Chapter 7

The alarm clock blared its usual shrill tone at 5:00 AM, slicing through the darkness of my room like a knife.

Usually, this sound triggered a panic response. It meant I had fifteen minutes to shower, dress, and run to the bakery to start the dough for the morning rush. It meant another day of servitude to Thomas Vale, working off a debt that he never intended to let me repay. It was a normal routine I had grown accustomed to.

But today, I didn't flinch.

I stared at the glowing red numbers in the dark.

Five hours.

That was all I had left. Five hours until the black limousine arrived at 10:00 AM. Five hours until I was free.

I reached over and slapped the off button, silencing the noise.

"Not today," I whispered into the pillow, a small, victorious smile touching my lips.

I rolled over, pulled the duvet up to my chin, and went back to sleep.

When I finally woke up, sunlight was slipping bold fingers through the curtains. It was 8:30 AM.

I stretched, my bones cracking. For the first time in years, I didn't feel the crushing weight of dread on my chest. I felt a strange, terrifying lightness.

I got out of bed and looked at the two suitcases sitting by the door. I had packed them last night in a frenzy, shoving in only the clothes I had bought with my own money. I wasn't taking a single thing that the Vales could claim was "theirs."

I dressed slowly in my armor: black hoodie, black sweats, cheap sneakers. I didn't bother with makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes. Let them see the exhaustion. Let them see the ghost they created before I vanished for good.

I checked my phone. 8:45 AM.

Time to drop the bomb.

I walked downstairs. The house was too quiet until the faint sound of clinking cutlery reached me. Muffled laughter. The smell of eggs and bacon. A family’s morning symphony.

My steps on the stairs silenced it all.

When I entered the dining room, the scene was picture-perfect. Mom, Thomas, Tyler, and Skylar were sitting around the table, the morning sun making everything look golden. For a heartbeat, it almost looked like a home.

Then the spell broke.

Every fork froze. Every head turned. Four pairs of eyes pinned me in place—startled, guilty, like they’d seen an intruder.

Skylar recovered first, of course. She always did.

"Good morning, Serp," she chirped. That honey-sweet tone slid from her mouth like poisoned syrup.

The nickname crawled under my skin, but today, I let it slide. I wouldn't be hearing it ever again.

"Morning," I said flatly, my voice devoid of emotion.

There was no place set for me at the table, but I sat down anyway in the empty chair across from Tyler’s designated spot. I reached over and grabbed a slice of toast from the center rack.

My mother looked like she was malfunctioning. Her mouth opened and closed, fumbling for words.

"Seraphina..." she started, her voice high and tight. "We... we didn’t know you’d be home. Shouldn't you be at the bakery?"

I took a slow, crunchy bite of the toast. Strawberry jam. Sweet.

"No," I said, chewing slowly. "I decided to stay home today."

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush a lung.

"Stay home?" Skylar laughed, a nervous, tinkling sound. "What do you mean? Don't you have my cake to start designing? We are on a tight schedule, silly."

I swallowed. "I told you the other night, Skylar. I’m not making your wedding cake."

Her smile twitched. The mask slipped just a fraction. "But Mr. Vale said—"

"Mr. Vale said his piece," I cut her off, my eyes sliding to Thomas. He was watching me with a dangerous stillness, like a viper waiting to strike. "And I said mine. My answer is no."

Thomas slowly lowered his fork. His face began to turn that familiar, violent shade of purple.

"Why are you being so difficult?" he rumbled, his voice vibrating through the table.

"I’m not being difficult," I said calmly. "I’m being compliant. You gave me an ultimatum last night, didn't you?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I told you that if you didn't bake the cake, I would take the bakery back."

"Exactly," I said.

I reached into my hoodie pocket. My fingers brushed the cold metal of the key ring.

"I thought about it," I lied. "And I realized you were right. It's your lease. It's your building. It's your problem."

I pulled the keys out and slid them across the polished mahogany table.

Clatter.

They spun and stopped right next to his plate.

"Here," I said. "I quit."

The room exploded into chaos.

"What?" Mom gasped, pressing a hand to her chest dramatically.

"You can't be serious!" Skylar shrieked. "Who is going to make my cake?!"

Thomas stared at the keys. Then he looked up at me, his eyes bulging with rage. He hadn't expected this. He expected me to fold. He expected me to beg.

"You ungrateful brat," he roared, shooting up from his chair so fast it tipped over backward with a crash.

He lunged across the table.

Smack.

The slap came out of nowhere. It exploded across my cheek, sharp and hot, snapping my head to the side.

The room went dead silent.

My cheek burned. My ear rang. Tears sprung to my eyes instantly from the sting, but I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood to keep them from falling.

I slowly turned my head back to look at him.

I didn't cower. I didn't flinch. I looked him dead in the eye with a hatred that had been simmering for ten years.

"Get out," Thomas spat, his chest heaving, spit flying from his lips. "Get the fuck out of my house."

I smiled. A cold, bloody smile.

"Gladly."