Chapter 29
Seraphine's POV
The woman standing on the doorstep was Quinlan Powell. Her smile, brilliant but failing to reach her eyes, held no trace of surprise. It was as if she had been waiting for me, perfectly poised, a delicate paper bag from a renowned private kitchen dangling from her fingers. She carried herself less like a guest and more like the lady of the house.
“Ms. Whitaker.” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “Quinlan Powell. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Hello, Ms. Powell.” I replied, my own voice deliberately calm as I stepped aside to let her in. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Quinlan swept into the living room, placing the bag on the dining table with a casual air. Her eyes, however, were anything but casual. They scanned the villa like an X-ray, cataloging every detail before finally settling on me, laced with a subtle, appraising quality. “Octavius mentioned you were lying low here. He said you probably hadn't eaten, so he asked me to drop something off and check on you.”
She leaned into the words “check on you,” her tone suggesting she was visiting a stray animal in a shelter.
“The trouble’s been resolved.” I stated, standing my ground opposite her, refusing to show any sign of weakness. Quinlan’s polished demeanor was a thin veneer; the sense of danger radiating from her was no less potent than Brielle’s.
“Is that so?” Quinlan let out a soft laugh and settled onto the sofa, crossing her legs with an elegant, almost arrogant grace. “It seems Octavius has quite a special place for you. After all the times you’ve thrown him away like trash, he still worries. The moment he heard you were in the news, he abandoned me at the stadium to rush over here, terrified you might suffer the slightest inconvenience.”
A knot tightened in my stomach. So that was it. Octavius had made it sound so trivial, but he had bailed on his date with her to come to my rescue.
Quinlan paused, her gaze sharpening. “Ms. Whitaker, I’m a direct person. I’m interested in Octavius. Our families have known each other for generations, and his grandfather is very much in favor of our match. So, I have no intention of backing down.” She paused again, her eyes raking over me as if assessing merchandise. “Though, calling you a competitor might be giving you too much credit.”
I blinked, keeping my expression neutral. “Matters of the heart aren’t really a competition. And I have no desire to compete with you.”
“Don’t you?” Quinlan leaned forward, a mocking smile playing on her lips as if I’d just told the most ridiculous joke. “Are you saying you’re just going to hand him over to me? Ms. Whitaker, have you forgotten? You already gave him up, and in the most humiliating way possible.”
Her eyes filled with an undisguised contempt. “I seem to recall, not long ago at a certain banquet, you announced to a room full of people that Octavius was gloomy and terrifying, that he wasn’t fit to touch a single hair on Mitchell’s head. You made him the laughingstock of our entire circle.”
I froze. The memory was a scar, a foolish, blind mistake from my past life that had been repeated in this one. It was an indefensible truth.
Quinlan’s gaze remained fixed on me, savoring my discomfort. “People climb to higher ground, Ms. Whitaker. It’s only natural. You discovered Mitchell was a worthless piece of trash and realized Octavius was the real prize, so now you want to crawl back. I can understand such opportunistic thinking.” She spread her hands in a gesture of magnanimous understanding. “But do you really think that after being so publicly humiliated, he would just be waiting for you? Do you think the Capulet family would ever accept a woman as classless and witless as you?”
My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms. The sharp sting of pain was the only thing keeping me upright, keeping my composure from shattering.
“Ms. Powell.” I said, forcing myself to meet her gaze, refusing to let her see the vulnerability she was trying so hard to expose. “What happens between Octavius and me is not for an outsider to judge. Whatever he chose to do for me today was his decision. As for the past, I admit I was a fool. But I’m standing here now with genuine feelings, not the calculated self-interest you’re describing.”
“Genuine feelings?” Quinlan’s laughter pealed through the room, light and brittle. “Your sincerity is rather cheap, isn’t it, Ms. Whitaker? One minute you’re dumped by Mitchell, the next you’re pouring your heart out to Octavius? Never mind me, do you think he would believe you? A man like him despises being treated like a recycling bin for someone else’s cast-off affections.”
My lips pressed into a thin. I had no response. She was right. He wouldn’t believe me. A wave of relief, cold and bitter, washed over me that I hadn't confessed my feelings to him. He would have found them laughable, a desperate, fickle joke.
“Well, I didn’t come here to argue with you. It’s beneath me.” Quinlan said with a delicate yawn, rising languidly to her feet. She walked toward me, her presence suffocating. “Besides delivering your meal, there’s something else I think you have a right to know. After all, you’re the one who caused it.”
“What else?” I asked, my voice tight.
Her expression turned to ice, the manufactured elegance dissolving into pure, cold malice. “Right after you publicly humiliated Octavius at that banquet, Mr. Nolan Capulet was so incensed he had a heart attack on the spot. He was rushed to the hospital and is still in a private care facility. His condition… it fluctuates.”
“What did you say?” I looked up sharply, my vision tunneling as her words slammed into me. Nolan had a heart attack. Because of me. The revelation was a thunderclap that left my ears ringing, a deafening roar that drowned out everything else. I had known nothing of this, not in my past life, not now. Octavius had never said a word.
“Do you honestly believe,” Quinlan continued, her voice a soft, venomous caress as she slipped her mask of refined grace back on, “that anyone in the Capulet family would allow a woman who nearly killed their patriarch and shamed their name to remain by Octavius’s side?” She picked up her handbag, her posture radiating victory. “The food is here, and my point has been made. Ms. Whitaker, a person should know their place. Don’t mistake politeness for permission.”
She offered me a small, triumphant smile and turned to leave.
The door clicked shut, leaving me frozen in the sudden silence. My entire body felt cold, numb. Quinlan’s words echoed in my mind, a relentless loop of accusation. While I had been wallowing in my own drama, Octavius had been shouldering this immense pressure, a burden I had placed on him. The damage I had inflicted was so much deeper, so much more severe than I had ever imagined. And yet, he had helped me. He had shown no sign of blame, no hint of resentment.
A fist of guilt and sorrow clenched around my heart, squeezing until it was hard to breathe. All the courage I had mustered in front of him earlier today evaporated, leaving only the crushing weight of my culpability.
I don’t know how long I stood there in the silent living room. Eventually, I grabbed my things and fled Octavius’s villa, unable to bear the weight of his unearned kindness for a moment longer.
It was late when I returned to the Whitaker mansion. My mind was a maelstrom of Quinlan’s accusations and the horrifying news about Nolan. A sense of foreboding washed over me the moment I stepped into the foyer. Heath was sitting on the sofa, his face a thunderous mask, while Amara stood nearby, her eyes red-rimmed and fixed on me with a burning intensity.
The second she saw me, she shot up from her seat and stormed across the room. “Seraphine! You tell me, why would you do it?”
I stared at her, utterly bewildered. My nerves were already frayed, and her immediate hostility pushed me to the brink. “Do what?” I asked, my voice strained.
“Why did you pay off the media to slander Brielle online? Everyone is mocking her now, saying she faked a suicide attempt for attention! She’s your sister! What is wrong with you?” Amara’s voice broke into a sob, her performance one of profound, heart-wrenching betrayal, as if I had committed an unforgivable sin.
I paused, my gaze instinctively flicking to Heath. My breath caught in my throat. His expression held no comfort, only the cold, hard weight of judgment and profound disappointment.