“No,” Seraphine replied with an edge of finality. “It’s an arranged marriage. Luther’s not part of this.”
Aunt Monica’s silence hung heavy before she sighed. “Are you sure? After all this time, he—”
“Cares?” Seraphine interrupted, a bitter smile forming. “Caring isn’t the same as committing. If I stay, I’ll waste what’s left of my life chasing an illusion.”
The call ended, and with it, the weight of eight years bore down on her. But Seraphine didn’t waver. She had three days to sever every tie.
The next evening, Seraphine oversaw the delivery of farewell gifts to her aunt’s house. Darkness had settled over the neighborhood when a familiar figure emerged by the curb.
Luther.
Dressed sharply, his confusion was palpable as he approached the truck laden with boxes.
“What’s all this?” he asked, his voice tight.
“Thank-you gifts,” Seraphine replied evenly. “I’m leaving.”
His brows drew together, tension radiating from him. “Leaving? Where? Why haven’t you told me?”
“You were busy.” Her tone was clipped, her gaze unwavering. “It’s no longer your concern.”
Luther took a step closer, his presence as commanding as ever. “This isn’t like you, Seraphine. What’s going on? Who’s the guy?”
She tilted her chin, her voice cutting like glass. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Before he could press further, a sleek black SUV rolled to a stop nearby. The driver, an impeccably dressed man, stepped out with an air of quiet authority.
“Miss Mancini,” he said, bowing slightly. “Your fiancé awaits.”
Seraphine didn’t look back as she walked toward the vehicle, ignoring the shock in Luther’s eyes. The door closed behind her with a resolute click, leaving Luther standing alone on the darkened street.
The golden hues of the late afternoon sun faded into twilight, casting long shadows over the North Suburb’s gleaming high-rises.
From her vantage point near the entrance, Seraphine Mancini caught sight of Luther Harword stepping out of an elevator, Cornelia at his side.
Their arms were loaded with shopping bags from the upscale supermarket nearby. To the casual observer, they looked every bit the picture of domestic bliss. To Seraphine, it was a final, painful reminder of everything she had already lost.
Her Aunt Monica’s car pulled up just as the elevator doors slid shut behind the pair. Monica’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the scene, her lips pressing into a thin line at the sight of Luther with another woman.