My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 81

Chapter 81: Chapter 81 SEASICK

SERAPHINA’S POV

I should have known my plan wouldn’t survive first contact with reality.

It lasted through the six-hour flight to Nassau, which I spent on the opposite side of Kieran’s private jet, as far away from my ex-husband as I could get.

Even with the distance, Kieran’s presence was heavy but contained—controlled, like a predator sizing up its prey, except I wasn’t prey.

I had Daniel on my mind, the island ahead, and the tiny spark of warmth from Lucian’s kiss still lingering in my chest.

But everything went to shit after we touched down in Nassau and transitioned onto Kieran’s yacht, Ashar’s pride, and I realized something new about myself: I get seasick. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

The yacht looked like something out of a glossy magazine spread—sleek, ivory-white hull gleaming beneath the noon sun, its polished chrome railings winking like jewelry against the endless sweep of ocean.

Even from the dock, it was impossible not to be impressed. The vessel stretched long and graceful, like a predator of the sea, and once inside, I’d glimpsed plush interiors: wide sofas upholstered in cream leather, thick carpeting underfoot, and dining tables that looked more suited for banquets than travel.

Kieran might not have been one for lavish or opulent parties, but there were definitely some luxuries he indulged in.

But no amount of luxurious comfort could save me.

Not an hour after boarding, the sea turned against me. The gentle rocking that had seemed pleasant on shore morphed into a nauseating rhythm that churned my stomach with every rise and fall.

My head spun, my skin went clammy, and all the grandeur of polished wood, glittering chandeliers, and panoramic windows blurred into a haze of misery.

I had never been on a ship before. If I had known seasickness was this vicious, I would have begged to travel another way—by air, by land, fuck, I would have walked if I had to.

Anything but this endless, nauseating bobbing.

What unsettled me most, though, wasn’t the sickness. It was Kieran.

Because he didn’t leave me to suffer. He didn’t sneer, didn’t mock, didn’t ignore me the way the Kieran I remembered from our marriage surely would have.

Instead, he...took care of me.

He held back my hair when I doubled over the basin and attempted to vomit all my internal organs. He steadied me when I stumbled, his arms like iron bars of strength I hadn’t asked for but clung to anyway.

He pressed a cool cloth to my forehead, brushed strands of sweat-damp hair away from my face, and murmured low words of comfort I couldn’t quite catch over the roaring in my head.

And when the ship’s doctor brought medicine—bitter chalky tablets that turned to paste on my tongue—Kieran was the one who insisted I swallow them.

“Take it, Sera,” he said, voice brooking no argument, though his hand on mine was steady, not harsh.

I tried to protest, some small, stubborn flicker inside me refusing to surrender to his authority, but my body betrayed me. Weakness made me pliant.

When he pressed the cup of water to my lips, I drank. When he guided me back toward the bed in the private cabin, I let him.

My cabin was decadent. Wide enough to shame most hotel suites, its walls paneled in rich walnut, its king-size bed layered with silk sheets in a muted cream.

The windows stretched floor to ceiling, offering a view of the ocean rolling endlessly into the horizon. It should have felt like luxury. Instead, it felt like a trap—soft, but suffocating.

Kieran lowered me carefully onto the bed, his hand still cradling my arm as though afraid I’d collapse again.

“You need rest,” he said. His voice was quiet, but there was something in it I couldn’t name. Not command, not irritation.

Concern.

I stared at him, hazy from nausea and medication, wondering if I was hallucinating.

In ten years of marriage, I had never received such a thing as concern from him.

Not when I burned with fever. Not when I wept alone in our cavernous house. Not when loneliness and despair had threatened to eat me alive.

And yet, here he was—our divorce finalized, our lives unstitched—sitting by my side as if I were the most precious thing in the world to him.

It was almost laughable. Overwhelmingly cruel.

“You’ll feel better after you sleep,” he added, and when I didn’t immediately close my eyes, he sighed and brushed his thumb across my knuckles.

The gesture was so gentle, so startlingly intimate, it felt like a wound opening.

And then his phone rang.

The sharp sound cut through the quiet of the cabin, shattering the strange, fragile stillness between us.

Kieran stiffened. His gaze flicked toward the bedside table where the device buzzed insistently, screen flashing with a name I didn’t need to see to recognize.

Celeste.

I felt it like a punch to the gut.

He’d made me leave my phone back in LA and warned me not to give anyone the number of the encrypted phone—for Daniel’s safety.

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