Ex-Alpha's Regret: Siren's Comeback novel Chapter 24

POV: Seraphina

The moment my father's car disappeared down the long, rain-slicked driveway, the strength holding me together dissolved. I felt myself sway, the mask of the happy wife crumbling to dust. I turned before Damian could see the desolation on my face and fled to the one place that still felt remotely mine: the library.

I locked the door, leaning against it, my body shaking with silent, wracking sobs. The act of sending my own father away, of choosing my family's safety over my own, had hollowed me out completely. I was adrift, utterly alone in a sea of enemies. My plan, my alliance with Killian, felt like a distant, impossible dream. My escape, scheduled in just a few days, felt a lifetime away.

Desperate for a connection, for a voice that wasn't laced with contempt or false sweetness, I pulled out my encrypted burner phone. My hands trembled so badly it took three attempts to dial the number.

My brother's voice was a clear, steady presence on the other end. "Sera? What's wrong?"

I tried to keep my voice even, but a tremor of despair snaked its way through. "Nothing, Jax. I just… I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Don't lie to me," he said, his tone sharpening with concern. "I can hear it. Something's happened. What did he do?"

"It's nothing," I insisted, choking back a sob. "Father was just here. He was worried. I sent him home. Everything is fine."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. I could almost hear the gears turning in his sharp, strategic mind. Jax had never been one for emotional outbursts, but he was fiercely intelligent and dangerously perceptive.

"Father wouldn't have gone there unless it was serious," he finally said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "And you wouldn't have sent him away unless you were being threatened."

Just as I slipped the phone back into my pocket, a soft knock came at the library door, followed immediately by the click of the lock. Sylvie entered, carrying a porcelain cup on a small silver tray. She was smiling, her face a mask of gentle, cloying concern.

"Seraphina, darling," she cooed, her eyes scanning the room, lingering for a moment on the chair where I'd been huddled. "I heard the commotion with your father. You must be so distraught. I brought you some calming tea. To help you rest."

She set the cup down on the table beside me. The steam rose in a fragrant, cloying cloud. I stared at the cup, at her perfectly manicured hand, at her watchful, smiling eyes. There was no privacy. There was no safety. Every wall had ears. Every shadow had eyes.

She had just been waiting for my call to end.