Seraphina's POV
When he called me Sera, my heart skipped.
The name rolled out of Lucien's mouth so naturally, so effortlessly, that for a second I forgot everything else around me.
Sera.
When did he start calling me that?
And why did hearing it from him feel so different?
I looked at him quietly from the bed, the dim light from the lamp beside me falling across his sharp face. His sleeves were rolled slightly past his wrists, exposing the veins in his hands, and his jaw still looked tight from anger.
Anger because of me.
Because someone hurt me.
The thought settled strangely inside my chest.
His anger is not the performative anger of my father, but the quiet, concentrated rage of a man who was ready to bring the world down because someone had laid a hand on me.
