“You know what the worst part is?” Nerissa adds in a restrained voice, taking a step toward her so they can speak in whispers. “That while we were in Chester, I actually believed you were serious. That this could work.”
Seraphina swallows with difficulty, feeling an oppressive lump in her throat that threatens to choke her.
“Dr. Ashcombe…”
“No,” Nerissa interrupts, regaining her professional distance. “It’s already very clear to me.”
For the first time, Seraphina’s hands are visibly trembling. She looks away toward the large window at the back, searching for an emergency exit from a reality that has become completely hostile to her. Nerissa watches her for one last second, and in that gaze one can read the painful conclusion she has just reached: love doesn’t matter, Chester doesn’t matter; Seraphina will always choose the safety of her cage over the risk of a shared life.
“Understood,” says the surgeon with leaden resignation. “I won’t bother you during your work hours again.”
She turns and leaves, leaving Seraphina alone in the middle of the reception area.
*
Halfway down the main hallway, the elevator doors open. Daphne Mercer emerges, carrying a medical record folder under her arm. She’s wearing an impeccably tailored camel coat, her hair still slightly damp from the persistent afternoon rain, and that serene, public, and legitimate presence that always accompanies her. As she passes Nerissa, Daphne immediately slows her pace, sensing the electric tension radiating from her shoulders.
“You look terrible today,” Daphne remarks with genuine concern, stopping beside her.
Nerissa tries to compose her features, though the transparency of her eyes betrays the storm raging inside her.
“It’s been a difficult morning,” she replies, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach her face.
Daphne studies her closely, gauging the situation with a delicacy that stands in stark contrast to the treatment Nerissa has just received. She doesn’t press her or demand explanations; she simply offers her a safe space.
“Have you gotten any sleep since you got back from the conference?” Daphne asks, resuming her pace alongside her.
Nerissa looks away toward the window, where raindrops slide slowly down the glass.
“I don’t want to talk about that right now, Daphne. Please.”
Daphne nods slowly, accepting the boundary without a single reproach. That was the reason their old relationship had been so comfortable, until they could no longer pretend: Daphne never invaded Nerissa’s silence, never sowed suspicion. She knew how to wait.
“You have surgery soon, right?” she asks, changing the subject with absolute ease and easing the tension.
“In fifteen minutes.”
“Then you should have something to eat first. I’m sure your stomach’s empty.”
Nerissa makes a gesture to refuse out of sheer habit, but Daphne beats her to it, stopping at one of the coffee machines.
“I know you too well,” Daphne adds with an affectionate smile. “When you’re under pressure or upset, you stop eating. And today you look exhausted.”
The remark sends a sharp pang through Nerissa’s chest—a painful irony, because it’s something Seraphina usually says whenever they’ve been together. She accepts the cup of coffee with a murmur of thanks, seeking refuge in the unruffled familiarity Daphne offers her like a safety net.
From the far end of the floor, Seraphina watches the scene out of the corner of her eye while pretending to sign various authorizations. She feels as though the air has stopped flowing into her lungs. She watches the ease with which Daphne positions herself beside Nerissa, the unguarded closeness of two people who don’t have to look over their shoulders or fear the flash of a hidden camera. Daphne is sunlight; she is the shadowsof parking garages. The terror that Adrian is using the clinic’s own security monitors to gather more evidence constricts her throat. She cannot afford to falter. She must keep Nerissa as far away from her as possible, even if that means pushing her into the arms of her past.
“Ms. Chapman,” one of the executive secretaries interjects, “the investment committee is already in Room Two waiting for you.”
Seraphina nods mechanically. Glancing back down the hallway, she sees Nerissa and Daphne already walking away toward the operating suites. The tension in the surgeon’s shoulders seems to have eased under Daphne’s quiet chatter. The sight causes Seraphina physical pain, a pang of jealousy and loss so intense that she struggles to take the first step toward the meeting. She should feel relief; Daphne represents stability, a relationship that won’t destroy careers or families. But the relief never comes. All that remains is the certainty that she is dismantling her own life.
The following hours pass in a hazy blur of figures, liability clauses, and asset projections that Seraphina can barely process. At the far end of the conference table, Adrian Beckett reviews the reports with an insulting calm, interjecting with his usual smug tone and flashing polite smiles at the foreign investors. To the rest of the room, he is a brilliant executive; to Seraphina, he is the executioner keeping his thumb on the trigger of her existence. Every time the executive’s phone vibrates in her pocket with emails from the fund, her heart skips a beat, fearing the ultimatum has been moved up. She doesn’t touch the device again for the rest of the afternoon.
When the session ends, dusk has already blanketed Manchester in leaden hues and neon lights reflecting off the wetasphalt of the staff parking lot. Seraphina hurries toward her car, keys clenched in her hand, eager to shut herself away in the isolation of her vehicle. As she passes near the emergency exit of the operating room area, familiar voices force her to stop abruptly behind one of the concrete columns.
Nerissa is leaning against the building’s brick wall, still wearing the clinic’s blue scrubs beneath her half-open coat. Her hair is slightly tousled, and she has pronounced dark circles under her eyes. Across from her, Daphne holds two fresh cups of coffee, speaking in a slow, intimate tone devoid of any urgency.
Seraphina knows she should keep walking, get into her car, and drive to the family home where Elliot and the children are waiting for her. She knows that staying there makes her an intruder in her own pain. But she remains motionless, observing from the shadows the life she could have had in a universe free of blackmail and privileged surnames.
