Rhys drove without a destination.
The city lights blurred past his windshield, neon bleeding into asphalt as the road stretched endlessly ahead. His hands rested loosely on the steering wheel, but his mind was anything but steady.
Everything felt wrong.
Seraphine.
Kevin.
The Calder name.
His grandfather.
Pieces that didn't fit—yet somehow circled the same center.
He slowed near a quiet signal, engine idling as the light stayed red longer than usual. He leaned back, exhaling sharply, fingers rubbing his temple.
Am I walking straight back into the world I escaped?
The thought made his chest tighten.
He could turn around.
Go back to his mother.
Pretend none of this mattered.
But her face crossed his mind instead—standing on the bridge, hair caught in the wind, eyes distant yet burning with something unsaid.
His phone buzzed.
Once.
He ignored it.
Then again.
He glanced down despite himself.
Seraphine.
No missed calls.
No explanation.
Just a message.
If you're looking for answers, stop driving in circles.
Come to my farmhouse.
It's outside the city.
No lies this time.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
Farmhouse?
The place wasn't marked on any map.
No guards. No cars. No cameras that Rhys could spot.
Which meant only one thing.
This was deliberate.
Rhys stepped inside, footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. Moonlight filtered through shattered glass above, painting fractured patterns on the ground.
She was already there.
Seraphine stood near the center, back turned to him, her heels discarded beside a pillar. No perfect posture. No calculated elegance. Her hair was loose, falling down her back without effort.
For the first time—
She looked real.
"You came," she said quietly, without turning.
"You told me not to," Rhys replied.
A pause.
Then she turned.
No smile.
No smirk.
No armor.
Just eyes—sharp, tired, and carrying too much history for someone her age.
"I needed to know if you'd still follow," she said. "Even after everything."
Rhys crossed his arms. "You've been lying to me since the beginning."
She nodded. "Yes."
No excuses.
No denial.
That alone unsettled him.
"But not about everything," she continued. "And not about why I chose you."
He stepped closer. "Then start talking."
Seraphine exhaled slowly, like she'd been holding her breath for months.
"My life," she said, "was decided before I learned how to write my name."
She walked toward the broken glass wall, fingers brushing against the vines.
"Kevin was never my choice. He was a solution. A merger. A future that looks clean on paper."
Rhys stiffened. "So what was I?"
She turned sharply.
"You were chaos."
The word hung heavy.
"You don't belong to any side," she went on. "You walked away from power when most people would kill for it. You don't crave control—and that makes you dangerous."
Her gaze softened, just slightly.
"I needed someone who wouldn't play by their rules."
Rhys laughed once, low and bitter. "So you dragged me into this?"
"I pulled you in," she corrected. "Because they wouldn't see you coming."
Silence stretched between them.
Then he asked the question he'd been carrying like a loaded gun.
"Are you that Calder?"
Her jaw tightened.
"No."
The answer came instantly.
"The name is real," she said. "The bloodline connection is not. The royals lost a lot of branches when they cleaned their history. I'm one of the names they kept—but not the power."
She stepped closer now, close enough that he could feel her presence without touching.
"I don't belong to them," she whispered. "And I refuse to belong to anyone else either."
Rhys searched her face.
"And the hundred days?"
A faint, tired smile touched her lips.
"That's how long I have before they finalize my future."
She met his eyes, unflinching.
"I don't need you to save me, Rhys. I need you to stand still while I burn the path behind me."
He swallowed.
"And if this destroys everything?"
Her voice dropped.
"Then at least it'll be mine."
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Rhys stepped back, shaking his head slowly.
"You should've trusted me earlier."
She watched him, eyes unreadable.
"I'm trusting you now."
The wind rushed through the broken glass, extinguishing the last fragile calm in the room.
And for the first time, Rhys understood—
Seraphine Calder wasn't running from fate.
She was preparing to rewrite it.
Rhys stood there, the silence pressing in on him after everything she had said. Then the questions spilled out, raw and unfiltered.
"Why should I help?" His voice was steady, but his jaw was tight. "Who are we even supposed to be in this mess? Can I trust you when we met barely a month ago?" He paused, eyes locking onto hers. "And most importantly—do you realize I don't feel anything toward you, Seraphine?"
She didn't look offended.
She didn't look surprised.
Instead, a soft, sly smile curved her lips—slow, deliberate, unsettling.
"Well," she said quietly, "that part is true."
Rhys frowned. "Which part?"
"All of it," she replied, taking a step closer. "You don't owe me help. We're nothing—at least not yet. And trust?" She tilted her head slightly. "No, you shouldn't trust me."
Her honesty caught him off guard more than any lie could have.
She exhaled, the smile fading just a fraction. "But feelings were never the requirement. I never asked you to love me, Rhys."
"Then what did you ask for?" he shot back.
Her gaze hardened—sharp, calculating, stripped of its earlier playfulness. For the first time, she looked less like the girl who teased him in college halls and more like someone shaped by secrets.
"I asked for your presence," she said. "Your name. Your timing."
Rhys felt something shift in his chest. "That's not an answer."
"It is," she said softly. "Just not one you're ready to hear."
She turned away, the distance between them suddenly heavier than before. "You're right—we met too recently. Which is exactly why this works. You're not attached. You're not compromised."
She glanced back at him over her shoulder. "And that makes you dangerous."
Rhys didn't respond. He couldn't.
Because for the first time, he realized—this wasn't about romance, or contracts, or even rivalry.
It was about positioning.
And Seraphine Calder had chosen him deliberately.