The Arden carriage had barely stopped before Seraphine stumbled out, her legs numb, breath choking in her throat. She couldn't feel the cold. She couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet. She couldn't feel anything except the hollow roar in her chest.
The house staff rushed to meet her, bowing nervously.
"L-Lady Seraphine—"
She didn't hear them. She walked past them in silence.
But her steps grew faster. And faster. And faster—
Until she was running. Up the stairs. Down the corridor. Toward her room.
Her sanctuary. Her prison. Her battlefield.
She slammed the door shut behind her.
And everything broke.
She grabbed the nearest object — a porcelain vase her mother once called a masterpiece — and hurled it across the room. It shattered into a thousand glittering shards.
Her breath came ragged, broken, animalistic. She cried, but the tears fell too fast for her to feel.
Another vase. A jewelry box. A mirror.
Crash. Crash. CRASH.
Pieces of her room scattered across the floor like pieces of her heart.
"No—no, no, no, NO—!" She screamed as she ripped the ribbons from her wrists and flung them aside. "It was supposed to be me! It was supposed to be US—!"
She tore down her vanity chair and sent it skidding across the marble. She clawed at her hair. Her chest. Her throat.
"It was supposed to be me…" she whispered, voice cracking like a fragile bone. "…I loved you… Cassian… I loved you…"
Her knees buckled. She crashed to the floor, both palms slamming against the cold stone. Tears poured from her eyes in violent waves, dripping onto the shattered pieces around her.
Something inside her snapped.
"He can't marry her—he can't—he can't—!!" She let out a scream that felt like it tore her lungs raw.
From outside the door came the frantic pounding of fists.
"Seraphine! Seraphine!"
Her brother's voice. Lysander Arden. Older, calmer, always her protector.
"Seraphine, open the door! Please—!"
She didn't hear him. Or she refused to hear him.
Her hands curled into fists. She struck the floor again. And again.
"I'll kill her—" she hissed through her sobs. "I swear I'll kill her—"
"Seraphine, open the door RIGHT NOW—!"
She grabbed the lamp from her bedside table and threw it at the door with a scream. It smashed into splinters.
Three seconds later—
The door burst open.
Lysander stood frozen at the threshold.
His sister — his gentle, bright, laughing Seraphine — was kneeling in the center of chaos, surrounded by shards and broken furniture. Her hair was wild, her gown torn at the seams, her hands trembling and scratched.
Her eyes red, swollen, wild. A trapped animal. A woman on the edge of losing herself entirely.
"Seraphine…" His voice cracked. "Gods…"
She looked up at him. And the devastation in her eyes nearly brought him to his knees.
"Lysander…" she whispered. Then her expression twisted with agony. "He's marrying her." Her voice cracked in half. "He's marrying Marienne."
Seraphine let out a wail that sent chills down his spine. He rushed to her immediately, kneeling on the floor, not caring about glass cutting his knees.
He grabbed her shoulders. "Seraphine—look at me, look at me—"
She did.
Her pupils were blown wide. Tears streaked her face. Her lips trembled uncontrollably.
"Lysander," she sobbed. "I loved him. I loved him so much—"
"I know, I know," he whispered, pulling her into his arms.
Her fingers clawed at his coat as she sobbed into his chest. "But she took him—she took him—she stole him—she stole everything—"
Lysander smoothed her hair, pressed her head against his shoulder. "It's not your fault," he said softly. "You don't deserve this—" His words shattered something inside her.
Seraphine jerked back and screamed, voice hoarse: "I'LL KILL HER!"
Lysander froze.
Seraphine's face twisted with pure, hysterical agony. "I'll kill her, Lysander—I swear—! That bitch—THAT BITCH—she stole him—she stole him from me—!"
Lysander grabbed her wrists before she hurt herself on the glass. "Seraphine—stop—stop, please—listen to me—"
"I'll ruin her life—" she sobbed. "I'll make her wish she had never been born— I'll make her suffer—I'll make them both suffer—!" Her screams echoed through the hall. "I WANT HER DEAD!"
"Seraphine, STOP!" Lysander's voice finally broke. "She is not worth your life!"
But Seraphine fought him, thrashing, sobbing, trembling. "She took my future!" She cried. "She took my happiness! She took EVERYTHING—!"
Lysander held her tighter, gripping her shoulders, his own breath shaking. "Seraphine," he whispered, "please… please, I'm begging you… come back to me."
But she couldn't hear him. Her mind was on fire. Her heart was in ruins. Her sanity was slipping through her fingers like broken glass.
"I'll kill her…" she sobbed again, softer this time, collapsing against him. "I'll kill her, Lysander… I swear I will…" Her voice dissolved into fractured sobs.
Lysander closed his eyes, pulling her into his chest, cradling her like she was a child again — his little sister, his joy, now shattered in his arms. He stroked her hair as she cried and cried, her voice cracking into nothing.
"Seraphine…" he whispered, holding her tightly as though he could keep her from falling apart entirely. "I won't let you destroy yourself. I won't let them destroy you either."
She trembled uncontrollably, clinging to him with desperate, broken fingers.