unlight poured in through the high arched windows, warm and golden, filtering through the ivy-veiled glass. The house looked like a painting—still, soft, dreamlike.
Seraphine hummed as she moved through the kitchen barefoot, her silk robe tied loosely at the waist, her hair brushed and half-pinned. Her cheeks glowed with a quiet blush, and her lips curved upward in a smile that hadn't faded since dawn.
She placed fresh lavender on the breakfast table.
Made toast with orange marmalade.
Brewed tea that smelled like wildflowers and honey.
She was humming something—an old love song, maybe. It echoed faintly through the house as if the walls themselves remembered the melody.
She was happy.
She was whole.
Today, he hadn't left.
She called softly, "Lucien?" Her voice was light, hopeful.
No answer.
She walked down the hallway, her bare feet quiet against the wooden floor. She stopped outside his door and raised her hand, knocking gently. "Breakfast is ready," she said, and waited.
A pause.
Then the door creaked open.
Lucien stood in the doorway, shirt wrinkled, eyes tired. His dark hair was messy, like he hadn't slept much—or at all.
Seraphine's smile faltered for half a second. "You okay?"
He nodded once. "Yeah. Just tired."
She searched his face, trying to read it. "Come eat," she said softly. "I made tea."
He followed her to the table without another word.
They sat across from each other. She poured his tea and smiled, watching him carefully. "Did you sleep well?"
He gave her a tight smile. "It was… a long night."
She giggled softly, stirring her tea. "Mine too," she whispered.
Lucien looked down at his cup.
She leaned on one elbow, resting her chin on her palm. "Do you like marmalade?"
He nodded, trying to match her energy, but there was a distance in his eyes. "Yeah. Thanks."
Seraphine watched him quietly. She noticed the silence between his words, the way he kept avoiding her gaze. But she didn't push. Not yet.
Instead, she smiled again. "I was thinking…" she started, then hesitated. "Maybe today we can sit in the garden. I'll read to you. Or we could paint. Or—just talk."
Lucien looked up, then quickly looked away. "Sure."
"Lucien?" she asked softly, voice laced with that vulnerability he was starting to recognize.
"Hmm?"
She reached across the table, fingers brushing the back of his hand. "You're not… pulling away from me, are you?"
His throat tightened. "No, Seraph. I'm here."
She smiled like that was all she needed.
But he didn't smile back.
Inside, Lucien was unraveling—because the more she gave him, the more trapped he felt.
And still… something inside him stirred when she said his name like that.