”

Less painful.

The words hollowed her.

He took her that night with the same focus he’d give a business negotiation, no softness, no exploration, just what was required.

The ache afterward wasn’t just in her body. It was in her soul.

When it was over, Damian rose, buttoning his shirt again.

She lay there, silent, staring at the ceiling, the sheets cool against skin that still felt humiliated.

“You should sleep,” he said, adjusting his cufflinks.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “You’re not staying?”

“I have work.”

Of course he did.

“And us?” she asked, shame burning her cheeks even as she forced the question out. “What are we?”

He paused at the door.

“You are my wife,” he said. “And soon, you’ll be the mother of my heir.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

She stared at the empty space where he had been, feeling the last of her illusions crumble.

Marrying for love had been her fantasy.

Marrying for an heir had been his plan.

Tears burned at the back of her eyes as she rolled onto her side, the ache spreading through her chest.

She thought this night was the beginning of a love story. Instead, it felt like a transaction.

.......................

Seraphina learned quickly what it meant to be Damian Blackwell’s wife.

She was displayed.

Protected.

Sheltered.

But not seen.

Not loved.

Not wanted.

Not even regarded.

Two weeks after the wedding, she was sitting alone on the edge of the bed when her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

A message notification lit up the screen.

Her breath caught when she saw the sender. Unknown Source: RumorLens App

BREAKING: Damian Blackwell & Lysandra Velez, Back Together?

Her fingers trembled as she tapped it open.

The article loaded instantly, plastered with paparazzi shots, grainy, zoomed in images of Damian and Lysandra entering a private club together the night before.

Lysandra’s hand on his chest. His head tilted toward hers. Their bodies too close. Too familiar. Just like lovers.

Just like a couple reunited.

Seraphina blinked hard. Her heart didn’t even break this time.

It just… sank.

Numb.

Hollow.

Tired.

Another ping.

A second article.

More photos.

More speculation.

“Blackwell Heir Rekindles Romance With Cartel Princess?”

“Did The New Wife Already Lose His Interest?”

She let the phone fall into her lap.

Of course.

Of course the world would believe Damian belonged with Lysandra. They looked right together, dark, dangerous, powerful. Two forces cut from the same cold metal.

She?

She was a fragile flower someone accidentally planted in a field of knives.

Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry this time.

Seraphina walked downstairs for breakfast, only to find Lysandra already seated at her dining table, barefoot, legs up, wearing one of Damian’s shirts.

Damian sat beside her reading through documents, sipping coffee like this was normal.

Seraphina froze.