Chapter 7
Serena's POV
Three days before the wedding, Dominic tried one last time.
He didn't come to my door this time. Instead, he found me at the café where I always had my morning coffee — my private ritual, the one place I went alone.
He knew my schedule. Of course he did. Three years together meant he knew every habit, every preference, every hiding spot.
"Don't run," he said, sliding into the chair across from me. "Just hear me out. Five minutes."
I set down my espresso. "You're lucky my security isn't here yet."
"I know." He swallowed hard. "Serena — I called off the wedding with Vivienne."
"I heard."
"I was wrong. About everything. She lied to me — about the pregnancy, about what she wanted. I was an idiot."
"Yes," I agreed. "You were."
"But that doesn't mean what we had was a lie." He leaned forward, intense. "Three years, Serena. I loved you for three years. That was real."
"Was it?" I tilted my head. "Because real love doesn't look like planning a secret wedding with my stepsister."
"I made a mistake—"
"You made a choice," I corrected. "Every single day for six months, you made a choice. To lie. To hide. To pick her."
His jaw clenched. "And if I told you that she manipulated me? That she said things — about you, about your family — that made me think you were pulling away first?"
I froze. "What things?"
"She said you were having an affair," he admitted, voice low. "That you'd been seen with another man. That you were planning to leave me for a better alliance."
My blood turned to ice. "And you believed her? Without asking me?"
"I—" He dropped his gaze. "You'd been distant. Working late. Always with your father. I thought—"
"You thought I was the one betraying you." I laughed — hollow, disbelieving. "While you were the one actually doing it."
He had the decency to look ashamed.
"Dominic." I stood up, leaving money on the table for the coffee. "I'm marrying Dante Valenti in three days. Nothing you say changes that."
"I'll be there," he said suddenly.
I paused.
"At your wedding," he continued. "I'll be there. I need to see it. I need to know it's real — that I really lost you."
"Why would I allow that?"
"Because you want me to watch." His voice cracked. "I know you, Serena. You picked that chapel for a reason. You picked that date for a reason. You want me to see exactly what I threw away."
I stared at him for a long moment.
He was right. Part of me — the petty, wounded part — wanted exactly that. Wanted him to watch me become someone else's wife while his own wedding fell apart.
"Fine," I said. "Come. Watch. But you won't be in my chapel. You can stand in the plaza with everyone else."
He nodded slowly. "If that's all you'll give me."
"It's more than you deserve."
I walked away. And this time, for the first time since I'd known him, Dominic didn't follow.
...
Two days before the wedding, Dante took me somewhere unexpected.
"Where are we going?" I asked as the car wound through streets I didn't recognize.
"Somewhere I've never taken anyone," he said.
We pulled up to a modest house — not a mansion, not an estate. Just a house, with a garden and a worn wooden door.
"This was my mother's," Dante explained as we walked inside. "She left it to me when she died. I keep it the same."
Inside was warm, lived-in. Photos on the walls — a beautiful dark-haired woman with Dante's eyes. A younger Dante, maybe ten, smiling freely in a way I'd never seen from the man beside me.
"She was killed," he said quietly, standing before one of the photos. "When I was twelve. A rival family. My father... he never recovered. Threw himself into the empire. Expected me to do the same."
I stood beside him, close enough that our shoulders touched.
"I bring people into my world carefully," he continued. "Because the people I love become targets. That's what Vivienne was trying to use against you — the idea that being close to me is dangerous."
"Is it?" I asked softly.
He turned to me. "Yes. But I'll burn the world down before I let anyone touch you."
It wasn't romantic in the traditional sense. It was a warning and a promise wrapped together.
And somehow, it was exactly what I needed to hear.
"Two more days," I whispered.
"Two more days," he echoed. And for the first time, he reached for my hand — tentative, careful, as if asking permission with the gesture alone.
I laced my fingers through his.
Three days before the wedding, Dominic tried one last time.
He didn't come to my door this time. Instead, he found me at the café where I always had my morning coffee — my private ritual, the one place I went alone.
He knew my schedule. Of course he did. Three years together meant he knew every habit, every preference, every hiding spot.
"Don't run," he said, sliding into the chair across from me. "Just hear me out. Five minutes."
I set down my espresso. "You're lucky my security isn't here yet."
"I know." He swallowed hard. "Serena — I called off the wedding with Vivienne."
"I heard."
"I was wrong. About everything. She lied to me — about the pregnancy, about what she wanted. I was an idiot."
"Yes," I agreed. "You were."
"But that doesn't mean what we had was a lie." He leaned forward, intense. "Three years, Serena. I loved you for three years. That was real."
"Was it?" I tilted my head. "Because real love doesn't look like planning a secret wedding with my stepsister."
"I made a mistake—"
"You made a choice," I corrected. "Every single day for six months, you made a choice. To lie. To hide. To pick her."
His jaw clenched. "And if I told you that she manipulated me? That she said things — about you, about your family — that made me think you were pulling away first?"
I froze. "What things?"
"She said you were having an affair," he admitted, voice low. "That you'd been seen with another man. That you were planning to leave me for a better alliance."
My blood turned to ice. "And you believed her? Without asking me?"
"I—" He dropped his gaze. "You'd been distant. Working late. Always with your father. I thought—"
"You thought I was the one betraying you." I laughed — hollow, disbelieving. "While you were the one actually doing it."
He had the decency to look ashamed.
"Dominic." I stood up, leaving money on the table for the coffee. "I'm marrying Dante Valenti in three days. Nothing you say changes that."
"I'll be there," he said suddenly.
I paused.
"At your wedding," he continued. "I'll be there. I need to see it. I need to know it's real — that I really lost you."
"Why would I allow that?"
"Because you want me to watch." His voice cracked. "I know you, Serena. You picked that chapel for a reason. You picked that date for a reason. You want me to see exactly what I threw away."
I stared at him for a long moment.
He was right. Part of me — the petty, wounded part — wanted exactly that. Wanted him to watch me become someone else's wife while his own wedding fell apart.
"Fine," I said. "Come. Watch. But you won't be in my chapel. You can stand in the plaza with everyone else."
He nodded slowly. "If that's all you'll give me."
"It's more than you deserve."
I walked away. And this time, for the first time since I'd known him, Dominic didn't follow.
...
Two days before the wedding, Dante took me somewhere unexpected.
"Where are we going?" I asked as the car wound through streets I didn't recognize.
"Somewhere I've never taken anyone," he said.
We pulled up to a modest house — not a mansion, not an estate. Just a house, with a garden and a worn wooden door.
"This was my mother's," Dante explained as we walked inside. "She left it to me when she died. I keep it the same."
Inside was warm, lived-in. Photos on the walls — a beautiful dark-haired woman with Dante's eyes. A younger Dante, maybe ten, smiling freely in a way I'd never seen from the man beside me.
"She was killed," he said quietly, standing before one of the photos. "When I was twelve. A rival family. My father... he never recovered. Threw himself into the empire. Expected me to do the same."
I stood beside him, close enough that our shoulders touched.
"I bring people into my world carefully," he continued. "Because the people I love become targets. That's what Vivienne was trying to use against you — the idea that being close to me is dangerous."
"Is it?" I asked softly.
He turned to me. "Yes. But I'll burn the world down before I let anyone touch you."
It wasn't romantic in the traditional sense. It was a warning and a promise wrapped together.
And somehow, it was exactly what I needed to hear.
"Two more days," I whispered.
"Two more days," he echoed. And for the first time, he reached for my hand — tentative, careful, as if asking permission with the gesture alone.
I laced my fingers through his.