My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 109

Chapter 109: Chapter 109 THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE

SERAPHINA’S POV

My days off were as rare and precious as hidden gems.

No rigorous training schedule. No sadistic drills threatening to kill me. No psychotic trainer doing her very best to combust my eardrums.

The only downside was that I was so used to movement and action that I spent all of twenty extra minutes in bed before I got too restless and shot to my feet.

I turned the energy on the house. I tackled the sink full of dishes, wiped down the shelves, and even folded the laundry that had grown into a mini mountain, moving from chore to chore until the rooms felt lighter.

By the time I finished, the floors gleamed and the house smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and lavender air freshener.

Still, it wasn’t enough. The restlessness lingered, drumming through my veins. My gaze drifted out the window to where the lawn waited, strewn with dry leaves like a silent challenge.

Grabbing the rake, I stepped outside. The late-summer air wrapped around me, thick with the scent of grass and apple pie from someone’s open kitchen window.

My neighbor, Mrs. Harlow, waved from her porch, her terrier barking like it had some grand announcement to make.

I rarely conversed with my neighbors, but I’d lent Mrs. Harlow a cup of sugar once, and she’d decided that I was her new best friend.

“Doing some gardening today, dear?” she called.

I smiled, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. “Trying to. Before my front lawn turns into a jungle and swallows me.”

She chuckled, then launched into a brief ramble about her grandson starting school this fall.

It was the kind of small, simple conversation that shouldn’t have meant much—but for me, it did.

To talk about children and school and weather, to be ordinary and mundane for five minutes, felt almost decadent.

The last of my restless energy was spent at the farmer’s market, and by the time I was walking up my driveway with my grocery bags cutting into my palms, I was humming happily under my breath because the best part of today was yet to come.

Lucian was coming over later this evening after some work he had to take care of, and we were going to cook together.

Another seemingly simple thing that made my heart flutter.

I think it was the domesticity of it. Kieran and I had never made toast together, let alone cooked a whole meal.

And the thought of Lucian in my kitchen, sleeves rolled, as we argued over whose recipes tasted better, brought a silly, giddy smile to my face.

But of course, I was Seraphina, and having one entire good day to myself was just completely unfathomable.

My smile dropped as I froze at the base of my porch steps—and beheld the bane of my existence.

Celeste was standing at my doorstep like she owned the house, the late sun painting her hair gold, her posture all effortless grace.

My heart dropped into my stomach, the good mood draining from me like water through a sieve.

I tightened my grip on the grocery bags and took one long, deep breath.

Then I shifted my eyes past her as if she were just a shadow.

Maybe if I ignored her long enough, she’d vanish into thin air.

Oh, a girl could wish.

“Sera.” Her hand shot out, grabbing mine before I could turn the key.

Her touch was light, deceptively delicate, like a snake testing the warmth of its prey. “Wait. Please. I didn’t come here to fight.”

I raised my eyes slowly, careful not to let my expression show anything, letting my silence be answer enough.

“I came to apologize,” she said, the words rolling off her tongue with the smoothness of an actor reciting well-rehearsed lines.

I almost laughed. Apologize?

Were we seriously repeating the spa charade again?

Celeste Lockwood didn’t apologize. She maneuvered, she twisted, she cut. And she didn’t accept fault for anything.

Still, I said nothing, slipping my hand free.

“Mother...”

I momentarily lost my composure and flinched. Celeste caught that and pressed on.

“During dinner the other day, she spoke about you. Longingly. She said she hoped you might come over for dinner sometime. She misses you, Sera. We all do.”

‘We all do.’

I could handle bitchy Celeste. I could handle bitter, acidic, toxic Celeste.

But when she did this...

When she pretended like she actually had a heart beating behind her rib cage. Like we were actually family who could care about each other...

It stung more than I cared to admit.

Because I knew it was all part of her act. And it made me feel stupid for wishing it wasn’t.

“I’m busy,” I said curtly, reaching for the door again.

But Celeste, as always, had come armed. From her bag, she pulled out a thick photo album, worn around the edges, its cover frayed by time.

She thrust it toward me like a peace offering. “Mother wanted you to have this. Old pictures. Memories.”

I should have stepped in and slammed the door in Celeste’s face. But something inside me hesitated—foolishly, I admit.

A part of me, the child I once was, still wanted scraps from my family. Still wanted proof that I’d mattered enough to be preserved in photographs. So I accepted it.

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