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Damien sat in his study, watching the live feed of her breaking down, expression empty.
His face was blank. His hands moved on their own, polishing the picture frame of Seraphina. Over and over.
Six months since she'd died.
Right after he'd learned the truth, he'd wanted her dead.
Their two families were old allies. He couldn't just kill her. So he'd had her intercepted on a street and staged it as an accident. She lived in his basement now. A private team kept her alive.
Six months. He didn't know how he'd survived them. Early on, torturing Vivienne numbed something. Later, in the quiet hours, he understood.
The person who had killed Seraphina was him.
He had fallen apart many nights alone.
Yesterday he'd been discharged after a hospital stay for a GI bleed from drinking.
"Come home. I need to talk to you."
Nathaniel was on the line.
He locked the frame in a cabinet, made sure nobody could get to it, and let someone drive him.
He walked into the house and Nathaniel stared at the wreck of him.
"Look at yourself. Is there still a person in there?"
"A woman dies. You remarry. What is the point of this? You didn't even love her that much to begin with. You were defending Vivienne at the wedding."
Damien let it wash over him. When it seemed like there was nothing else he was actually here for, he turned to leave.
"Stop."
"I need your signature on a couple of things in my study."
He walked in, picked up the pen, didn't read, signed.
As he turned to leave, his eye caught on Nathaniel's safe. It wasn't closed all the way. A folder had slipped out of it.
He frowned, walked over, picked it up.
He thumbed a few pages.
His eyes — which had been dead water for months — ignited.
Fake-death cooperation agreement.
The last signature on the page: Seraphina Hale.
Clearly laid out. Nathaniel had helped her fake her death.
Seraphina wasn't dead.
She and his father had walked her out.
He spent a long moment just not understanding. Then he laughed. Then he cried. He almost cracked for real.
He grabbed the file and left the house. He stopped at home, ordered his assistant to find her using the new identity Nathaniel had listed, and was halfway out the door to find her —
A stab of pain through his back.
He looked down and saw a blade coming out the front of his stomach, wet and red.
His shirt was soaking through. His legs gave out. He tried to speak. Blood came instead.
He took one step.
The blade yanked free and sank into his thigh.
"Die."
"Argh —"
Red. Everywhere.
He went down.
Through the ringing and the blur, he saw Vivienne. Warped face, wild eyes.
"Damien — you're the one who should die! How do you get to blame me? You destroyed me. You ruined me!"
"You think torturing me means Seraphina is going to forgive you? Never. The person who killed her was you. You're the one who should carry this for the rest of your life. You're the one who deserves to die. Why won't you die?"
"You know what she said before she went into the water? She said she hated you. That she'd hate you in every life. That she wished us a happy future!"
Sirens swallowed the rest.
Then he heard nothing.
In his head, one image on a loop.
Seraphina crying. Saying she hated him. Saying don't look for me.
He knew she hated him. He wanted to pull her in and wipe the tears off her face. He couldn't. He just had to hear it on repeat.