Seraphina's POV
I woke up to the smell of antiseptic and something unfamiliar beneath it.
It isn't the sharp, cold scent of the Ashford hospital where everything smelled expensive and sterile, like pain had been polished to look respectable. This smell is softer. Older. Medicine mixed with damp walls and rain that never fully dried.
My eyes flutter open slowly.
The ceiling above me is white, but not perfect. A long crack runs across it like a scar that was never treated properly. A small stain spreads near one corner. A weak light hums overhead, flickering just slightly, like it might give up at any moment.
This is not where I collapsed.
"This isn't…" My voice comes out rough, barely louder than a whisper. My throat burns, dry and sore.
I try to lift my head.
Pain explodes behind my eyes, sharp and unforgiving, forcing a gasp from my lips.
"Don't," a voice says quickly. "Please don't move yet."
A woman steps into my line of sight. She's short, her brown hair pulled back into a neat bun that's starting to loosen. Her eyes are kind but tired, the kind of tired that comes from caring too much for too many people with too little help.
She wears a simple nurse's uniform. No designer badge. No elite hospital logo. Nothing that screams money or power.
"Where am I?" I ask, my tongue heavy, my head spinning.
"You're in a private clinic," she says gently, adjusting the blanket tucked around my shoulders. "You've been unconscious for several hours."
My heart stutters. "Hours?"
"Yes," she says. "You were found outside. In the rain."
Found.
The word settles heavily in my chest.
"Who brought me here?" I ask.
She hesitates just enough for me to notice.
"A passerby," she says carefully. "You were in bad shape. Hypothermia. Blood loss. Extreme stress."
Blood loss.
My hand moves on its own, pressing weakly against my stomach. Panic flashes through me.
The nurse notices and nods slowly. "You're safe now," she says. "But you pushed your body too far."
My lips tremble. "My baby?"
Her face softens immediately, sadness filling her eyes. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "We know."
Know?
"How?" I ask, my voice cracking.
"You were calling out," she replies. "Even while unconscious."
The room suddenly feels too small. My chest tightens painfully. I turn my head away, blinking hard, my eyes burning.
"What's your name?" she asks gently.
"Seraphina," I say. "Seraphina Cole."
She pauses slightly before writing it down, her pen hovering for a brief second. "I'm Nurse Elena," she says. "I'll call the doctor."
She steps away, her shoes making a soft squeak against the worn floor.
I stare at the ceiling again, my thoughts drifting like broken glass.
No reporters.
No Margaret Ashford.
No Julian.
The realization brings no comfort. Only emptiness.
The door opens again.
A man enters this time, older, with gray hair at his temples and thin glasses balanced on his nose. His coat is clean but worn, like it's been used for years instead of replaced.
"I'm Dr. Hale," he says calmly. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," I reply. "Confused."
"That's expected," he says, checking the monitors beside my bed. "You collapsed from exhaustion and exposure. You were dehydrated and emotionally overwhelmed."
Emotionally overwhelmed.
That feels like an insult and a mercy all at once.
"Did anyone come looking for me?" I ask quietly.
Dr. Hale glances briefly at Nurse Elena, who stands near the door.
"No," he says honestly. "No one."
The word echoes in my ears.
No one.
I nod slowly, my chest aching. "That sounds right."
"You were lucky," he continues. "Another hour in that rain and the outcome could've been very different."
He doesn't finish the sentence.
He doesn't need to.
"Why wasn't I taken to a major hospital?" I ask.
He adjusts his glasses. "The man who brought you in requested discretion."
My heart jumps. "Man?"
"Yes," Dr. Hale replies. "He insisted you be kept off public records."
"Why?" I ask, my voice sharpening.
"He said you needed protection," the doctor answered.
Protection.
From who?
Before I can ask, the door opens again.
The air in the room shifts instantly.
I feel it before I see him.
He's tall, standing in the doorway like he owns the space without trying. He's dressed simply, but nothing about him feels ordinary. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Eyes so black they seem to swallow light instead of reflect it.
There's a stillness about him. Not calm. Controlled.
Dangerous in a quiet way.
Dr. Hale clears his throat. "She's awake," he says.
"I can see that," the man replies.
His voice is low, steady, and carries authority without raising volume.
Dr. Hale nods and steps aside. Nurse Elena hesitates for a moment, giving me a reassuring look before following him out. The door closes softly behind them.
The room feels smaller now.
He pulls the chair closer and sits, his movements slow and deliberate. He studies me like he's memorizing details, my face, my breathing, the way my hands tremble slightly under the blanket.
"Who are you?" I ask, forcing strength into my voice.
He doesn't answer immediately.
"You were left to die," he says instead.
My fingers curl into the fabric beneath me. "I collapsed."
"In public," he replies calmly. "Bleeding. Alone. In the rain."
My jaw tightens. "You watched?"
"No," he says. "I intervened."
"Why?" I demand.
His gaze doesn't waver. "Because no one else did."
The words hit harder than any accusation.
"What do you want from me?" I ask.
"To ask you a question," he replies.
My stomach twists.
He leans forward slightly, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes it hard to look away.
"Do you know who you really are?"