Chapter 568 Jacob and Serafina's Wedding 5
As night fell, Isadora entered Serafina's room.
Serafina was still awake, seated at her desk meticulously working on an embroidery piece. This particular work had been commissioned by the Marvel Art Gallery, and she had already devoted two years to its creation.
Isadora lingered in the doorway, silently watching her sister, a tube of ointment in hand.
How many nights had she stood just like this, observing Serafina lose herself in her needlework? She knew this was her sister's refuge whenever she felt wounded—perhaps in those delicate stitches, Serafina found a peaceful world of her own.
When Serafina finally paused to rest, Isadora approached. She guided her sister to the sofa and, in the warm lamplight, examined the faint redness still visible on her cheek.
Even Isadora, with all her strength, couldn't prevent her eyes from welling up.
"Serafina," she murmured, gently applying the ointment, "don't come back here when I'm not home. If that bastard isn't satisfied with that arrangement, he can go to hell."
"Isadora," Serafina replied, her voice catching.
Isadora took a deep breath to compose herself. "I've already avenged you. For the one slap he gave you, I dragged his mistress out of that little house of his and slapped her twice as hard. If he ever touches you again, I'll cut off his precious illegitimate son's—"
"I mean what I say, and I'll do what I promise. Ronan better not push me too far." Isadora wrapped her arm around Serafina's shoulders. "I will always protect you and Mom. Always."
"Isadora," Serafina asked distantly, "have you ever thought about leaving everything behind? Walking away from the Penrose family, the three of us starting fresh somewhere else?"
The lamplight cast a soft yellow glow around them.
Isadora gave a bitter smile. "Ronan would never let go. Even though everyone in business circles knows he keeps a mistress and plans to leave everything to his illegitimate son, he still needs us—his wife and daughters—to maintain his respectable image."
They had no choice but to endure, to grow stronger than him. Only then would they find true freedom.
Isadora couldn't bear to see Serafina suffer. She didn't want her sister begging Jacob for help; she wanted Serafina to have a normal, stable life.
Before her marriage, Serafina might have believed that possible, but now she understood the harsh truth: without love, there could be no stability. An unequal marriage offered nothing but sorrow.
She didn't argue, only offered a faint smile.
Later, alone in her bed, Serafina found herself thinking of Jacob. His business in Vesper City must not be finished, she reasoned, or surely he would have called.
Sleep eluded her all night.
Jacob finished his day's work in Vesper City. Though he had planned to stay at a hotel, once in the car, he instructed his driver, "Take me to the villa instead."
The driver nodded, making a U-turn.
At one in the morning, the car pulled up to the luxurious estate. Jacob stepped out. "Pick me up tomorrow morning," he said before the driver departed.
Standing in the courtyard, Jacob felt the night wind whipping around him. In the distance, ship horns from the harbor carried through the air, their once-familiar sound now strangely alien.
He gazed up at the villa—unchanged yet utterly different.
Once, this had been his and Nicole's home. Now it was merely a repository of memories.Now it was merely a repository of memories.
Though the house had stood empty for some time, a cleaning service maintained it meticulously. Inside, everything remained spotless. Nicole's clothes and jewelry were preserved exactly as she had left them, along with the trinkets she had collected and merchandise from her favorite films.
Jacob picked up a book of film concept art and softly recited the poem inscribed inside: "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach."
He murmured the words over and over.
That night, as he immersed himself in memories of his former love, he never once thought of his wife. He never considered how the fragile flame of affection in Serafina's heart had been extinguished, how she now viewed him not as a husband but as a man forever beyond her reach.
As dawn broke, Jacob lifted his weary eyes.
Today was Nicole's wedding day.
Jacob returned to Evergreen City on the third day.
The evening sky blazed with sunset colors as his car pulled into the driveway. Despite being newlyweds, the mansion felt eerily quiet. Beyond the aroma of cooking wafting from the kitchen, there was no sense of warmth or celebration.
Jacob closed the car door behind him.
A servant came to greet him, and as they walked inside, Jacob asked, "Where's Serafina?"
"Mrs. Windsor is upstairs embroidering," the servant replied naturally, carrying his luggage. "She brought back an unfinished piece from the Penrose Mansion yesterday. The embroidery she's working on is truly exquisite."
Jacob paused mid-step. "Serafina came back yesterday?"
The servant nodded. "Yes, sir."
Only then did Jacob realize that he and his wife hadn't spoken by phone for days—not even exchanged a Facebook message. He silently reproached himself; regardless of their arrangement, she was his wife now, and he shouldn't neglect her so completely.
At the foot of the stairs, Jacob took the suitcase. "I'll carry this up myself."
The servant, assuming the newlyweds desired privacy, happily withdrew.
Upstairs, Jacob found the master bedroom empty, though it now carried a subtle feminine fragrance—something soft and comforting, much like Serafina herself.
In the walk-in closet, Jacob opened the wardrobe. Serafina's clothes were neither numerous nor particularly expensive—mostly items from boutique brands in the one to two hundred dollar range. There were a few designer pieces, presumably for special occasions. He recalled her wearing Chanel at their arranged meeting.
She wore Chanel well.
Though Jacob had married Serafina without love, he had no intention of treating her poorly. Feeling guilty about not accompanying her to the Penrose Mansion, he wanted to make amends in the most straightforward way a man knew how—financially.
He found Serafina in one of the spare rooms.
She was working on her embroidery, hair tied back with a simple band, dressed in a teal loungewear set. As she bent over her work, the sunset bathed her in a soft glow.
Jacob knocked lightly on the door frame. "Serafina."
Perhaps his tone was unexpectedly intimate; she seemed momentarily disoriented. After a pause, she looked up, studied him for a long moment, then smiled faintly. "You're back?"
No reproach, no tearful complaints.
In a marriage without love, excessive displays of affection or neediness would only invite humiliation. She didn't expect him to treat her well, but she maintained her dignity.
Jacob approached and gently touched the embroidery, genuinely impressed. "You've been doing this for many years? Professionally trained?"
Serafina nodded. "I studied with Ms. Saunders."
Dione Saunders—the country's foremost embroidery master.
A name that commanded respect.
"That explains it," Jacob said with a slight smile.
He wanted to address his absence during the Penrose visit and chose his words carefully. "I'm sorry I left so abruptly and couldn't accompany you to the Penrose Mansion. By the way, my company has a derivative project that I could offer to your father's company—the profits would be substantial. Perhaps I could join you for dinner at your parents' home soon to discuss the details."
Serafina looked at him, recognizing this as his form of compensation.
Being pragmatic, she first thanked him, then explained the situation: "Unfortunately, my sister just accepted a project from the Montague Group. The company probably doesn't have the capacity or personnel for another major undertaking right now."
The Montague Group?
Jacob's brow furrowed slightly—had Isadora already been in contact with Avery? Avery's temperament was notoriously difficult.
Yet he didn't pursue the matter. In truth, he had little interest in either Serafina or the Penrose family. To him, they were simply another business arrangement—deserving of courtesy but not emotional investment.
The subject dropped, Jacob reached into his wallet and pulled out a gold card—his supplementary card with a monthly limit of twenty million dollars—instructing Serafina to use it for all her expenses.
He was being generous, by any standard.
Serafina accepted the card with thanks, but without excitement.
Even she understood her value now: Jacob needed the status of marriage and a wife capable of bearing children. To expect anything more would be self-deception.
Their interaction remained cordial but distant.
That night, after applying her skincare products, Serafina deliberately avoided Jacob's advances by lying with her back to him.
Jacob had no intention of remaining celibate. After his shower, he naturally sought intimacy, embracing her from behind and slowly kindling her desire.
The slow torture continued in the darkness.
"I'm rather tired," Serafina's voice finally broke, fragmented.
"Still angry?" Jacob murmured against her ear.
"No."
But she couldn't fool him.
Jacob kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear, his voice rough with desire. "If you're not angry, why won't you let me touch you?"
Eventually, they did make love.
Serafina's body burned with heat, especially her face. Though Ronan's slap had left no visible mark, the sting of that humiliation felt painfully vivid now.
She felt degraded, broken—but Jacob remained oblivious to her pain.