Their new home stood at the edge of the old capital.
A solitary estate carved between mist-laced hills and a private forest road. Its silhouette, dark against the soft morning haze, seemed to whisper of secrets and promises long fulfilled and yet to be.
Avienne Hall.
A name chosen by neither of them. A gift from fathers whose ambitions forged alliances and whose legacies demanded silence in the corridors of memory. The white-stone pillars and black wrought-iron gates glinted in the gentle light, while the garden outside bloomed like silence itself.
The stillness in people details control and restrain. The surrounding is a delicate tapestry of carefully pruned hedges and flowers aching for lost warmth. This sprawling manor, built to house a small retinue, could easily shelter two dozen souls, yet somehow it always felt too vast, too empty.
Callum never looked up as the heavy gates opened. His expression remained locked with unreadable mask, as if the ritual of arrival was a well-rehearsed escape.
Seraphine stepped out of the car first.
Cold wind brushed against her skin, carrying the scent of damp earth, forest rain, and lingering morning dew. For one fleeting moment, she felt as though she was not entering a home at all, but stepping into a carefully preserved memory built for strangers wearing their faces.
A house bearing his name.
A life carrying her title.
Inside, the manor exuded a quiet grandeur. The air was rich with the scent of aged oak and freshly applied varnish. New things are displayed. Whispered promises of untold stories lingers a pristine beginning yet unlived.
Servants moved silently in the distance.
Seraphine removed her gloves slowly before glancing toward Callum.
"Which room?" she asked softly.
The question sounded simple. He didn't even meet her gaze.
"We'll have separate rooms." His tone brooked no discussion. It was a command, as immovable as the iron gates outside.
Seraphine's calm voice met his dismissiveness with cold steel.
"No."
For the first time since arriving, Callum finally looked at her properly.
"I said—"
"We're married, Callum," she interrupted evenly. "I didn't come this far just to live like a stranger behind another locked door."
She got that look he cannot defy.
Silence stretched sharply between them.
Without another word, he turned abruptly and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the eastern hall. The sound of a door clicking closed trailed behind him, a punctuation to the unspoken argument.
Seraphine stared after him for a long moment before following.
When she reached his door, she knocked once.
Then again.
"Callum," she said calmly, "I won't stop knocking until you open this door."
Yet stubborn as her convictions, Callum's door remained a wall she could not breach.
Frustration slowly tightened beneath her composure as she questioned the staff, only to discover that Callum had already prepared for this long before they arrived.
Every spare key had been collected earlier that week by his assistant, Vernon.
An escape route planned in advance.
As though he had expected her resistance from the very beginning.
Left with no choice, Seraphine finally chose another room.
But nothing settled.
Still, beneath the loneliness rising quietly through the manor, determination remained. She grinned like the tactician she always was. Then, she closed her eyes.
---
Before dawn, Callum slipped away without a word to the housekeeper, without a murmur to Seraphine.
In the foyer, his cologne is a faint, lingering mix of cedar and old secrets. His ghost of presence that betrayed his secret exit.. Outside, the low hum of the car engine faded into the growing light, an indifferent counterpoint to the quiet storm inside.
The hours passed in their own measured cadence. Seraphine met with the estate staff, rearranged room placements, organized the pantry, and set up a shared office with meticulous care.
She scribbled notes on a calendar for charity balls and political banquets, each mark an effort to assert control in a new life. She refused assistance with her dressing, brewed her tea perfectly alone, each act a tiny rebellion.
Tiny reminders that she still belonged to herself.
But as noon turned to dusk, Callum did not return. Not for lunch. Not for dinner.
Not even after midnight.
By then, Avienne Hall had become unbearably peaceful.
The enormous corridors echoed with the soft sound of her footsteps as she wandered restlessly through the manor, her untouched coffee growing cold between her hands.
Dinner still sat untouched at the dining table. The sight of it hollowed something inside her chest. Finally, unable to endure the silence any longer, Seraphine grabbed her coat and left the manor alone.
---
Virell's main tower loomed above the sleeping city. Its dark windows glowed dimly with emergency lights in a lobby locked tight by night guards. There was no sign of Callum.
She tried calling him. No answer.
She tried reaching his assistant. Only a voicemail.
The deeper the night grew, desperation edged into her dignity as she roamed the streets.
She searched everywhere.
Quiet bars dim with cigarette smoke.
Empty sidewalks glistening with old rain.
Narrow alleys littered with yesterday's newspapers and forgotten bottles.
Each passing hour sharpened the terrible fear growing inside her—
Then, at last, she found him.
Slumped against a graffiti-covered wall, half-hidden between a shuttered flower shop and a battered newspaper stand, Callum was a stark portrait of ruin. His scant coat hung askew, his shirt untucked, and a crushed cigarette box lay discarded beside his outstretched hand.
His breath came shallow and ragged, and his tie, loose and stained with the residue of a failed elegance, hinted at a man unmoored. He was wasted. Cast aside by the night as if he had been thrown there by the world's unforgiving gravity.
Seraphine felt her chest tighten.
She didn't scold him nor did she raise her voice. Instead, she lowered herself onto the cold pavement beside him.
Gently, she reached up and touched his cheek.
His skin was cold beneath her palm.
Callum stirred weakly at the contact, lashes fluttering before a low groan escaped him.
"Dahlia…?"
The name left him half-conscious.
Seraphine's hand stilled for only a second.
She was caught between lingering memories and the present crisis. A sharp ache pierced through her. For a moment, she seemed lost in a haze, searching beyond the physical.
Yet, afterwhile, she took a deep breath and pulled him close. Carefully, she slipped one arm around his shoulders and adjusted his coat with quiet patience.
"It's me," she whispered softly.
Callum's eyes opened again.
Callum's eyes flickered open, hazy at first then gradually sharpening as he struggled to anchor himself. Confusion mingled with recognition.
"Let's go home, Callum," she murmured.
Her words were soft.
But steady.
In that quiet, his head rested against her shoulder. And that steadiness undid the last of his resistance.
No pride remained in the gesture.
He breath as though he no longer knew where he belonged anymore but was too tired to keep running from it.
Seraphine tightened her hold on him carefully as she helped him toward the car.
The air remained cold yet comforting.
Then, just after they had settled in the car, Callum spoke again. His voice was low in a way she had never heard before.
"Sera…"
He paused.
Then, like a slowed motion he said, "I'm hurt."
For one suspended moment, Seraphine could not breathe. Suddenly, the noise of the distant traffic disappeared. The cold wind, the dim glow of streetlights bleeding into wet pavement had faded beneath the deep devastation of his words.
Her breath trembled softly.
Then, without a word, she pulled him toward her.
Callum froze for a brief second before his body gave in against hers.
Seraphine wrapped both arms around him tightly and their butler stilled watching them as he decided to drive the slowest he can.
She buried him against her shoulder.
Warm.
Callum's hands slowly tightened against the fabric of her coat. He stayed buried.
No tears.
No sobs.
Seraphine closed her eyes tightly.
"I'm hurt too," she whispered with raw honesty.
Then, they choose silence.
And somehow, neither of them let go.