Semua Bab SISTER SERAPHINE: THE UNHOLY NUN: Bab 1 - Bab 7

The rosary slipped from her trembling fingers, beads scattering across the marble floor like broken prayers. Each echoing clatter felt like another vow shattering, like another piece of her sanctity crumbling at his feet."Cassian—" Her voice cracked, breathless, torn between pleading and surrender.The air between them was thick with candle smoke and something darker, something dangerous. In the abandoned corridor of Saint Meridia, where silence was meant to be sacred, his presence made every shadow pulse with sin.Her back was pinned against the cold stone wall, the rough surface biting through the thin fabric of her habit. Cassian Vale stood before her—towering, merciless, and far too close. His tailored suit smelled faintly of expensive cologne and something sharper, like fire on the verge of consuming her."Say it again." His voice was low, gravel rough, dripping with command. Storm-gray eyes burned into hers, daring her to deny what her trembling body already confessed. His hand

Mother Cecily's glare silenced them for a beat, but Sister Rosa, one of the novices, raised her hand timidly. "What if he is a benefactor?" she asked. "What if he came to give us land, or money for the poor?"Agnes snorted. "Benefactor? Did you see the way he carried himself? That's not a man who gives. That's a man who takes,"Gasps rippled, and Rosa turned crimson, bowing her head."Agnes," Seraphine finally spoke, her voice soft but firm. She kept her eyes on the table, not daring to meet theirs. "You speak too boldly. Be careful. Words have weight."Agnes leaned forward, studying Seraphine with a sly smile. "And you, Sister Seraphine, didn't you feel it? The air? The silence wasn't silence anymore when he entered."Seraphine's lips parted, but no words came. It's not that she's afraid or something, she just can't find the right word to say. She have her own opinions too, but keeping quite in times like this make it better. One wrong word, she's going to be on the hot seat—being t

The rest of the day passed in ritual. Scripture readings echoed through the chapel until her lips moved from memory rather than meaning. Chores blurred into one another—laundry in cold water, sweeping endless corridors, mending habits worn thin by years of use. The rhythm should have been grounding. Familiar. Holy.But everywhere she turned, the shadow of that man lingered.In the chapel, the stained glass poured crimson and gold across the pews, yet Seraphine felt only the heat of remembered words pressed low into her ear. Smooth. Commanding. As though they had been spoken just for her.During vespers, she caught herself stumbling, the syllables faltering on her tongue. Her voice, meant for God alone, betrayed her. Her mind wandered back to the stranger, back to the cadence of his tone. It clung to her like incense smoke, thick and sweet, seeping beneath her skin no matter how tightly she folded her hands.Her head bowed deeper, breath uneven. "Lord, cleanse me," she whispered, the w

The bell tower had only just ceased ringing when Mother Superior sent Seraphine down the winding slope to fetch water from the well. It should have been a simple task, an errand done by countless sisters before her. Yet tonight, the air felt thick, humming with something she could not name. She pressed the wooden bucket against her chest and walked swiftly, her sandals brushing loose gravel. Above, the sky bruised purple and gold, the last of the sun bleeding into night. The convent loomed behind her, safe and high upon the hill, its walls glowing faintly with the reflection of stained glass. Ahead lay the path—overgrown, half-wild, bordered by weeds and wildflowers curling through cracks in the stone. She should have felt peace. Instead, unease clawed her ribs. And then— “Damn it.” The curse cracked across the air, deep and sharp, pulling her to a halt. Her heart seized. She had not heard such words in months—not spoken aloud, not here, not so close to holy ground. It fel