His Regret Began at My Wedding

Seraphina's POV

Just as Zia Rosalia stepped off the porch to greet me, she paused mid-stride, her sharp gaze flicking between me and the pair standing nearby. I knew exactly what she wanted to say, so I cut her off before she could speak.

"Mom sent these supplies for you," I said. "Make sure to sort through them soon. Some of them won't keep for very long."

I didn't spare Adrian—my so-called husband—a glance. Over the past few weeks, he'd made his priorities painfully clear. Yet today, he surprised me by speaking first, his tone deliberately calm.

"Seraphina, don't misunderstand. Julian's old apartment was too close to the border of unaffiliated territory. I couldn't leave her there without protection, so I found her a safer place nearby. I didn't realize it was this close to your aunt's building. By the way, what's with all these boxes?"

As I directed the driver to carry the crates into Zia Rosalia's kitchen, I replied casually, "You don't need to explain anything to me, Adrian. My mom bought these supplies. We don't know when we'll be back, so she sent extra."

The moment the words left my mouth, I saw him visibly relax. The relief in his expression only made the irritation in my chest deepen.

"No problem. The North Ridge safe house isn't far from here. If you need anything, just let me know."

He spoke as though nothing had changed between us, as though we were still close enough to exchange casual concern.

What he didn't know was that I wasn't leaving.

I was staying here for good.

And I had no intention of telling him.

Zia Rosalia, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. Her thumb brushed against the inside of her wedding ring, turning it once before she found the right words.

"Adrian, you've known Seraphina for so long. Is this really how things are between you now? It would be a shame to let misunderstandings destroy everything you've built together."

Before Adrian could answer, I shook my head.

"There's no misunderstanding, Zia. Adrian has never been the type to let one linger. If he hasn't explained himself by now, then there's nothing left worth explaining."

Julian shifted awkwardly beside him. The movement immediately drew Adrian's attention.

"You look pale," he said softly, concern instantly coloring his voice.

Then he turned toward the driver.

"Hold the deliveries for now. We'll take the elevator up first."

Watching him fuss over her, I silently stepped aside.

Adrian hesitated for the briefest moment, his gaze flickering toward me as if waiting for a reaction. But when I said nothing, he quickly followed Julian into the elevator.

As the doors slid shut, I caught a glimpse of their reflection in the polished metal. Julian's grateful smile. Adrian's protective posture.

The sight stirred an old memory.

Years ago, when Adrian first brought me into the Varano household, he'd looked at me the same way. He had carried my belongings himself, smiling with a warmth that rarely surfaced, proudly introducing me as the future Lady of the Varano House.

How ironic.

Zia Rosalia sighed softly beside me.

"Are you really okay with this, Seraphina?"

I turned toward her and forced a small smile.

"What choice do I have? If this is where his loyalty belongs, then so be it."

After helping unload the supplies, I decided to leave before my patience wore any thinner. Yet while I stood outside waiting for the driver, Adrian and Julian remained upstairs, and for some reason that fact continued to gnaw at me.

Out of courtesy for everything we once shared, I pulled out my phone and sent him a brief message.

"When are you heading back?"

The reply came almost instantly.

Not a text.

A voice message.

I tapped play.

Julian's sweet, delicate voice immediately filled my ears.

"Seraphina, Adrian's helping me fix the wiring in the apartment. No one's lived here for a while, so there's a lot that needs sorting out. You should head home first. Don't wait around because of us."

I stared at the screen for several seconds before quietly closing the chat.

A strange sense of pity rose in my chest.

Not for her.

For myself.

But I swallowed it down.

As I climbed into the waiting car, another message arrived.

"By the way, Seraphina, please don't misunderstand. Adrian's only helping me because he feels bad for me. It's hard being alone in a new territory."

I stared at the words.

The meaning behind them couldn't have been clearer.

She wanted me to know how much she relied on him.

And how willingly he showed up every time she called.

A few moments later, Adrian called.

I answered.

His voice was sharp with obvious displeasure.

"Seraphina, why were you so cold to Julian earlier? She's under my protection, and it's my responsibility to make sure she's safe. Her situation is only temporary until we find somewhere permanent for her to stay. Isn't it normal for me to help her?"

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

"Since when do you go out of your way for your people? At the Christmas dinner, you left halfway through because you claimed you weren't feeling well. I didn't question it. But now you're willing to do all this for her?"

For a moment, silence filled the line.

Then I heard soft sobbing in the background.

Julian.

Even her crying sounded carefully measured, fragile enough to inspire sympathy.

"Adrian... maybe I should leave," she whispered. "I don't want to come between you and Seraphina."

Adrian's voice immediately softened.

"No one's leaving, Julian. Don't listen to her."

The protective edge in his tone cut deeper than he probably realized.

My chest tightened.

He hadn't spoken to me like that in years.

I closed my eyes briefly and forced every emotion back down.

"Fine, Adrian. You're right. My mistake for asking."

I paused before adding quietly,

"Don't worry. I've already left. You don't need to come back for me."

Then I ended the call before he could say another word, silencing whatever explanation—or excuse—he had been about to give.