Lucien Vale didn't speak as he crossed the room. He didn't have to. The air shifted around him like it knew who held the power here.
Once upon a time, Seraphina might have flinched under that weight. The old her the burned her would've trembled like Celeste Everhart always did.
But Seraphina Blackwell, reborn witch, did not flinch.
She watched him move, calculating. He was every inch the predator composed, cold, commanding. His suit looked molded to him, dark silk over broad shoulders, polished shoes silent against the marble. Sharp jaw. Sharp eyes. Sharp everything.
Even the silence felt honed.
Lucien Vale. The man Celeste had been forced to marry. The man whose ancestors once cheered as Seraphina burned.
Her lips curled slightly.
"Do you remember anything?" he asked finally, voice low, clipped,
He poured himself a glass of water from a crystal decanter on the credenza, the gesture smooth, practiced. She noticed the cufflinks. Black onyx, shaped like wolves' heads.
How poetic.
Seraphina cocked her head. "Of… what exactly?"
He didn't flinch. "The fall. You collapsed at the reception."
Reception. Right. Celeste had fainted during their wedding celebration. Marble floors ,Screams, The clink of a champagne glass as it shattered. The moment Seraphina's soul collided with this body.
She offered a small, rehearsed smile. "Everything's a little… hazy."
"You hit your head. The doctor says you should rest for a few days."
"And what does my husband say?"
Lucien looked at her then really looked. His eyes were like ice pressed to stone. Not cruel. Just unreadable. "I say you shouldn't pretend to be stronger than you are."
Seraphina let out a soft breath that could've been a laugh. "Do I look fragile to you, Mr. Vale?"
"You always have," he replied, too fast.
Interesting.
He'd noticed the change. He just didn't know what to make of it yet.
Lucien turned away from her, taking his glass to the window. Outside, the city sprawled in glitter and movement. The top floor of Vale Tower gave a view fit for kings and monsters. She imagined this was how gods watched mortals . distant, amused.
Seraphina stood, slowly, carefully. Her bare feet sank into the plush carpet. The silk of her nightgown brushed her skin like water. She walked toward him, one deliberate step at a time.
He didn't turn, but she knew he felt her.
"You didn't have to marry me," she said, softly. "There are other ways to strike business deals, aren't there?"
Lucien took a slow sip of his drink. "Your father offered his daughter. I accepted."
"How romantic."
"I don't believe in romance."
She smiled, stepping beside him at the window. "Neither do I."
For a moment, the air stretched thin between them. She could smell him now something expensive and sharp, like leather and stormy skies. He was close enough to touch. But she didn't.
She didn't want him softened.
She wanted him unprepared.
He glanced sideways at her. "You're different today."
"I nearly died yesterday," she replied. "That tends to change a person."
Lucien studied her with something unreadable in his eyes. Suspicion, maybe. Or curiosity. She couldn't tell yet.
"I'll have your meals brought here," he said at last. "You'll rest until you're fully recovered."
"I think I'd prefer to eat with my husband."
He blinked.
Challenge accepted.
"I'll send for you at seven," he said after a pause. "Dress appropriately."
Seraphina inclined her head. "Of course."
He left the room a moment later, his scent lingering in the space he'd vacated, his tension still crackling in the air like static.
When the door shut behind him, Seraphina turned to the mirror again. The same stranger's face looked back Celeste's face, her mouth, her skin. But now the eyes were hers. And the magic beneath them was stirring.
She held out her hand
Nothing.
She focused harder. Imagined the flame. The wind. The whispers of her sisters long dead.
Still nothing.
But it would come.
Magic this old didn't disappear. It buried itself. Waited.
Like her.