Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Seraphina

I stare into the mirror, barely recognizing the reflection peering back at me.—hollow eyes, tear-stained cheeks.

Where has my confident spark gone?

The woman who could take on the world with a smirk and a wink has been replaced by this fragile shell.

It's been over a week since my world imploded.

Since the man I thought I knew, the man I let myself fall for, was revealed to be nothing but a carefully constructed lie.

Abe.

Even thinking his name sends a fresh wave of pain radiating through my chest.

I grip the bathroom counter, fingernails digging into the cold marble.

How could I have been so blind?

I was so foolish to believe his sweet words and gentle caresses were real.

Only to find out it was all an act.

A ploy by the Reapers Rejects MC to get close to me, to uncover my mother's secrets and motives.

A bitter laugh escapes my throat.

Of course the one man who made me feel alive, feel cherished, was just using me.

What a fucking sick cosmic joke.

I should have known better than to let my guard down, to trust anyone.

Hot anger swells inside me, momentarily eclipsing the devastation.

I welcomed Abe—no, that's probably not even his real name—into my life, my home, my bed.

I gave him access to me while he smiled and schemed behind my back.

All the while reporting back to his club.

I straighten up, meeting my stormy gaze in the mirror.

Well, no more.

Seraphina Bernard is no one's fool, and certainly not a pawn to be manipulated.

I'll bury this hurt and betrayal deep down, lock it away.

From now on, I trust no one.

I will rely on no one but myself.

This city, those bikers, will rue the day they tried to break me.

I'm coming for the Reapers Rejects, and nothing, not even a shattered heart, will get in my way.

With renewed determination steeling my spine, I turn away from the mirror and stride out of the bathroom, heels clicking against the tile like a war drum.

Let the real games begin.

The shrill ring of my cell phone slices through my thoughts.

Snatching it up, I glance at the screen.

Grandfather.

I hesitate, finger hovering over the answer button.

I'm really not in the mood for company or conversation right now.

But before I can decide, I find myself accepting the call, his cheerful voice flooding the line. "Seraphina, my dear! I was hoping you might come ‘round for a visit today."

I suppress a sigh, sinking onto the plush couch. "I don't know, Grandfather. I'm not exactly feeling up to it at the moment. Perhaps another time would be better."

"Nonsense!" he declares, undeterred by my weak protest. "You simply must come over immediately. Cook is whipping up your absolute favorite—steak and kidney pie. And just to sweeten the deal, I've had her prepare a toffee pudding for dessert. You couldn't possibly refuse."

Despite the heavy weight in my chest, a small smile tugs at my lips. He always did know my weaknesses. The mouthwatering image of that pie, the promise of creamy toffee pudding, it's almost enough to break through the numb haze enshrouding me.

"You don't play fair," I accuse, but there's no real heat in my words.

His rich chuckle crackles through the phone. "Whoever said I did? Now, I expect to see you within the hour, poppet. No arguments."

I heave out a sigh, but I'm already mentally rifling through my closet, considering outfits. "Fine, you win. I'll be there soon."

"Splendid!" I can practically see his triumphant grin. "Until then, my dear."

The line goes dead and I toss the phone aside, hauling myself up.

My limbs feel heavy, leaden, as I trudge toward the bathroom.

Maybe a hot shower will wash away some of this numbness, make me feel a little more human.

As the spray beats down on my skin, I tip my head back, eyes closed.

I don't want to think, don't want to feel.

But Grandfather's call was a harsh reminder that the world keeps spinning, no matter how much I might wish it would stop, just for a minute.

Still, I wish it would pause, just long enough for me to catch my breath.

But I am a Bernard.

We do not break.

We do not bow.

Squaring my shoulders, I steel myself.

One hour, one meal. I can do this. I will do this.

Shutting off the water with a decisive twist, I step out, ready to face whatever else this wretched day has in store.

Making my way down to the garage, I hop in my car and start my engine.

The purr beneath me usually soothes me, but today, it grates.

I want to floor it, to let the speedometer climb until the world blurs into streaks of color.

But I restrain myself, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel as I navigate the familiar streets.

Grandfather's estate looms ahead, all stately columns and manicured gardens.

The wrought-iron gates swing open as I approach, and I slip through, tires crunching on the gravel drive.

Alfred is already waiting on the steps, his lined face creasing into a warm smile as I pull up. "Miss Seraphina," he greets me, opening my door with a slight bow. "You look lovely, as always."

I snort, accepting his hand as I climb out. "I look like death warmed over, and we both know it."

"Nonsense." He shakes his head, eyes twinkling. "Though I dare say a spot of color might help. Perhaps some of Cook's famous toffee pudding will put the roses back in your cheeks, hmm?"

Despite myself, I feel my lips twitch.

Trust Alfred to know exactly what to say. "We'll see," I murmur, letting him guide me up the steps. "I make no promises."

"Of course not, Miss." He pats my hand, his touch gentle. "But I have a feeling your grandfather will work his usual magic. He's quite determined to cheer you up, you know."

I sigh, shoulders slumping.

Everyone's so bloody concerned, so eager to fix me.

But I'm not sure there's enough glue in the world to piece me back together, not after what Abe—no, what the Reapers Rejects did.

The betrayal cuts deep, a jagged wound that refuses to heal.

How could I have been so naive, so stupid?

I let him in, let myself feel, and look where it got me.

Alfred ushers me over the threshold.

The scent of sautéed onions and garlic wafts through the air as Alfred escorts me into the dining room.

Grandad sits at the head of the long mahogany table, a glass of deep red wine cradled between his weathered hands.

He looks up, blue eyes crinkling at the corners when he sees me.

"There's my girl," he says, voice warm as honey. "Come, sit. You look like you could use a drink."

I manage a weak smile, sliding into the chair to his right. "That obvious, is it?"

"Only to those who know you best, poppet." He signals to Alfred, who materializes at my elbow with a bottle of Cabernet.

The ruby liquid glugs into the crystal glass, catching the light. "Rough week?"

"You could say that." I take a sip, the wine rich and smooth on my tongue.

It does little to dull the ache in my chest, but it's a start. "Let's just say I'm not exactly feeling the warm and fuzzies toward men at the moment."

Grandad hums, swirling his own glass. "Well, not all of us are complete wankers. Present company excluded, of course."

His mustache twitches, a sure sign he's trying not to smile.

Despite myself, I feel my lips curving.

Trust Grandad to cut right to the heart of it. "Of course," I echo, inclining my head. "I'd never lump you in with the rest of them."

"Glad to hear it." He reaches over, patting my hand.

His skin is soft, marked by time and age. "Now, what do you say we put all this unpleasantness behind us for the evening? I've had Cook prepare all your favorites."

As if on cue, Alfred appears bearing two steaming plates.

The scent of steak and kidney pie fills my nostrils, rich and savory.

My stomach rumbles despite my dark mood.

"Dinner is served," Alfred intones, setting the dishes before us with a flourish. "Please let me know if you require anything else."

"I'm sure we'll be just fine, Alfred." Grandad smiles up at him, the lines around his eyes crinkling. "My compliments to Cook. It smells divine."

"Indeed, sir." Alfred bows, backing away. "I'll pass that along. Enjoy your meal."

I pick up my fork, prodding at the flaky crust.

Usually, I'd be halfway through my first bite by now, but my appetite seems to have deserted me.

All I can think about is Abe—his smile, his touch, his lies.

God, how could I have been so blind?

The signs were all there, little things that didn't quite add up.

But I ignored them, too caught up in the rush of infatuation to see what was right in front of me.

Rookie mistake.

One I won't be making again.

Grandad's voice breaks into my brooding, his tone gentle. "Penny for your thoughts?"

I set my fork down with a sigh. "Just wishing I had a time machine so I could go back and shake some sense into myself."

He chuckles, but there's an undercurrent of understanding in his eyes. "Ahh, I know that feeling well. Hindsight is a right bitch sometimes, isn't she?"

"Language, Grandad." The scolding is automatic, born from years of habit.

He just grins unrepentantly.

"I'm old, poppet. I'll say what I damn well please." He takes a sip of wine, studying me over the rim. "Do you want to talk about it? This Abe fellow?"

I tense, fingers clenching around my glass.

Even hearing his name sends a lance of pain through my chest. "Not particularly," I mutter, glaring down at my untouched food. "There's not much to say anyways. I thought he was someone he wasn't, end of story."

Grandad hums thoughtfully. "Maybe so. But it seems to me there's more weighing on you than just a case of mistaken identity."

I hesitate, warring with myself.

Part of me wants to keep it all locked away, to nurse my wounds in private.

But another part, the little girl who always found comfort in her grandfather's steady presence, aches to unburden herself.

"It's just... I feel so stupid," I admit finally, my voice small. "I let him get close, let myself believe that maybe.." I swallow hard. "Maybe I could have something real. Something beyond all this revenge business."

"Ah, poppet." Grandad reaches across the table to cover my hand with his own weathered palm. "There's no shame in wanting more for yourself. You've been carrying this weight for a long time."

"I know, but the biker club," My throat tightens. "They killed my father.. I can't just let that go."

He sighs heavily, looking suddenly older. "Poppet, god. About that... your mother would have my head if she knew I was telling you this, but..." He meets my gaze, his own solemn. "Your father, Sera... he wasn't a good man. Your mum loved him, but he was no good for her."

Ice slides down my spine. "What do you mean?"

Grandad licks his lips, choosing his words with care. "Your father... he was like his brother, in some ways. He had a darkness in him, a cruelty. He could be... volatile. Violent, even." His grip tightens on my hand. "Especially with your mum."

The world tilts sideways.

I stare at him, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as I try to process his words. "He hurt Mum?"

"He did," Grandad confirms gravely. "She loved him, fiercely. But that love... it wasn't always returned in kind."

Nausea churns in my gut.

My father, my daddy, the man I've spent years honoring, avenging...

A monster.

An abuser.

The revelation shakes me to my core, everything I thought I knew thrown into doubt.

If my father wasn't who I believed him to be... then what does that mean for everything else?

What does it mean for me?

I pick up my fork, pushing the food around my plate aimlessly.

Grandad watches me, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Sera, poppet..." he begins gently. "This man you've grown close to. Do you care for him?"

Abe's face flashes through my mind, those captivating aqua eyes, the warmth of his smile.

My heart clenches. "I... I do," I admit haltingly. "But how can I trust him, Grandad? He was sent to get close to me, to gather information. It was all a lie."

Even as I say the words, doubt niggles at me.

The tenderness in Abe's touch, the genuine affection in his voice... could that really all have been an act?

Grandad takes a thoughtful bite of his pie, chewing slowly. "Perhaps," he allows. "But perhaps not. If your feelings for him are true, and his for you... might it be worth having that conversation with him? Hearing his side?"

I stare down at my plate, my appetite gone.

Could I face Abe, knowing what I know now?

Knowing that the very foundation of my vendetta has crumbled beneath me?

And yet... the thought of never seeing him again, never feeling the safety of his arms around me, the brush of his lips on mine... it aches like a physical pain.

Maybe Grandad is right.

Maybe I owe it to myself, to Abe, to at least talk to him.

To find out if there's anything real to salvage from the wreckage of my life's purpose.

"You're right," I say at last, my voice thin but resolute. "I need to talk to him. I need to know the truth."

Grandad reaches over to squeeze my hand, his smile gentle and encouraging. "That's my brave girl," he murmurs. "The truth isn't always easy. But it's always worth fighting for."

I nod, drawing in a shaky breath.

For the first time in a week, the numbness inside me begins to thaw, replaced by a fragile flicker of hope.

I don't know what the future holds.

But I know I have to face it head on, come what may.

Straightening my shoulders, I pick up my fork tucking it into the pie.

It's time to start living for more than the ghosts of my past.

It's time to fight for my future.

Before long Alfred's taking our plates and the toffee pudding arrives, a decadent confection that momentarily distracts me from my inner turmoil.

As I savor the rich, buttery sweetness on my tongue, I find myself smiling, really smiling, for the first time in days.

"I haven't seen that smile in a while," Grandad remarks, his eyes twinkling. "It suits you far better than the frown you walked in with."

I duck my head, feeling a faint blush warm my cheeks. "I guess I haven't had much to smile about lately," I admit. "But this... this helps. Being here with you, talking things through. It means a lot to me, Grandad."

He waves off my gratitude with a gruff chuckle. "Nonsense. That's what family is for, poppet. To be there for each other, through thick and thin. Your mum and I will always have your back, no matter what."

Tears prick at the back of my eyes, but for once, they're tears of relief, not sorrow.

The road ahead may be uncertain, but for the first time, I don't feel like I have to walk it alone.

We linger over dessert, the conversation turning to lighter topics—Grandad's latest vintage car acquisition, the charity gala Mum is organizing next month.

By the time I drain the last of my wine and push back from the table, my heart feels infinitely lighter than when I arrived.

"Thank you, Grandad," I say as he walks me to the door, folding me into a tight hug. "For everything."

"Anytime, my dear," he murmurs, pressing a whiskery kiss to my cheek. "You just remember what I said, now. Live your life for you. Chase your own happiness. Everything else will sort itself out in time."

I nod, blinking back fresh tears as I climb into my car.

As I pull away from the house, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror—eyes red-rimmed but bright, cheeks flushed with color.

I'm ready to fight for my future. And the first step?

Facing the man who holds the key to my heart.