The Thorne Estate was a monument to old money and cold ambition. On the day of the Board Brunch, the manicured gardens were swarming with the city's elite—men in tailored navy suits who controlled the flow of international trade, and women in silk fascinators whose smiles were as sharp as the diamonds on their necks.
Seraphina stood at the top of the grand marble staircase, her breath hitching in her chest. The platinum wig felt heavy, the lace of the ivory dress scratching against her collarbone.
She felt like a lamb being led to a slaughterhouse disguised as a garden party.
Beside her, Alexander was the picture of a powerful husband. He didn't look at her, but his hand was firmly placed on the small of her back.
The heat of his palm burned through the thin lace, a constant reminder of the "leash" he had placed around her neck.
"Keep your head up," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the chatter of the crowd below.
"You are a Thorne now. If you look like a victim, they will tear you apart before the first course is served."
"I told you, I'm not an actress," she whispered back, her lips barely moving.
"Then be a liar," he countered, his grip tightening just enough to be a warning.
"You've had plenty of practice."
They descended the stairs together. As they reached the terrace, the sea of conversation parted.
Eyes tracked them with the precision of heat-seeking missiles.
Seraphina felt the weight of a hundred judgments. These people had known the real Selene Vance—the loud, partying heiress. If she didn't hit the right notes, the facade would crumble.
"Alexander! And the lovely Selene," a voice boomed.
A tall, silver-haired man approached them. This was Arthur Sterling, the most senior member of the board and a man who had famously loathed Seraphina's father.
"I heard the wedding was... private," Sterling said, his eyes narrowing as he scanned Seraphina.
"A bit out of character for a Vance, isn't it? We expected a parade down 5th Avenue, not a quiet retreat to the cliffs."
Seraphina felt her heart hammer against her ribs. She remembered what she had read in her father's files about Sterling—he was obsessed with "legacy" and "propriety."
She forced a small, practiced laugh—the kind she had heard Selene use a thousand times when she was trying to charm their father out of his credit cards.
"A Thorne wedding belongs to the Thornes, Mr. Sterling," Seraphina said, her voice steadying as she leaned slightly into Alexander's side.
"Alexander and I decided that the most precious moments shouldn't be shared with the paparazzi. Don't you agree that intimacy is the ultimate luxury?"
Alexander's eyebrows flickered—a microscopic sign of surprise. He hadn't expected her to find her tongue so quickly.
Sterling chuckled, though his eyes remained cold. "Intimacy. A rare word in this circle. You've changed, Selene. You seem... quieter. More refined."
"Marriage has a way of grounding one," Seraphina replied, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray just to give her hands something to do.
"Especially when you find a man who demands your best."
"Indeed," Sterling muttered, turning his attention to Alexander.
"Well, Thorne, she's certainly more impressive than the girl I saw falling out of a club in Milan last year. You've done wonders for her."
As Sterling moved away, Seraphina felt the air rush out of her lungs. But the respite was short-lived.
"Don't get complacent," Alexander hissed in her ear as they moved toward the buffet.
"That was only the first shark. Here comes the pack."
For the next two hours, Seraphina was subjected to a relentless interrogation disguised as small talk. She navigated questions about the Vance family's recent "liquidity issues," the upcoming merger, and her supposed honeymoon plans. She used every ounce of her observational skills as an artist to mimic Selene's cadence while filtering it through the "newly reformed" persona Alexander demanded.
But the real test came during the main course.
They were seated at a long, linen-draped table overlooking the ocean. To Seraphina's left was Lady Evelyn, a woman whose family had been rivals with the Thornes for three generations.
"I saw your recent acquisition at the Sotheby's auction, Alexander," Lady Evelyn said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.
"The 'Abstract Sky.' I was surprised. It's a bit... emotional for your taste, isn't it?"
Alexander didn't miss a beat. "My wife has been expanding my horizons. She has a keen eye for the 'distortions of truth' in modern art."
Seraphina froze. He was using her words. The very words she had used in his study when she thought she was safe. It was a taunt—a way of reminding her that even her mind belonged to him now.
"Oh? I didn't know you were an art lover, Selene," Lady Evelyn turned to her, a predatory glint in her eyes.
"Tell me, what do you think of the brushwork on the centerpiece? It's a local piece, quite controversial."
Seraphina looked at the painting displayed on a nearby easel. It was a chaotic mess of red and black—a "vogue" piece that people praised because they were afraid to look stupid.
The old Seraphina—the invisible one—wanted to say it was trash. She wanted to point out that the artist had no sense of light or shadow.
But Selene Vance would have called it "divine" and "bold."
She looked at Alexander. He was watching her, his glass of red wine poised at his lips. He was waiting to see which sister would answer.
"It's ambitious," Seraphina said, choosing a middle path.
"But it lacks a soul. It's a painting made for a gallery wall, not for a home. It seeks attention, but it doesn't offer any peace. I prefer art that has a secret it's not quite ready to tell."
The table went silent. Even the sound of the waves seemed to dim.
Lady Evelyn blinked, stunned. "A secret? How... poetic."
"My wife is full of secrets," Alexander said, his voice dropping an octave. He reached over and took Seraphina's hand, his fingers interlacing with hers on top of the white tablecloth. It looked like a romantic gesture to the guests, but to Seraphina, it felt like a trap closing.
"That's why I married her."
The rest of the brunch was a blur of forced smiles and aching feet. By the time the last guest had departed, Seraphina felt like a hollow shell.
She retreated to the terrace, leaning against the stone balustrade and looking out at the water. She reached up to pull off the platinum wig, desperate for a breath of air, but a hand clamped over hers.
"Not yet," Alexander said, appearing behind her.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he stood so close she could feel the heat radiating from his chest. He reached around her, his arms framing her body as he gripped the stone rail on either side of her.
"You did well today," he whispered into the nape of her neck.
"Sterling was impressed. Even Evelyn couldn't find a crack in the armor."
"Are you happy now?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"I lied to everyone. I'm exactly what you wanted. A perfect, beautiful fraud."
Alexander leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You weren't a fraud when you talked about the art, Seraphina. That was the only real thing at that table. And that's the problem."
He turned her around in his arms, forcing her to face him. The setting sun was casting long, orange shadows across his face, making him look like a carved statue of a forgotten god.
"You're becoming too good at this," he said, his eyes scanning her face with an intensity that made her knees weak.
"I find myself wondering... if you can fool them so easily, are you fooling me too? Is this 'broken mouse' act just another mask?"
"I'm not acting with you," she sobbed, the exhaustion finally breaking through.
"I'm terrified of you!"
"Good," he hissed, his hand moving to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in the expensive platinum hair of the wig.
"Stay terrified. It's the only thing keeping you honest."
He looked down at her lips, the tension between them pulling tight like a piano wire.
For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her—to claim her in the light of day.
But instead, he released her abruptly.
"Go upstairs. Maya has prepared a bath. We have a gala in the city tonight. The world has seen Selene the Wife. Tonight, they need to see Selene the Queen."
As he walked away, leaving her shivering in the sea breeze, Seraphina realized the horror of her situation. She wasn't just his prisoner. She was becoming his obsession. And in Alexander Thorne's world, there was no difference between being loved and being owned.
She looked down at her hand, where his ring caught the dying light.
I have to get out, she thought. Before there's nothing left of Seraphina to save.