ELENA

Seraphina doesn’t knock.

She storms into my guest room in the penthouse like a hurricane wearing silk and diamonds — dark hair spilling over her shoulders, heels clicking like weapon strikes on the floor.

Her anger isn’t loud. It’s lethal.

And for a second — I’m afraid of her.

She stops in front of me, breathing hard, eyes burning.

“What.

Did.

You.

Do.”

I swallow. “I don’t know what you mean—”

“Don’t lie to me,” she snaps. “Not when I love you.”

The words hit harder than the fury.

Tears burn behind my eyes but I refuse to let them fall.

“He hurt me,” I say, voice breaking. “Again.”

She takes a slow, deadly step closer. “Did he hurt you, Elena? Or did he hurt himself to protect you?”

I freeze.

“My brother was held at knifepoint,” she says, voice shaking. “Adrian and I got there in time. Luca got there first — alone.”

My heart stutters.

“He knew the attack was meant for you. He intercepted it. He ruined a political deal, destroyed a partnership, and threatened a mafia alliance — because if he didn’t, you would be dead right now.”

I can’t breathe.

“He didn’t tell you,” she continues, eyes softening fractionally now. “Not because he doesn’t love you. But because he knows you choose guilt over safety.”

I shake my head, whispering, “No… he said I was a liability.”

Seraphina takes a step — her hands lift, gripping my face gently. “Because he needed you to walk away. Because the moment the enemy found out about you, he collapsed and became feral. He nearly burned down the city.”

My chest is tight. My pulse is unsteady.

Her voice softens. “Do you really think Luca would ever choose power over you?”

Something breaks in me — and it hurts everywhere.

“But he hurt me,” I whisper, shaking. “He told me I was right to stop loving him.”

Seraphina closes her eyes — pain flashing across her features.

“Oh, honey…” she whispers, brushing my hair back. “He didn’t mean that. He meant — if losing him keeps you safe, he’ll take it. Even if it kills him.”

I choke on a sob.

Because I saw it.

In his eyes. The second I told him I was right not to love him anymore — he shattered.

Seraphina doesn’t hug me. Not yet. First — she makes sure I hear everything.

“You think he’s cold?” she says quietly. “You think he’s unfeeling? Luca walks around alive, Elena — but he hasn’t lived a single day since he left you five years ago.”

My knees weaken.

She wraps her arms around me just before I fall.

And I break.

I cry into her shoulder — raw, shaking, uncontrollable — while she holds me like she has known this moment was coming.

“He thinks love kills,” she whispers into my hair. “He thinks the people he loves die because of him. He’d rather go through hell himself than watch you get hurt.”

“I never wanted him to protect me by losing me,” I sob.

“I know.” She strokes my back. “But he’s never been loved the way you love. He only knows survival — not happiness.”

Silence stretches — full of pain, full of understanding.

She lifts my chin, her expression gentle but firm.

“If you want to stay angry,” she says, “I’ll stand by you. If you want to leave him forever, I’ll help you pack.”

My breath hitches.

“But if you still love him, Elena — go to him. Because Luca is standing alone in a room with nothing left but regret.”

A pause.

“He won’t ask you to come back. He thinks he doesn’t deserve you.”

My voice is barely air. “Where is he?”

Seraphina smiles — sad, knowing, and a little victorious that I finally asked.

“Where he always goes when he thinks he’s lost everything.”

I don’t ask for clarification. I already know.

The Volkov estate.

The room he never enters — because it still holds memories of the girl he once loved and couldn’t save.

The room where he goes to punish himself.

Seraphina squeezes my shoulders.

“Go fix what fear broke,” she whispers. “Before it ruins both of you.”

I grab my coat with trembling hands.

Not because everything is healed.

Not because trust is magically restored.

But because I finally understand:

He didn’t push me away because he didn’t love me.

He pushed me away because he loved me too much.

And I’m done letting fear write our story.

I walk out the door.

To him.

To the truth.

To the fight worth bleeding for.