The closet was bigger than some of the cottages Seraphina had lived in before she died back when she was still mortal, still hiding. Back when fire had been a threat, not a memory. Silk, lace, velvet. Rows of color coded gowns and designer shoes. Everything labeled, pristine, untouched.
Celeste's cage had been lined in gold.
Seraphina ran her fingers along the dresses. So many choices, all beautiful in a hollow, curated way. Nothing wild. Nothing that sang. Just wealth stitched into silence.
But one caught her eye a dark emerald gown with a slit that whispered danger. It looked like something no one expected Celeste to wear. Which was exactly why she chose it.
She dressed without a maid's help. The body was unfamiliar still, but her hands were steady. She pinned up her hair, left a few strands loose, and found a shade of lipstick that reminded her of blood red wine.
In the mirror, she barely recognized herself.
Perfect.
At 6:59, a knock. A butler with a blank expression waited to escort her down the marble hall. The mansion was a blend of old and new glass and steel, but with antique paintings and stone arches. Power didn't live here. it ruled.
They descended in silence.
The dining room was a long, high ceilinged vault of shadows and candlelight. At the far end of a black marble table, Lucien Vale sat with a glass of red wine in his hand and a ledger open before him
He looked up, And for just a second only a second something flickered in his expression.
Surprise,Approval, Hunger.
Seraphina gave him a slow smile and glided to her seat.
"You clean up nicely," he said, closing the ledger.
"I thought I'd make an effort," she replied, lifting her wine glass. "First impressions matter."
"You're three days into being my wife."
"Exactly. I wouldn't want you growing bored so soon."
The staff brought dinner filet mignon, roasted vegetables, crystal water glasses. Every movement was precise, like a choreographed ballet. No one spoke. No one made eye contact.
Seraphina sipped her wine. Her pulse had settled into a calm, steady rhythm , but under her skin, her magic was stirring. It had grown stronger since the morning. Like a flame being fanned.
She could almost feel the vibrations in the air. Subtle. Electric
Lucien cut into his food but barely ate. His eyes returned to her again and again, as if trying to map this new version of Celeste.
"I've been thinking," she said, running her finger along the rim of her glass. "Perhaps I could become more… involved. In the family business."
Lucien's brow twitched. "You were never interested before."
"I'm interested now."
He leaned back slightly. Studied her
"I don't need distractions in my work."
"And I don't enjoy being a decoration."
The words landed like a challenge, soft but undeniable.
Lucien set his fork down. "You're different."
"So you've said."
"Don't play games you don't understand, Celeste."
She tilted her head. "Is that a warning?"
"It's a fact."
Their eyes locked across the table, tension stretching thin between crystal and candlelight.
But Seraphina wasn't intimidated. She was intrigued. Lucien Vale was dangerous, yes. But he didn't know the most important thing yet
She was more dangerous.
Later that night, when the mansion had gone still and Lucien had retreated to his study, Seraphina returned to her room. She slipped out of her dress, washed her face, and sat at the edge of the bed with her palms open.
She whispered in a language lost to time.
For a heartbeat just one the candle by her window flickered.
Then it twisted. Burned blue.
Her magic was returning.
And with it, her vengeance