A gloved hand shot out before she could react, yanking her backward. The world tilted. Pain lanced through her ribs as she hit the ground. Another hand clamped over her mouth, stifling the scream that had already clawed its way up. Cold eyes glinted from the darkness, strangers, faceless enemies who had been waiting, silent and patient. Rage flared, mingling with terror. She thrashed, but their grip was iron. Hatred screamed in her mind, not for this moment, not for them but for the betrayal that had allowed her to walk into it.
By the time she realized they weren’t going to speak, weren’t going to explain, it was too late. They were dragging her into a waiting van, the roar of the waves swallowed beneath the metallic growl of the engine. Her fists pounded against them, her nails piercing skin, but nothing could pierce the calculatedcontrol of her captors. The cliffside disappeared behind her, replaced by the suffocating darkness of the vehicle’s interior.
Sera’s chest heaved with sobs she refused to let escape. Her mind reeled with every memory, every loss, every lie she had swallowed for years. Her mother…maybe she wasn’t who she thought she was. Lucien, he had left her alone in the estate. The betrayal cut deep, sharper than any knife. Every fiber of her being screamed for vengeance, screamed for escape. She refused to cry out loud, no one would hear her, no one would come, yet, inside that suffocating cage of darkness and betrayal, a fire sparked.Hatred. Pure, blinding, consuming hatred.
She would survive this. She would fight and when she did, those responsible, every single one, would pay.
BecauseSeraphina Calista Morettidid not break.
Not completely.
Not yet.
CHAPTER 49
Lucien had sensed something immediately. Something was off the moment Sera had stormed down the corridor, the tension in the air following her like a live wire. He hadn’t let her leave his office, but even from the distance of the stairwell he had noticed it, the way she moved, the way her body carried a storm he hadn’t been able to contain. He had watched her, calculated every step, even while pretending to organize files with Ronan at his side.
It wasn’t long before the report reached him. One of the estate staff, an unremarkable young man who had been trained to see everything but speak nothing, had noticed Sera leave the estate with purpose. Curious, he had followed her briefly, only to see her intercepted by unknown men. He didn’t know who they were or what their intentions were, but he had gone straight to the security office. Ronan had been there, listening carefully, and in an instant had come to him.
Lucien’s jaw tightened as he absorbed every detail. His pulse didn’t quicken, he had long since stopped reacting the way normal men did but a dangerous fire ignited in his chest, a combination of fury, fear, and unrelenting possessiveness.
“She’s been taken,” Ronan repeated, his voice tight and controlled.
Lucien didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t need to. The words themselves were enough to ignite the storm in his mind.
“Where?” he asked finally, low, deadly, and precise.
Ronan gestured toward the map he had already pulled up, marking the locations of recent suspicious activity around the estate. One spot stood out, a remote cliffside path that ended near a secluded area by the sea. “That’s where she was heading,” Ronan said. “We don’t know who they are, but they were waiting for her.”
Lucien’s fingers clenched into fists so tight his nails dug into his palms. Every muscle in his body tensed. His heart wasn’t beating. It was hunting.
“They made one mistake,” he said, voice cold and low, resonating like steel against stone. “They thought they could touch her without consequences.”
Ronan met his gaze and immediately understood. “Instant war,” Lucien continued, more to himself than to anyone else. “I want names. I want locations. I want every single person who had a hand in this, dead. I want their families to think twice before ever considering crossing us again.”
The wordless silence in the room carried weight. Lucien’s calm, calculated voice masked the storm underneath, but Ronan knew better. He could feel it radiating off his boss, the kind of cold fury that left men shaking and enemies running before they even understood what had happened.
“We followed her,” Lucien said finally, leaning over the map, tracing the route she had taken. “Quietly. Stepped through every shadow. Observed every movement and now they’ve overplayed their hand.”
He straightened, his coat brushing the floor, his hand coming to rest on the grip of his pistol. “Prepare the men,once they get back,” he said. “We move tonight. No mercy. No hesitation. I want these men to regret ever thinking they could touch Seraphina.”
Ronan nodded, already moving to execute orders. Lucien’s eyes drifted to the open sea beyond the estate walls, the wind ruffling his dark hair. He imagined Sera in the hands of strangers, her fury, her heartbreak, the fire in her eyes.
He felt it all, rage, protection, obsession, need and he promised himself, quietly, ruthlessly,“Anyone who dared lay a finger on her would pay in blood.”
Lucien’s jaw tightened, and for the first time in hours, he allowed himself a small, dark smile. The war had begun.
Lucien moved like a shadow through the estate, silent and precise. Every step calculated, every breath measured. He didn’t speak unless necessary, Ronan and the rest of the security team had learned long ago that the less they said, the less chance of failure. The night air was sharp against his skin, carrying the faint scent of the sea from the cliffs. It should have calmed him. Instead, it fueled the storm inside.
Every detail mattered. He replayed the report from the guard in his mind, the direction she had gone, the vague description of the men, the path to the cliffs. Nothing was overlooked. He traced each step on the map laid out before him, memorizing distances, escape routes, choke points. The team moved like ghosts behind him, weapons ready, eyes scanning every shadow. Lucien’s mind wasn’t merely planning a rescue, it was calculating total annihilation.
“They think they can play with her like pieces on a board,” he muttered, voice low, dangerous, almost musical in its menace. “They have no idea what they’ve done.”
Ronan flinched slightly at the tone but did not speak. He knew better than to interrupt. Lucien’s fury wasn’t blind, it was razorsharp and precise, the kind of controlled violence that left enemies trembling before the first bullet was fired.
Hours passed like minutes as they moved through narrow paths, abandoned buildings, and the broken terrain leading closer to the kidnappers’ hideout. Lucien’s senses were heightened, every rustle, every movement, every whisper of wind could indicate her location. His eyes, dark and calculating, scanned relentlessly. Even in the shadows, his presence was magnetic, dominant. Ronan and the others had long since learned to follow without questioning, but they couldn’t help noticing the way the air seemed to shift around Lucien, power, control, and a dangerous kind of heat.
Finally, they reached the lower chamber, a forgotten part of the city’s old industrial complex near to where they killed Virelli’s men. Stone walls, a drain cutting across the cold floor, flickering lights barely illuminating stacks of crates and discarded weapons. Lucien crouched slightly, hand brushing the grip of his pistol. He motioned to Ronan with a single tilt of his head.
