Her body was all slim elegance, wrapped in a pale pink silk blouse and tailored trousers that whispered money and power.Diamonds glittered at her throat and wrists, catching the light with every subtle movement, as if even the sun knew better than to ignore her.
Her eyes locked onto mine.
Doll-like. Pale. Empty.
Pretty in the way knives were pretty.
Her nails were long and lacquered blood-red, makeup heavy but precise—smoky eyes, sculpted cheekbones, nude lips curved into a knowing, satisfied smirk.
She took her time approaching, each step slow and calculated, heels clicking softly on the gravel. Predator’s rhythm. The kind that didn’t rush because it didn’t have to.
Her perfume reached me before she did—rose and vanilla, thick and cloying, feminine to the point of suffocation.
Antonio remained by the Bentley, watching me with lazy interest, dark eyes sharp and amused, as if he were observing a play whose ending he already knew.
That familiar chill crept down my spine.
Seraphina stopped inches from me.
Close enough that I could see the faint shimmer of cruelty behind her lashes.
“You stole my marriage from me, sweetheart,” she said, voice silk-wrapped venom. “So I stole your son.” Her lips curved wider. “Fair game, don’t you think?”
Something ugly and feral surged in my chest.
I stared at her, rage tunneling my vision. “You’re proud of kidnapping a five-year-old?” I said coldly. “How utterly barbaric.”
She laughed softly, as if I’d complimented her.
“Oh, please.” She stepped past me, circling slowly, heels tapping against the gravel like a countdown. “You say barbaric. I say strategic.” She paused behind me, close enough that I felt thewarmth of her breath brush my neck. “What wouldn’t a mother do for her child?”
My fists clenched.
“Coming into Orlov territory alone?” she continued, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. “That’s either bravery or insanity.” A beat. Then, with surgical precision, she struck. “Tell me... did you have plastic surgery to look like his dead wife? Because it’s painfully obvious why Dmitri married you so quickly—before I even had the chance to recover properly.”
The words were meant to humiliate. To unmake me.
My gaze flicked to Antonio.
He exhaled smoke lazily, the corner of his mouth lifting into that same familiar smirk—the one he’d worn the day he betrayed me. Like he was in on a joke I didn’t understand yet.
My stomach sank.
What was his role in this? Why was he here—silent, watchful, smug? How much did he know?
I didn’t have time to think.
A small, terrified voice sliced through the courtyard.
“Mom!”
The world shattered.
“Vanya.”
He burst from the mansion doors, running down the grand stone steps, curls bouncing wildly, cheeks wet with tears. His little arms stretched toward me, fingers grasping the air, panic written across his face.
Behind him—
