Chapter 3: A Father's Promise
Dorian's POV
The small bedroom fell into silence as Seraphina left to prepare warm milk. I shifted uncomfortably in the chair beside Isolde's bed. The child—my daughter—watched me with those large brown eyes that mirrored her mother's.
"Daddy, I'm so happy you came today," she said suddenly, her voice small but clear in the quiet room.
I looked at her, momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. "Why do you say that?" I asked, my tone stiffer than I intended.
"Because Mommy loves you so much." She fidgeted with her blanket. "Daddy, it's okay if you don't like me, but could you love Mommy more?"
Something cold settled in my chest. Of course. I should have known Seraphina would use the child to manipulate me. "Did your mother tell you to say this?" I asked, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
Her eyes widened in alarm, head shaking vigorously. "No!" Then, more quietly: "I just want Mommy to be happy."
I didn't believe her. Seraphina had always been cleverer than she appeared, using that façade of quiet dignity to hide her schemes.
Isolde reached for something under her pillow, pulling out a small notebook with careful movements. "Daddy, Mommy really loves you. You can see it in here." She held it out to me, her expression earnest, a small dimple appearing in her right cheek—my dimple, I realized with an odd jolt. "You have to look at it, okay?"
I took the notebook without opening it, giving a noncommittal "Mm." Whatever game Seraphina was playing, I wouldn't be drawn in so easily.
The door opened as Seraphina returned with a glass of warm milk. I watched as Isolde drank it, her eyelids growing heavy. Within minutes, she was asleep, her breathing soft and regular. For a moment, looking down at her small face—peaceful in sleep, framed by wisps of hair the same color as mine—I felt something unfamiliar stir within me. Not quite tenderness, but not the usual indifference either.
Seraphina carefully led me out of the bedroom. "Tomorrow morning, you'll take Isolde to Brightwood," she said, not meeting my eyes. "You can have the master bedroom. I'll use the guest room."
"What, not planning to sneak into my bedroom in the middle of the night?" I couldn't help the mocking tone.
She looked up then, her face paling slightly. "Don't worry. That will never happen again."
Before I could answer, my phone rang. Bella flashed on the screen.
Seraphina turned away, giving me privacy with practiced ease. The gesture irritated me for reasons I couldn't explain.
"Bella," I answered, my voice automatically softening.
"Are you coming over tonight?" Her voice held that perfect blend of desire and vulnerability that always drew me in.
"No, not tonight." I glanced at Seraphina's retreating back.
"I miss you," Bella whispered.
"Get some rest. I'll see you soon." I ended the call.
The next morning, I descended the stairs, already dressed for the office. Seraphina was in the foyer, helping Isolde with her backpack. She looked up as I approached, her expression carefully neutral. "Dorian, here you go." She handed me a water bottle and Isolde's small backpack.
I took them, an odd feeling settling over me. solde beamed up at me, her entire face lighting up with a joy. For a fleeting moment, I saw myself in the curve of her cheekbones, the set of her jaw.
Behind Seraphina, Olivia—who had arrived early to brief me on the day's meetings—watched with barely concealed amusement. I shot her a warning glance.
"Isolde, be good at school," Seraphina said, kneeling to kiss our daughter's forehead. Then, straightening to face me: "Take care of her."
"Olivia," I said, turning away from that unsettling realization, "contact the major shareholders. Meeting at Ravencroft Group headquarters in thirty minutes."
The drive to Brightwood was silent at first. I glanced occasionally at Isolde in the rearview mirror. She sat quietly in her booster seat, small hands folded in her lap, occasionally stealing glances at me with an expression of barely contained happiness.
"Do you need something?" I finally asked, the silence becoming uncomfortable.
She looked up, startled at being addressed directly. "Daddy," she began, her voice so quiet I had to strain to hear it, "could you pick me up after school today?" Then quickly, as if afraid of asking too much: "It's okay if you're too busy..."
I considered my schedule, but found myself asking, "What time does school end?"
Her face transformed instantly, her eyes lighting up. "Four-thirty," she said eagerly, bouncing slightly in her seat, her tiny hands clasping together in excitement.
"Alright." The word escaped before I'd fully considered the commitment.
She's just a child, I thought. So easily pleased, so quick to forgive. If she hadn't been Seraphina's daughter—a constant reminder of a marriage I'd never wanted—perhaps I could have genuinely cared for her.
At four-twenty, I was in my car, having left a boardroom full of surprised executives when I stood up mid-discussion and announced I had a personal matter to attend to. Olivia had given me a knowing look as I left, reminding me of my promise to pick up Isolde.
"Drive faster," I instructed the chauffeur.
My phone rang. Bella.
"Dorian," her voice came through, choked with tears. "Marshmallow's dying. He's foaming at the mouth, and the vet says his heart condition has gotten worse. They don't think he'll make it this time."
The cat—a pure white Persian I'd given her three years ago. She'd named him Marshmallow and doted on him excessively. "Where are you now?" I asked, already knowing I'd go to her.
"At Dr. Finch's clinic. Please," she sobbed, "come quickly. I don't think he'll last much longer."
As I listened to her crying, an image of expectant brown eyes flashed in my mind. I'd promised Isolde I'd pick her up. She'd be waiting, watching the gate with that eager expression that made her look so much like...
But Belladonna needed me. She always needed me, in a way that satisfied something deep and primal in me—the need to be essential, irreplaceable.
"I'll be right there," I said, making my decision. "Driver, change course to Dr. Finch's Veterinary Clinic."
As I texted Olivia to pick up Isolde instead, my gaze fell on the small strawberry cupcake sitting in a box beside me—a last-minute addition I'd asked Olivia to pick up on her way to the office this morning.
I closed my eyes, trying to shake off the unexpected pang of something that felt uncomfortably like guilt.