"I don't need parenting advice from you."
"Clearly you need something." She moves toward the door. "You wanted her. You took her. You married her. Now you're letting her waste away because you're obsessed with hunting a ghost."
"Gabe is not a ghost. He's a threat."
"And Seraphina is your wife." Bianca turns back to face me. "The mother of your child. The future of this family. And you're so focused on yesterday's enemy that you can't see she's slipping through your fingers."
"She's not going anywhere."
"No?" Bianca's smile is cold. "A woman doesn't need to leave to disappear, Adrian. She can be standing right in front of you and still be gone. Take it from someone who knows."
The door closes behind her with a quiet click.
I sit there for a moment. Staring at the maps. The reports. The surveillance photos of people who might have seen Gabe.
Two weeks of this.
Two weeks of eighteen-hour days in this office. Of phone calls at midnight. Of Leo briefing me on leads that go nowhere.
Two weeks of Sera eating breakfast alone. Of finding herasleep on the couch when I finally come to bed at three a.m. Of her saying "good morning" with eyes that don't quite meet mine.
When was the last time we had a real conversation?
When was the last time I asked her how she was feeling about the pregnancy?
When was the last time I saw her smile?
I close my laptop and stand up.
My phone immediately buzzes. Leo calling with another update.
I silence it and walk out of the office.
I find her in the conservatory.
She's curled up in the window seat, a book closed in her lap. She's staring out into the garden, a look of longing on her face.
One that makes me feel like shit.
She looks pale and thin. The bruises on her body have faded, but they've been replaced by a melancholy I don't particularly care for.
My mother was right.
I've been so focused on keeping Sera safe that I forgot she might need more than just protection.
She might need me.
"Sera."
She startles, and her hand goes immediately to her stomach in a protective gesture that twists something in my chest.
"Adrian." Her voice is carefully neutral. "Is something wrong?"
Is something wrong?
That's what we've become. The only time I seek her out is when there's a crisis.
"No." I move into the room. "Nothing's wrong."
