SERAPHINA
My alarm cut through the silence at exactly 6:00 AM.
I didn't hit snooze. I never did.
Instead, I lay there staring up at the pristine white ceiling, letting the anger from yesterday settle deep in my chest. It wasn't the fiery, reckless kind anymore. Overnight it had hardened into something cold, sharp, and useful—like a blade I could wield with precision.
Time to get ready.
The shower started scalding, turning my skin pink, then switched to ice-cold until numbness spread through me. I liked the shock. It reminded me I was always in control.
Skincare came next—serum, moisturizer, SPF—each step slow and deliberate. A ritual that whispered one thing: this body, this face, this image belonged to me and no one else.
Makeup was simple but intentional today. Deep burgundy lipstick, the kind that looked like a warning in color. I swapped my usual emerald silk tie for a sleek black one, sharper and more serious.
One last glance in the mirror.
Flawless. Armored. Untouchable.
When I walked into the dining room, my father was already seated at the head of the table like a king who never left his throne. Tablet in hand, suit pressed to perfection, expression distant as always.
I paused briefly in the doorway.
He didn't look up.
"Good morning, Seraphina."
"Father."
I slid into my usual seat across from him. Mrs. Dawn appeared without a sound, setting down my black coffee exactly how I liked it.
"I didn't realize you were back from Tokyo," I said, stirring the cup slowly.
"Deal closed early." His eyes never left the screen. "I have meetings in the city today."
The silence between us felt almost comfortable in its emptiness.
I pushed fresh strawberries around in my yogurt.
Finally, he glanced up.
"How was the first day back at Westfield?"
"Productive."
"Good." His attention was already drifting back to the tablet. "Keep that GPA flawless. Stanford doesn't accept anything less."
As if I would ever let it slip.
I was about to stand when he spoke again.
"I'll drive you this morning."
I froze.
"We can discuss your college applications on the way."
Translation: He wanted the perfect photo-op—powerful father dropping off his perfect daughter for everyone to see.
"I can drive myself—"
"Nonsense." His tone left no space for argument. "We leave in five minutes."
The Bentley was spotless, of course. I sat in the back beside him while Mr. Vance handled business calls from the front seat—numbers, contracts, endless talk of money and power.
I tuned it all out and watched the manicured streets of Luxuria slide past the tinted windows. Gated estates, perfect lawns, silent perfection everywhere.
It was beautiful.
It was suffocating.
When we pulled up to Westfield's gates, students were already staring. The driver opened my door, and I stepped out with graceful precision.
Then my father did something rare—he got out too.
He pulled me into a warm, public hug.
"Make me proud, sweetheart," he said, loud enough for the nearby crowd to hear.
I leaned into it, hating how much I still craved even this fake version of affection.
"Always, Daddy."
I waved as the Bentley pulled away, playing the perfect daughter role flawlessly.
The moment the car disappeared down the road, my smile vanished like it had never existed.
I turned toward the main building—only to be suddenly yanked sideways into an empty classroom. The door clicked shut behind us.
Roman stood there, arms crossed, jaw tight with frustration.
"You've been ignoring me since yesterday."
I yanked my arm free. "I have class."
"Since when do you care about being on time?" He blocked the exit, eyes hard. "You're still mad about what happened in the parking lot, aren't you?"
Of course I was.
Now, in the quiet classroom, Roman's eyes searched mine.
"You made your point yesterday. Loud and clear."
"I did," I replied coolly. "Yet here you are, still trying to pull me into corners."
"Did you watch the video?" He pulled out his phone. "Madison sent it to the group. It's blowing up already."
He held it out.
I took it.
The video started playing.
Noah looked so small and pathetic—glasses flashing in the sun as Roman and the others closed in.
Punches landed with ugly, wet sounds.
He tried to protect himself. He failed miserably.
Comments flooded the screen:
"Scholarship trash finally learning his place "
"Roman protecting his queen "
"Get him again"
Over four hundred likes and climbing.
I watched Noah hit the ground. Watched him bleed. Watched him curl into himself, broken and helpless.
A slow, satisfying warmth spread through my chest.
I handed the phone back, letting a dangerous little smile curve my burgundy lips.
"It's a good start."
Relief washed over Roman's face.
"So… we're good?"
I stepped closer, trailing my fingers slowly up his chest.
"We're good." My voice dropped. "But remember what I told you yesterday. Touch me without permission again—even in public—and I'll make sure you regret it. Understand?"
His eyes darkened, that familiar mix of hunger and caution flickering across his face.
"Yes, ma'am."
I kissed him hard—deep, possessive, a clear reminder of exactly who held the power here.
When I finally pulled back, he was breathing heavier, eyes slightly dazed.
"Damn, Sera…"
I smiled sweetly. "Walk me to class?"
"Anywhere you want."
He dropped me off outside AP Chemistry with one last lingering kiss, then disappeared down the hall.
I stood there alone for a moment, the video still playing on loop in my mind.
Noah on the ground.
Noah bleeding.
Noah learning his place.
It should have been enough.
It was enough.
…Wasn't it?