SERAPHINA’S POV
By the time I stepped out into the latter part of the day, the estate had already fully awakened into its pre-celebration rhythm.
Sunlight spilled over the Maldives horizon in a steady, golden cascade, transforming the white stone paths into something nearly incandescent. The ocean beyond the terraces shimmered like glass.
Everywhere I looked, there were signs of careful preparation—flowers rearranged in elegant clusters, ribbons adjusted on archways, servants moving with quiet efficiency as though the entire estate was a living organism, anticipating a single event.
My eighteenth birthday.
That was all anyone could talk about.
I could hear it in the softened voices that hushed when I passed, in the faint smiles that followed my movements through the corridors, in the way people inclined their heads with a respect that felt strange.
And beneath all of it, an undercurrent of unease lingered.
