She bids the man farewell with a slight nod and begins walking toward her. Each step is deliberate, slow, aware of the effect it has on the other woman. When she stops in front of Seraphina, the familiar scent envelops her completely.
“Seraphina,” Nerissa says. Her deep, calm voice remains a weapon capable of unsettling her simply by speaking her name.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” Seraphina manages to reply, struggling to maintain her composure.
Nerissa raises an eyebrow ironically.
“That explains the look on your face when you saw me.”
Seraphina takes a small sip of champagne just to steady her hands, which are beginning to tremble.
“But you know Manchester is a small city for certain people,” Nerissa adds, a delightful smile playing at the corners of her lips.
Seraphina holds her gaze. The noise of the room gradually returns, but it’s distant, muffled.
“You look different,” she blurts out before she can stop herself.
“You don’t,” Nerissa replies.
Those two words hurt deeply. Because Seraphina knows exactly what Nerissa sees: the light-colored dress that hugs her body, the inherited diamond necklace, the impeccable posture, and, in the background, Elliot playing the role of the perfect husband. The ideal life. The perfect cage.
“You still hate these kinds of events,” Nerissa murmurs, her gaze sweeping across the room.
“I don’t hate them,” Seraphina replies, holding back a stronger reaction. She feels a tight knot in her stomach.
Nerissa tilts her head, studying her intently.
“Of course you do.”
A waiter walks past them, and Seraphina takes the opportunity to place her empty glass on his tray, suppressing the absurd urge to run away.
“How long are you going to stay in town?” she asks, hating the slight tremor that betrays her voice.
“I don’t know yet,” Nerissa replies, and the ambiguity of the phrase hangs between them like a threat.
Nerissa takes an almost imperceptible step forward.
“We can pretend to be friendly all night if you want,” she whispers. “We’re pretty good at it.”
A wave of heat rises up Seraphina’s neck, and she clenches her jaw tightly.
“Don’t start.”
“Start what?” Nerissa asks with feigned innocence, though her eyes say the exact opposite.
Tension stretches between them. Seraphina glances across the room: Elliot is still talking with several investors, oblivious to everything. No one seems to be paying them any attention, but she senses the danger with absolute clarity. She’s always felt it with Nerissa. Because between them, it’s never been just desire. Nerissa knows her darkest corners: the rage building inside her, her weariness with this world. But also the constant fear of letting everyone down and the desperate need to escape a life that, on paper, should be enough.
“I need some fresh air,” Seraphina murmurs.
Nerissa looks at her for a second longer and then nods.
The private balcony of the west wing is almost deserted. Rain taps gently against the glass roof as Manchester stretchesout below, transformed into a tapestry of damp lights and glittering streets. As soon as they step outside, the cold air makes the bare skin on Seraphina’s shoulders prickle. She leans against the railing, trying to regain a sense of calm that slips through her fingers.
She hears Nerissa stop behind her, too close.
“You’re still doing the same thing,” Nerissa says after a few seconds.
“Doing what?” Seraphina asks without turning around, though she already knows the answer.
