4

Seraphina’s POV

The next few days blurred by. I buried myself in spa appointments, boutique shopping, massages I couldn’t enjoy, and wine I barely tasted. At the same time, I secretly met with a few "businessmen" from my circle who happened to be interested in the casino, discussing matters related to selling it.

And just when I thought I might finally be coming up for air—

They showed up. Mireille. And her father, Michale.

My mother didn’t come—but I was sure she knew about the divorce. Probably muttering her usual disappointment over my inability to “keep a man.”

Mireille smoothed her designer dress and approached me like she was entering a ballroom. Head high, smile bright. She walked like a victor.

“Sera,” she cooed, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness. “Elias told me you’re still angry with him.”

She continued, the words rolling off her tongue like silk. “Elias protected me because I’ve never been in a situation like this before. But you—you’re like a pro. Who better than you to handle those cops?”

“Is that so?” I asked, deadpan.

“Really,” she nodded, too eagerly. “And I told Elias to call the lawyer, but I guess all the driving tired him out. You know how he is.”

Her voice was soft. Her words careful. Not one thing you could quote as malicious.

And yet she had twisted the entire narrative.

“And as his wife,” she added softly, her tone almost too sweet, “maybe you should try to see things from his perspective. He doesn’t have the connections you do. Perhaps you should take some responsibility, sometimes. And maybe be a little more understanding... and a little less... aggressive?”

I blinked slowly.

“Yes,” I said, voice like velvet. “I was more powerful so I deserved to be abandoned by my husband to a bunch of cops and watched him take my dear innocent sister to a fucking road trip.”

Then I tilted my head. “But tell me, Mireille… Are you really that innocent, soft?”

Just like the perfect little actress she’s always been, Mireille blinked back tears, her doe eyes going wide and glassy before she gave a dramatic stumble backward. “I had came to offer my peace. Why do you have to…?”

Right on cue, Michale rushed to her side, slipping into his role like it was second nature. “We came here to show love. Concern. And you—you’re still the same arrogant, ungrateful girl.”

I stood frozen for half a second, wondering where this performance was headed—

And then I saw her. My mother.

She stepped out from the corner of the hallway, arms crossed, eyes already heavy with disappointment.

“Enough, Seraphina,” she said, voice sharp enough to cut. “I had hoped marriage might teach you maturity. But clearly, you haven’t changed one bit. Still spoiled. Still entitled. Still expecting the world to revolve around you.”

Before I could even form a word to defend myself, she brushed past me—straight to Mireille.

“Are you hurt, sweetheart?” she asked, brushing Mireille’s hair back like she was a porcelain doll.

Then she turned to me, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Seems like you’ve lost not only your husband, but the casino I handed to you as well. What can you do exactly, Seraphina?”

I went still. So quiet I almost didn’t recognize the silence in myself.

All I could do was stare—at my mother, at Mireille, at the little scene they’d created.

“Mother.” I swallowed hard. “Was I always the villain in your story?”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“Have you ever believed me? Even once?” I asked. “Or were you always just waiting for another reason to love someone else more?”

“Seraphina—”

“No,” I said. “I get it. I was the spoiled one. The mistake. So let me make things easy for you.”

I took a step back, breath steady now.

“If you came here to talk me out of a divorce, if you’re here because you’re worried I’ll shame the family name, or maybe bring danger to your status in our world—don’t be.” I looked her dead in the eye. “I’m going through with the divorce and I will leave the casino. Nothing can change my decision.”

Her eyes widened. .In the past, I’d only ever stammered a quiet, “It wasn’t me.” Or “I am sorry, mommy.”

This time, I didn’t ask to be believed.

I finished my words and simply turned—And that’s when I saw him.

Elias. Standing next to the elevator. Silent. Watching.

I met his eyes. “Are you going to pretend like my mother and say I overreacted too?”

He opened his mouth.

I didn’t wait to hear it. I stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut.

Just before they sealed, I caught a glimpse of Elias’s face— He looked like a man who’d just woken up in his own nightmare. Regret twisted in his expression. Regret—and something else.

Maybe it was the first flicker of clarity. Maybe he’d finally seen Mireille for who she was.

But it didn’t matter anymore. He’d chosen her when it counted.

Now I was choosing me.