Chapter 3

Seraphina's POV

The drink was sweet. Deceptively so.

"Good?" Sterling watched me with that warm smile.

"It's perfect."

Sterling reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered against my cheek.

"You're so beautiful tonight, Sera. Do you know that?"

My heart stuttered. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the recording was fake after all.

I took another sip. Then another. The sweetness spread through me, warm and reassuring.

Sterling stayed close, his hand finding the small of my back, guiding me through the room like I was something precious. Something worth protecting.

Guests began arriving in waves—daughters of senators, sons of Wall Street titans, the glittering youth of Manhattan's elite. They air-kissed my cheeks and pressed champagne flutes into my hands and told me how wonderful I looked, how lucky Sterling was.

"Twenty years old," cooed Madison Ashworth, her diamond tennis bracelet catching the light. "And already the most enviable couple at Thornwood. When's the engagement announcement?"

Heat crept up my neck. "We're not—"

"Oh, don't be coy." She winked at Sterling. "Everyone knows it's inevitable. Your families are practically merged already."

She wasn't wrong.

The Ashfords' import-export business had survived three recessions thanks to the Prescotts' political connections. In return, my adoptive parents had quietly funded Sterling's father's campaign contributions, helped smooth over certain... irregularities... in their shipping manifests.

I'd overheard fragments over the years. Late-night phone calls my father took in his study, his voice tight with stress. *The auditors are asking questions. We need those customs reports buried. The offshore accounts—*

He always stopped when he noticed me nearby.

"Nothing to worry about, Seraphina," he'd say with a thin smile. "Just business complications."

But I'd seen the way his hands shook when he poured his evening scotch. The way my mother's smile grew more brittle every time the words "federal investigation" appeared in the news about other import companies.

The Ashford empire was built on secrets. I just didn't know how deep they went.

I'd overheard them discussing it once. "The Prescott boy is perfect for Seraphina. It solidifies everything."

We were bound together by ledgers and favors and mutual necessity.

Marriage was simply the final signature on a contract written years ago.

I'd accepted it. Even welcomed it. Because Sterling had made me believe we could be more than a transaction.

"Soon," Sterling said smoothly, his arm sliding around my waist. "When the time is right."

His hand pressed warm against my hip. Possessive. Certain.

I leaned into him, letting his solid presence anchor me.

See? I told myself. This is real. This is what love looks like.

The recording was a lie. It had to be. Vivienne had fabricated it—used some AI software or paid someone to imitate their voices. She'd wanted to ruin my birthday, and I'd almost let her.

Not anymore.

More guests. More congratulations. More champagne that someone kept pressing into my hands.

I drank without thinking. The bubbles fizzed pleasantly against my tongue.

But somewhere around the third glass—or was it the fourth?—the room began to tilt.

"Sera?" Sterling's voice came from far away. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." The words felt thick in my mouth. "Just... a little dizzy."

"Here." He guided me to a velvet settee in the corner, away from the crowd. "Sit. I'll get you some water."

He was so attentive. So caring. His hand lingered on my shoulder, thumb tracing gentle circles.

This is what love looks like.

The party wound down in a blur of faces and farewells.

I couldn't remember most of it. Just fragments—Sterling's arm around me, his voice making excuses on my behalf, Wren's worried face swimming in and out of focus.

"Time to go," Sterling murmured against my ear. "I have somewhere special planned. Just the two of us."

Heat bloomed in my chest. Tonight. It was finally going to happen tonight.

I thought of what Wren had said earlier. You're going to let that man spread you open and fuck you until you forget your own name.

My face burned.

"Sterling—I want to say goodbye to Wren first."

"Of course."

I found her by the champagne tower, arms crossed, watching Sterling with narrowed eyes.

"Hey." I touched her arm. "I'm leaving with Sterling."

"Sera..." She bit her lip. "I don't know. Something feels off. You seem really out of it."

"I'm fine. Just had too much champagne."

"That's exactly what worries me."

I pulled her into a hug, lowering my voice. "If what you said earlier happens... I'll call you. And you can deal with my professors tomorrow, remember?"

She didn't laugh. "Sera, seriously—"

"I trust him." The words came easier than they should have. "I trust him, Wren."

She studied my face for a long moment. Whatever she saw there made her jaw tighten.

"Fine. But you call me. The second anything feels wrong."

"I promise."

Sterling appeared at my elbow. "Everything okay?"

"Just girl talk." I smiled up at him. "Ready when you are."

He led me toward the exit. Wren's gaze burned into my back the entire way.

The night air hit me like a wall.

I stumbled, and Sterling caught me.

"Easy." He guided me toward a sleek black car idling at the curb. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable."

The interior was warm. Leather seats that seemed to swallow me whole.

I slumped against Sterling's shoulder, my eyelids impossibly heavy. My skin felt too tight, too hot. Every breath took effort.

"Tired?" His voice was soft.

"Mmmm." I couldn't form words anymore. Couldn't think. The world had gone soft and hazy at the edges, like looking through frosted glass.

Something's wrong.

The thought surfaced briefly, then sank beneath the fog.

Just close your eyes for a second. Just a second.

Time became meaningless. The car hummed beneath me. Sterling's heartbeat thudded against my ear.

Then his chest vibrated. He was speaking—not to me. To someone on the phone.

"...media all arranged?"

The words drifted through the fog.

"...don't worry... after tonight, we can finally be together..."

Media. Together.

A smile tugged at my lips even through the heaviness. He was going to announce it. Our engagement. Make it official in front of everyone.

This is what love looks like.

I reached for his hand. Squeezed weakly.

"Love you," I mumbled.

He didn't respond.

-

The car stopped.

I didn't know how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours?

"Sterling?" My voice came out slurred. "Where are we?"

The door opened.

Not beside me. Behind me.

Hands gripped my arms—Sterling's hands, I thought, but rougher than before. Urgent.

He pulled me from the car.

My heels caught on the curb. I stumbled, knees scraping against pavement.

"Sterling—what—"

The car door slammed.

Engine roaring.

Tires screaming.

And then he was gone.

What just happened?

My brain couldn't process it.

He left me. He just... left me.

I looked up.

Red neon letters burned against the darkness.

CRIMSON THORN

The words swam in my vision.

Lorenzo Vitale's club. The BDSM club. The place Wren said—

"Ties them up, edges them for hours, makes them scream and cry and cum."

Bile rose in my throat.

A door opened somewhere.

Footsteps approached. Deliberate. Unhurried.

I tried to stand. My legs wouldn't cooperate. Whatever was in that drink had stolen my body, left me helpless on the doorstep of the most dangerous place in Manhattan.

The footsteps grew closer.

And I couldn't run.