SERAPHINA'S POV
Pain.
White-hot and searing, it bloomed across my ribs like fire spreading through dry grass. My back hit the ground hard, leaves and dirt clinging to my blood-soaked dress. I gasped, but the sound came out weak, barely a breath.
Marcus stood over me, that dangerous smirk still playing on his lips.
"You talk too much, stepmother," he said softly, almost gently, as if he were scolding a child. "You were supposed to keep quiet."
I tried to speak, to curse him, but blood rose in my throat instead. My vision swam. The forest lights blurred into streaks of gold and crimson.
Ivy…
The thought cut through the pain sharper than the blade had. She was out there, trapped in that wedding gown, bound to Nicholas Vault by blood. All because of Layla's clever little note. All because I had been too slow, too distracted by my own obsession.
I had wanted her dead. I had planned it so carefully.
Instead, I had handed her to someone even more dangerous than me.
