“I know,” Daphne replies, moving her seat a little closer. “But look at yourself. You’re exhausted, shattered, and you’re still defending her.”
Nerissa swallows hard.
“I’m fine. I’ll survive, like always.”
“No. You’re a wreck,” Daphne asserts, and it pisses Nerissa off that she’s so right. “Let someone who truly loves you in the light of day take care of you.”
Nerissa feels an immediate twinge behind her ribs. In the light of day. That is exactly what Seraphina will never be able to offer her: the chance to exist without hiding, without secret messages or rushed goodbyes. For a moment, she hatesSeraphina Chapman for making her feel so small, for always turning her into a damn nobody. And that thought fills her with fierce, undeniable guilt, because deep down she knows she loves her. But love starts to feel insufficient when one of them has to constantly disappear.
Daphne orders another round, and Nerissa certainly doesn’t protest. They drink until Nerissa feels she can’t take any more, and when they leave the pub, the rain is still falling on the illuminated streets.
The taxi moves slowly through the nighttime traffic as the city parades past the fogged-up windows. Nerissa rests her head against the glass, feeling its coldness against her temple. And when it stops in front of her building, it takes her a few seconds to react.
Daphne smiles at her.
“You don’t have to invite me up if you don’t want to. I can go home,” she says.
Nerissa closes her eyes for a moment. She could say no. She could go upstairs, take a shower, and get into bed. But she knows that if she stays alone, she’ll end up staring at her phone until dawn, waiting for a message that will probably never come.
“Don’t worry, you can come up with me,” Nerissa assures her, and opens the taxi door.
*
The apartment is silent when they enter. Nerissa leaves her keys on the kitchen counter and takes off her coat. Daphne approaches slowly, stopping at a respectful distance.
“Are you sure?” she asks, searching her eyes.
Nerissa feels the question pierce her chest. No one ever asks her that. Seraphina can’t afford to stop. Everything between them happens amid invisible alarms. But Daphne waits. She gives her space to decide. And maybe that’s why Nerissa closes the distance and kisses her first, with weariness, with rage, and with a desperate need to stop thinking.
Daphne responds immediately, cupping her face in her hands with a tenderness that makes Nerissa want to shatter into pieces. They retreat slowly toward the bedroom as their mouths seek each other out with growing urgency. Their clothes fall to the floor without haste.
Once naked on the bed, Daphne’s caresses are warm, familiar, and patient. Her fingers trace Nerissa’s back slowly, moving down the curve of her waist until they reach her hips. Nerissa tries to surrender to them, focusing on their shared breath and the warmth of another person’s skin. Daphne kisses her neck gently, then moves lower, while her hand slides between Nerissa’s thighs.
Nerissa instinctively parts her legs, letting out a low moan as Daphne’s touch finds her. The pleasure builds slowly, warm and steady. Daphne’s movements remain patient and deliberate as she kisses her stomach and thighs. Nerissa arches her back, clutching the sheets, and moans louder as the sensations intensify.
“Let yourself go,” Daphne whispers against her skin, never breaking contact. “I’m here.”
Nerissa reaches climax with a deep shudder, her body trembling as waves of pleasure wash over her. Yet even in the midst of it, Seraphina’s ghost appears: the memory of nervoushands, of the desperate intensity with which the CFO had touched her, of that mixture of hunger and fear that turned every encounter into a beautiful explosion.
Daphne moves back up and kisses her tenderly, allowing her to catch her breath. Nerissa, still trembling, shifts closer and wraps herself around her, desperately searching for a way to silence the noise inside her. For a while, she succeeds. The body grants a truce. But later, when the numbing effect of pleasure begins to fade, the pain is still there, intact. The humiliation of the morning, Seraphina’s calculated indifference, the void that opened inside her when she realized that, once again, she had been relegated to the shadows.
And now this.
It all makes her want to cry.
Daphne shifts slightly beside her and strokes her arm.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks softly.
Nerissa takes a moment to answer. The truth is too cruel.
“Nothing,” she lies.
Daphne remains silent. She probably knows she’s lying, but she doesn’t press for an explanation. That only makes Nerissa feel even more guilty.
She turns her head slightly toward her. The dim light outlines Daphne’s peaceful profile against the pillow. She is beautiful, kind, and available—a woman capable of loving her without hiding her. And yet, the void inside Nerissa’s chest still bears the exact shape of Seraphina Chapman.
That realization fills her with a devastating weariness. She closes her eyes slowly and, for a few seconds, wishes shewouldn’t wake up the next day, wouldn’t return to the clinic, and wouldn’t have to meet Seraphina’s empty gaze again. Daphne gently strokes her arm. Nerissa forces herself to stay still, but even there, lying beside another woman who is trying to love her well, she realizes with fierce sadness that she remains emotionally trapped in the same place, in the same woman, and in the same wound that will never heal.
