[ S E R A P H I N E ] Long shadows dim our path as we exit the store, the sun dipping lower in the sky. The warmth of the evening feels nice, unlike the terrifying reality his suspicions are forcing me to wrap my head around. We walk away from the picturesque sidewalk with Dominico glancing over his shoulder. Before we reach the Maserati, he looks behind one more time and puts his arm around my back. Like he's waiting for some sketchy guys to pop up out of nowhere and kidnap me. Just thinking it could happen makes my insides churn. My legs and feet are overworked after that ten-hour shift, but my brain can't seem to process most of the pain. I just know I need a quiet, private space where I can regroup my thoughts before we go anywhere else. “Hey. I-I really don't mind taking the bus. You don't have to drive me to the...”“Stay close.”“Why?” I almost glare at my “date” and stand beside his ride. Should I give him gas money now? Or just let him escort me all evening like a hired bo

[ S E R A P H I N E ]I have 39 minutes left. Where the heck is he? Does he think I have a two-hour lunch break? Maybe a CFO like him does. “Must be nice,” I mutter under my breath. If he doesn't show up in five minutes, I'm heading back to the staff lounge. I don't really want to, but at least it's safer there. Too crowded in case his father tries to corner me and harass me again. Too many witnesses. Too many mouths to silence. The creep might just have second thoughts about trying to cop a feel again.I cringe at the memory. I still remember every second. Some nights, my brain loves to replay those horrible ten seconds as if to remind me that I still have feelings. That I've been wronged. Mistreated. Humiliated. Victimized.But, no. I refuse to feel like a victim. Nope. Not now. Our one and only family business is in the red. About to go bankrupt, in fact, if we don't do something drastic soon. I don't have the luxury of taking a couple days off. To recover. To recharge. To do s

[ S E R A P H I N E ]I think I need to run. Hide. Go somewhere foreign and remote where no one knows a thing about me. Dominico won't say it to my face. But only because he thinks it will trigger a panic attack, or something worse.I don't need him to tell me my suspicions are true. I already know I'm in dire straits. I heard too much that night, and his father knows. Why else would Dominico tell his bodyguard to keep an eye on me?The tub is almost full, though I'm not sure a cold bath will do anything to calm my mind. The sound of the faucet running echoes as I try to silence my thoughts.Next to the white tub, I stretch my neck and back. I wince at the aches in my muscles. It's more or less the cortisol from all the stress. The anxiety. The sleepless nights...A buzzing noise disrupts the silence as I'm untying my robe. I rush to the sink and grab my phone, only to frown at another text from Dominico:[ Call me if you hear or notice anything strange. ]Strange? Like what? A broke

[ S E R A P H I N E ] It's past ten in the morning. I feel shitty. Drained. Battered. I probably look worse. It's viral. I know it. “Go back to sleep. Sleep is good,” I murmur to myself, wiping my runny nose. My skin is feverish especially my neck, armpits, and the insides of my thighs. My stomach feels off. My eyes and tongue feel hot, too. My body's giving up on me, and I feel guilty because it's mostly my fault. I haven't been minding my health the past few months. My diet's been poor, and I haven't been working out. I don't even recall the last time I had a solid eight hours of sleep in a day. No idea how Dominico manages to look that ripped and strong on barely five hours of sleep. It's probably genetics. Or he compulsively works out every single day. I need a copy of his diet plan and workout routine. Stat. “Ugh.” I feel like my eyes got stung by a bee while I was unconscious. My throat aches, too, like the rest of my body. I didn't cry myself to sleep, though. Dominico man

[ S E R A P H I N E ] I should be sleeping. Resting. Letting my body recover. Helping my immune system do its job faster. But my brain won't let me. For about six hours now, I've been trying to go back to sleep. Nothing's doing the trick. Listening to relaxing music with headphones on is only doing half of the job. Spending three hours taking dozens of pictures and filming myself getting half-naked in the bathroom didn't work, either. I even prepared and cooked a four-course dinner for my fake fiancé.I'm achy all over. My whole body's worn out, and I'm well aware that I need at least eight hours of deep sleep tonight if I want to feel alive and somewhat normal tomorrow. Still, nothing's working. Not even those expensive-looking sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet. “Argh!” This virus is something else.In the dim glow of the lamplight, covered up from my neck down to my feet, I sit on the thick carpet with my face between my knees. Breathing through my nose is impossible when I'