Chapter 2: Father Borrows Mistress's Earrings

Seraphina's POV

The Apex City skyline blurred past our window as Isolde's tiny body trembled with excitement beside me. Her honey-brown eyes sparkled with hope as she asked, "Mommy, did Daddy really come home? Will he be with me for my birthday?"

I fought back the pain in my heart and gently stroked her golden-brown curls, now sparse from the treatments. "Yes, sweetie. Daddy promised."

"We can't tell Daddy I'm sick, right?" she whispered, her voice small and uncertain. "I don't want him to worry."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Our little secret."

Looking at her pale little face, I knew the cancer wouldn't give her much time, but I was determined to give her this final dream.

As we pulled up to the entrance, I steeled myself. My child—my only blood relation in this world—was slipping away from me, and all I could do was try to make her remaining days as magical as possible.

Astrid was waiting at the entrance, her usually stoic face softening at the sight of Isolde.

"Welcome home, little Isolde," she said, bending slightly to meet Isolde's eyes. "You look very pretty today."

Isolde giggled, twirling in her yellow dress. "It's my birthday dress!"

I turned to Astrid. "Is Mr. Ravencroft inside?"

"Yes, ma'am. In the living room."

My heart sank a little. Dorian rarely stayed at the manor after we married. To Isolde, her father was more a figure she saw on TV news segments and magazine covers than a real presence in her life. Yet she loved him fiercely, unconditionally, the way only children can.

Isolde's small hand found mine as we walked through the foyer.

"Remember your manners," I whispered, straightening her dress one last time before we entered the living room.

Dorian was standing by the window, phone in hand, his tall figure silhouetted against the afternoon light. He didn't turn when we entered.

"Daddy?" Isolde's voice was barely audible, filled with a mixture of hope and fear of rejection.

He slowly turned, his ice-blue eyes fixing first on me with cool indifference before shifting to Isolde. Something flickered across his face—discomfort, perhaps. Or was it that instinctive aversion he always seemed to have toward her? Toward the face that so resembled mine? Then he pulled a small blue box from his pocket. "Birthday gift," he said, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather.

Isolde accepted it with trembling hands, her expression one of pure wonder. I watched as she carefully opened it, revealing a pair of diamond stud earrings that glittered coldly in the afternoon light.

For a moment, her smile faltered, confusion crossing her features. Then, with a resilience that broke my heart, she beamed up at him. "Thank you, Daddy. I love them."

My chest tightened. Diamond earrings. For a four-year-old child.

"Isolde," I said, forcing warmth into my voice, "it's getting late, and you need to rest before dinner. Astrid will help you get settled in your room, okay? Tomorrow Daddy will take you out."

I caught Dorian's almost imperceptible flinch at my words, but I didn't care. He owed us this much.

Isolde nodded obediently, though I could see the reluctance in her eyes.

After they left, I picked up the earring box, examining the cold, glittering stones. "Mr. Ravencroft," I said coldly, "I understand you're busy, but even for a last-minute gift, diamond earrings aren't exactly suitable for a four-year-old."

Dorian adjusted his cuffs with casual indifference. "I borrowed them from Belladonna. Didn't have time to prepare anything else."

"It was just a slip-up," he added dismissively. "Won't happen again."

I thought bitterly, There won't be a fucking next time. She won't live to see another goddamn birthday.

I took a deep breath. "As a father, I expect you to join me in telling Isolde a bedtime story tonight."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "I'm not good at that."

"You don't need to be. I'll do the talking. You just need to be there, sitting beside her bed." I met his gaze steadily. "I know you want to be with Belladonna. Once Isolde falls asleep, you can leave. Just make sure you're back before she wakes up in the morning."

Something shifted in his expression—surprise, perhaps, that I wasn't trying to make him stay the night. "Fine," he said after a pause. "I'll sleep in the guest room."

For the first time in our five-year marriage, we walked together to Isolde's bedroom. Dorian hesitated at the doorway, and I realized with a jolt that he'd never been inside it before. This room, decorated with fairy lights and watercolor paintings of woodland creatures, was as foreign to him as a stranger's home.

Isolde was already in bed, her eyes lighting up when she saw both of us enter. "Daddy! You're here for story time too?"

Dorian nodded stiffly, taking the chair I pointed to beside her bed.

I sat on the edge of the mattress and began telling her favorite story—"The Little Mermaid."

As I spoke, I watched Dorian from the corner of my eye. He sat rigid at first, checking his watch surreptitiously, but gradually, something in his posture softened. His eyes kept darting between me and Isolde, who was fighting sleep to savor every moment of having both parents in her room.

"Mommy," Isolde interrupted drowsily, "can I have some warm milk?"

I recognized the request for what it was—a little girl's clever ploy to keep her father in the room longer. "Of course, sweetheart. I'll go get it."

Dorian started to rise, but I stopped him with a look. Stay. Just this once, stay with your daughter.

In the kitchen, as I warmed the milk, my phone buzzed with a social media notification. Olivia's Instagram post showed a pair of pink diamond earrings with the caption: "CEO's special auction pick! Another day of envying Miss Hawthorne!"

I stared at the screen, a dull ache spreading through my chest. Of course. He'd been quick to replace Belladonna's "borrowed" earrings with something better. She was, after all, the woman he actually cared about.

As I was about to put my phone away, a text message appeared:

Seraphina, I'm returning to Apex in ten days.

My breath caught. Six years since I'd last seen him. Six years since Yale. And now, with Isolde slipping away from me, he was coming back.