Whispers of the Past

The Vale estate, a sanctuary of grandeur and whispered elegance, had never felt more suffocating to Seraphina. The weight of last night still clung to her like an unshakable mist, curling around her thoughts and staining her with an ache she could not name. She sat in the grand drawing room, her fingers tracing the rim of a crystal glass, her mind warring between shame and a foreign sense of satisfaction.

Her parents, Dorian and Evangeline Vale, stood before her, their poised elegance barely concealing their worry. Caelum sat beside her, his expression a tempest barely contained, his grip on the armrest tightening with every word she uttered.

"I don't remember much," Seraphina admitted, her voice soft yet unyielding. "But I do know that if I hadn't made it to that room, I would have been—" She swallowed, unable to finish the thought, her sapphire eyes flickering with something raw.

Evangeline exhaled sharply, her composure faltering for the briefest moment as she reached for her daughter's hands. "My love, you should have never been put in such a situation. If only we had known—"

"We should have known!" Caelum's voice was a blade, cutting through the air with unrestrained fury. His golden-brown eyes blazed with vengeance. "Astrid. I will ruin her. And as for the bastard who took your first night—" He clenched his jaw, his breath heavy with rage. "I will find him. I will hunt him down and make him pay."

Seraphina flinched, shaking her head as she grasped her brother's hand. "No, Caelum. I don't want you to. I... I gave myself willingly. It wasn't how I imagined, but he wasn't the monster Astrid planned for me."

Caelum recoiled as if she had struck him. His sister, his Seraphina, had always been untouchable, a delicate treasure kept behind glass. The thought of someone taking that from her—even if she had allowed it—boiled his blood.

"You don't even know who he is," he seethed. "What if he was just some lowlife looking for a thrill?"

Seraphina averted her gaze, an inexplicable warmth seeping into her chest at the memory of that night. The hazy scent of jasmine, the reverent way he touched her as if she were something sacred—

She shook her head. No. It had been a mistake. A beautifully reckless mistake.

"We will deal with Astrid," Dorian said, his voice a quiet storm. "That girl—"

"Has already fled," Evangeline interrupted. "The moment she realized her plan had failed, she ran. She knew what would happen if she stayed."

A tense silence fell over them.

Caelum exhaled sharply. "Coward."

Seraphina let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Let her go. She's not worth it."

But even as she said it, she knew the damage had been done. The betrayal of a friend, the shadow of a night she couldn't fully recall—there was no going back.

Days passed like fleeting echoes, each one carrying with it a silent storm in Seraphina's mind. She kept busy, drowning herself in work, in fittings, in rehearsals for her mother's upcoming fashion showcase. But no matter how much she tried, the memory of that night refused to fade.

Worse still, a single thought gnawed at her: the stranger she had given herself to looked familiar. Like a face she had known in another life, yet couldn't quite place.

She would catch glimpses of that night in her dreams—the feel of strong arms around her, the whisper of lips tracing her skin, the scent of something achingly familiar.

It didn't make sense.

One evening, as she sat on the balcony overlooking the Vale estate gardens, Isolde joined her, a quiet presence in the growing twilight.

"You're thinking about him again, aren't you?" Isolde's voice was knowing, her emerald eyes sharp with curiosity.

Seraphina hesitated before nodding. "I don't know why. It was a mistake. One I shouldn't even be thinking about. And yet…"

"And yet you do," Isolde finished for her, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Was he good to you?"

Seraphina looked away, heat rising to her cheeks. "It wasn't... awful."

Isolde chuckled softly. "That's a good sign."

Seraphina sighed. "I don't even know who he is. I just..." Her fingers curled around the railing. "I feel like I should."

Isolde studied her for a long moment. "Maybe fate isn't done with you two yet."

Lucian Drax had spent days trying to find her.

The girl with the jasmine scent.

The girl who had vanished before he could see her face, leaving behind only a watch and a memory that refused to leave him.

He had gone back to the hotel, demanded the CCTV footage, only to be met with a frustrating dead end.

"The cameras have been out of service for months, sir. We haven't been able to get them fixed."

Lucian had laughed then, a humorless, sharp thing. Of course, they had.

So he was left with nothing but his own recollections. The feel of her body against his, the softness of her sighs, the way she had smelled like something distant yet achingly close.

And the watch. The one she had left behind as payment.

That had stung.

Did she think he was some common gigolo? That he had taken her for money?

He had smirked at the absurdity of it, but beneath the amusement, something burned. An unfamiliar frustration.

He didn't know why it mattered. He had never cared about a woman beyond the moment. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that this one was different.

He traced his fingers over the watch, turning it in his palm. The initials etched into the clasp nagged at him.

S.V.

He didn't know what it meant.

Not yet.

But he would.

Because something told him this wasn't the end.

It was only the beginning.