“I know.”
Maeve picks up her cup again and looks at her seriously.
“Look, listen carefully to what I’m about to say, because you’re probably not going to like it. If Seraphina Chapman isn’t willing to truly walk away from the perfect life she’s living, she’s going to end up dragging you down with her while she makes up her mind. And you…” She gently tightens her fingers around the mug. “You’re already too messed up to survive another hit like that. So you’d better get at least a little control back.”
Chapter 5
Night settles over the gardens of the Chapman residence with elegant stillness. A gentle breeze stirs the tops of the oak trees, and their leaves whisper secrets no one dares speak aloud. Inside, the warm light of the chandeliers bathes the dining room in a golden glow that reflects off the silverware and crystal glasses set for dinner. Seraphina Chapman finishes placing the last glass on the table, and the faint clink of crystal against the tablecloth echoes through the silence of the house.
Everything is impeccable. Exactly as it should be.
For years, Seraphina has found in her home a refuge from the corporate hustle, from the meetings, the cameras, and the headlines that always accompanied the Chapman name. But now, as she adjusts for the umpteenth time a piece of cutlery that was already perfectly aligned, she feels once again how the walls are closing in around her, pressing against her chest with a dull, constant weight.
Less than seventy-two hours ago, she was locked in the private bathroom of her office, with Nerissa’s hands gripping her waist as if the whole world might collapse at any moment. And now she’s here, preparing a business dinner alongside her perfect husband. The disconnect makes her dizzy, forcing her to lean against the edge of the table for a moment before taking a deep breath and trying to regain control.
“Mom, Ivy took the remote from me,” Oliver protests, bursting into the dining room with his face flushed with indignation. His sneakers squeak softly against the hardwood floor.
“Because you were watching boring documentaries,” Ivy retorts, appearing right behind him with her arms crossed and an air of superiority only a six-year-old can pull off.
Seraphina forces herself to offer a warm smile, though inside she still feels that constant whirlwind with a first and last name. She crouches down to her children’s height and ruffles their hair.
“Oliver, sweetie, you’re nine years old. You can’t monopolize the TV with shows about submarines,” Seraphina tells him patiently.
“But it was interesting, Mom,” the boy insists, looking at her with those big, sincere eyes that remind her so much of Elliot.
“It wasn’t at all,” Ivy declares, crossing her arms even more firmly. “I want to watch cartoons.”
The children’s argument draws a brief, genuine laugh from Seraphina. For a fleeting, almost dangerous second, the weight that has been crushing her chest since the gala seems to lighten. It’s as if, for a moment, she can once again simply be a mother taking care of her children on an ordinary evening.
At that moment, Elliot enters the dining room, finishing the adjustment of the silver cuff links on his white shirt. His presence fills the room with the confidence that has always characterized the man she married more than a decade ago.
“What’s going on here?” Elliot asks, smiling slightly as he raises an eyebrow and takes in the scene.
“Oliver wants to traumatize his sister with documentaries about submarines,” Seraphina explains, straightening up elegantly.
“It’s an interesting subject,” Oliver protests again.
“I’m sure it is,” Elliot replies with a smile, winking at his son. “But TV time in the living room is over for today,” he clarifies before stepping closer and ruffling the boy’s brown hair affectionately, then picking up Ivy, who protests with a laugh.
Seraphina watches them from a few steps away. The scene is domestic, so full of everyday warmth that it hurts her to the core. She loves that man. Perhaps not with the overwhelming passion she feels for Nerissa, but with a deep and genuine affection. Elliot is a good father, a loyal partner, someone who has never intentionally hurt her. And yet she is beginning to tear it all apart with her own hands. The thought sends a sharp pang of guilt climbing up her throat.
“The Becketts will be here in ten minutes,” Elliot announces as he gently sets Ivy back down on the floor. “Is everything ready, honey?”
Seraphina nods, though inside she feels that nothing is.
“Yes.”
He then steps closer and places a hand on her waist naturally, a habitual gesture after so many years. The touch, however, causes Seraphina’s body to tense involuntarily. For a second, her treacherous mind conjures different hands—more demanding, more intense—resting in exactly the same place. Terror at her own reaction runs down her spine.
But Elliot doesn’t seem to notice. He leans closer and murmurs near her ear:
“You look beautiful tonight.”
Seraphina forces a smile and adjusts his tie.
“You look very handsome too.”
He smiles at her and kisses her forehead tenderly before heading toward the living room. Guilt nearly chokes her. Seraphina remains motionless for a few seconds, watching Oliver chase Ivy down the hallway amid laughter while Elliot playfully threatens them if they break anything before the guests arrive. That scene should bring her peace. Instead, she feels as though she’s watching another woman’s life: a perfect, orderly life built on layers upon layers of silence and carefully guarded secrets.
