The last place that felt like hers

Seraphina had not intended to leave her room that afternoon.

But the silence was becoming unbearable.

Downstairs, the household continued preparing for the Lycan King's visit, and the occasional burst of laughter drifting through the corridors reminded her that everyone had found something to occupy themselves with. Everyone except her,she wandered through the familiar hallways, following a path her feet remembered even when her mind wished they didn't.

At the end of the eastern corridor stood a narrow glass door.

The greenhouse.

Seraphina stopped, for a moment, she simply stared at it.

When she was younger, her mother had brought her here whenever the noise of the estate became too much. Together, they had tended medicinal herbs, watered delicate flowers, and prepared simple remedies for her mother's frequent illnesses.

Her mother used to tell her that plants needed patience and kindness to flourish. Seraphina had believed people did, too.

She reached for the handle and pushed the door open.

Then she froze.

The greenhouse was gone.

Not the building itself, but everything that had made it theirs.

The rows of medicinal herbs had disappeared, replaced by elegant furniture and a polished black piano. Paintings decorated the walls, and a large easel stood beside the windows. The old wooden shelves had been removed to make room for expensive art supplies.

Sunlight streamed through the glass ceiling, illuminating a room that looked as though it belonged in a private academy.

A piano room.

Lillian's piano room.

Seraphina stepped inside slowly.

She searched the corners, hoping to find something familiar. The small wooden stool her mother used when her knees hurt. The chipped ceramic pots they had painted together. Even the little brass watering can she had received on her tenth birthday.

Nothing.

Not one thing remained.

She could still remember sitting beside her mother on rainy afternoons, listening to stories while they separated dried leaves into little glass jars. Sometimes her mother would fall asleep in the chair, and Seraphina would quietly cover her with a blanket.

Back then, she had thought those moments would belong to them forever. Apparently, forever had lasted only until someone else wanted the room.

"Seraphina?"

She turned.

Adrian stood in the doorway, his gaze moving from her face to the piano.

"I wondered where you'd gone." He stepped inside, then looked around properly.Something shifted in his expression.

"This used to be the greenhouse."

Seraphina said nothing.

Adrian frowned. "Mother had the room renovated last year. Lillian wanted somewhere to practice piano, and the greenhouse wasn't being used much anymore."

Wasn't being used?

Seraphina looked at the piano again.

She had spent two years locked away, clinging to memories of this place whenever the prison walls became unbearable. She had imagined returning and sitting beside her mother among the herbs, even if they had nothing else left to say to each other.

She had never considered that the place itself might no longer exist.

"Oh," she murmured.

Adrian watched her.

"You could have told me you wanted to use it again."

A quiet, humorless feeling settled in her chest.

"Would that have changed anything?"

He opened his mouth but did not answer.

Before he could find a response, Lillian appeared behind him her gaze landed on Seraphina, then moved quickly around the room.

"Oh, no."

She pressed a hand to her chest.

"Seraphina, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you still cared about this place. If I'd known, I would never have asked Mother to change it."

"Lillian," Adrian said gently, "it's all right."

But Lillian was already shaking her head.

"No, it isn't. This was important to you. I'll move everything out. You can have the room back."

Adrian's attention immediately shifted to her.

"Don't upset yourself. Nobody is blaming you."

Seraphina watched him comfort Lillian, his voice softening as he reassured her. It was almost impressive how quickly the conversation had changed, a moment ago, he had looked guilty. Now, he was worried about Lillian feeling guilty.

Seraphina lowered her eyes.

The familiar pattern no longer surprised her.

"Keep the room," she said.

Both of them looked at her.

"I don't want it."

"But—" Lillian began.

"I didn't come back to reclaim anything."

Her voice remained quiet, without accusation or bitterness that seemed to unsettle Adrian more than anger would have.

"Then what do you want, Seraphina?"

She met his gaze.

"To make sure Mother is all right."

"And afterward?"

Seraphina glanced toward the glass ceiling, where sunlight fell across the piano keys.

"Afterward, I'll leave."

Adrian stared at her before letting out a short, disbelieving breath.

"You're still angry. I understand that. But you can't seriously believe you'll leave this family forever."

"I do."

His expression hardened slightly.

"You've been home for barely a day. Give yourself time. You'll feel differently once you've settled in."

Perhaps he still imagined the little girl who used to follow him around the estate, who believed every argument could be fixed and every absence would end with a reunion.

That girl had waited two years for her family.

She had finally stopped waiting, seraphina walked past him toward the door.

Adrian turned after her.

"Seraphina, this is your family."

She paused without looking back.

"I know."

Then she continued down the corridor, leaving him alone with the room he had forgotten and the sister he still did not understand. For the first time, Adrian wondered whether Seraphina's return had not been a second chance for their family at all.

Perhaps it was her final goodbye.