I watched her from the corner of my eye. 

Serafina, sitting right there, not moving, not speaking, like I didn't exist. 

The hum of the plane's engine filled the silence between us, but it didn't drown out the thoughts hammering in my head.

Fuck.

How did we end up like this?

She wasn't crying, wasn't angry. She wasn't anything. 

Just blank, as if the Serafina I knew had vanished into thin air. 

And that thought—it was more terrifying than I could admit.

Last night, I'd felt her hands on me. 

That small, familiar touch, filled with heat and memories, had branded my skin like fire. 

It should have pulled me in. It should have made me want her. 

But something was off, and she sensed it before I did.

I was ready to do my duty, to give her what she needed from me—what everyone expected me to give her. My wife. My responsibility. And yet, she stopped me.

She fucking stopped me.

I hadn't seen it coming. In my mind, this was another duty to fulfill, another obligation. But when she pulled back, when she looked at me with those goddamn eyes, and told me I didn't have to do it...

I clenched my fists, eyes narrowing at the clouds beyond the plane's window, like they held the answers to all this chaos.

Obligation. Duty. Legacy. 

That's what this had been about from the start, hadn't it? 

Nonna's expectations. The family's expectations. The eyes of the entire fucking mafia on us, waiting to see if I could live up to the Beauchene name.

I thought I could handle it. I thought I could make it work. But the truth is, I never chose her. Not really. I chose this life. The name. The goddamn weight of it all.

And Serafina?

She deserved better.

But I didn't walk away, did I? No. I let her carry the burden with me. 

I let her take it on without ever giving her a reason to stay. Without ever choosing her over all the rest of it.

Still, she stayed.

And last night, she offered me a way out.

A fucking way out.

She said she'd lie to them, tell them she couldn't have kids, make it easy for me to escape this trap. 

She was willing to break herself, make herself less in their eyes, just so I could breathe.

I turned my head, trying to get a read on her. 

She was staring out the window, not even acknowledging I was there. 

Like I didn't matter. Maybe I didn't.

I ran my fingers through my hair, gripping the strands tightly. 

Why would she do that? What was the point?

My mind raced back to last night, the quiet tension in the air between us. 

It wasn't anger or resentment in her eyes, not even frustration. 

It was something deeper. Something that made my chest tighten.

Resignation.

She had resigned herself to whatever this was, and now, she was giving me the choice to do the same.

A thought twisted in my gut. Was this her way of letting go? 

Of finally freeing herself from the chains we'd both been wrapped in for so long?

I gritted my teeth.

No.

That couldn't be it. 

Serafina had always been the strong one, the one who fought against everything and everyone. 

She wouldn't leave. She couldn't leave.

Except...

Her silence, her calm acceptance, the way she didn't even glance my way—it was louder than any words could have been.

And that terrified me.

I fucked up.

I had thought Eleanor was the answer. 

Eleanor, the woman who was free from the mafia, from the expectations, from the legacy. She was simple. Easy. 

She didn't demand anything from me.

But Serafina—she was everything I hadn't been ready for.

Fire and fury. She wasn't the easy choice. 

She wasn't something I could control or contain. She demanded more from me—more than I ever thought I could give.

And last night, when I touched her, I knew.

I wasn't touching her because I wanted to. I was touching her because I had to. And she fucking knew.

She saw through me, saw the lie, saw the weight I was carrying, and decided to offer me a release. An out.

I swallowed hard, staring at my reflection in the window.

What the hell was I doing?

I thought this was about Eleanor. Thought it was about escaping the weight of it all, finding some semblance of peace. 

But now, looking at Serafina, sitting there as if she had already left me behind, I wasn't so sure.

She wasn't simple. She wasn't easy. 

And I'd been a fucking coward for not realizing sooner that I needed her more than anyone else.

I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes, the tension in my chest tightening like a vice.

I had told myself I was doing all of this for the family. For the legacy. For the name.

But now, it felt hollow.

Serafina was my wife. The woman who stood by me, even when I hadn't deserved it. 

And I hadn't fought for her. Not really. I'd let her slip away, bit by bit, until now she was just a ghost next to me.

I forced my eyes open, glancing at her again.

Why didn't she fight me? Why didn't she scream, throw things, demand answers?

Because she's tired.

I made her tired.

The thought hit me harder than I wanted to admit.

I always admired Serafina for her strength, her fire. 

I had convinced myself that she would always be there, that she would never leave, that somehow, no matter what happened, she would keep fighting for us, for this life. 

But now?

Now, I wasn't so sure.

Last night was a turning point.

I could feel it. The way she had let go, the way her body had sagged just a little when I didn't push back. 

It was like she had already made up her mind. 

And I had been too blind, too focused on my own shit to see it coming.

I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to reach out, to grab her hand, to ask her why. 

Why would she do this for me? 

Why would she stay when I had given her so many reasons to leave?

But I knew the answer.

 She stayed because of her duty. Because of the family. 

Because of everything she was tied to.

Not because of me.

I couldn't breathe. The weight on my chest was unbearable, suffocating. I had thought I was strong enough to carry it, that I could balance it all—Serafina, Eleanor, the mafia, my legacy.

But I was wrong.

I wasn't strong enough. Not for this. Not for her.

I glanced at Serafina again, hoping—praying—for some sign that maybe I hadn't lost her yet. But her eyes remained fixed on the window, her hands folded neatly in her lap, unmoving. Detached.

She was gone.

Not physically. She was still sitting right next to me. But emotionally? Mentally? She was already halfway out the door, and I didn't know how to pull her back.

The worst part? I wasn't sure if I deserved to.

Maybe she deserved better. Better than me. 

Better than this life I'd dragged her into. She'd never asked for any of this—she just inherited it. 

And I never made it easier for her. I never fought for her the way she fought for me.

I never chose her.

And now, I might never get the chance.

A sudden surge of panic hit me, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum. 

I wanted to grab her, shake her, beg her not to leave me. 

To tell her that I could do better. That I would do better. That I could change.

But deep down, I knew it wouldn't be enough.

Because I wasn't sure I could change.

I wasn't sure I could be the man she needed me to be.

The silence between us felt endless, like an ocean we couldn't cross. And I couldn't help but wonder—when we landed, when we stepped off this plane, would she still be with me?

Or would she leave?

I was terrified of the answer.

Because this wasn't about duty anymore. 

This wasn't about the mafia or the family or the fucking legacy.

This was about her.

And I was afraid that I had already lost her.

***

As soon as the wheels touched the ground, the weight in my chest sank deeper. 

I stole one last glance at Serafina as the plane taxied toward the private terminal, but she remained motionless, her eyes still fixed on the horizon as if she'd already left long before we landed.

The moment the plane came to a halt, she unbuckled her seatbelt and stood, grabbing her bag without a word. 

I stayed seated, watching her walk away, her back straight, every movement precise.

Not even a flicker of hesitation. She didn't look back, not once.

The door opened, and the harsh sunlight streamed in. 

She disappeared down the steps, swallowed by the waiting black car without sparing me a second glance.

I clenched my jaw, willing myself not to follow. To let her go.

Because I didn't deserve to ask her to stay. Not after last night. Not after everything I hadn't done.

I stayed behind for a moment, letting the silence consume me as the plane emptied. 

Maybe I hoped the delay would offer me some clarity, but all I felt was the void she left in her wake.

Duty called. That was always the excuse. 

Eleanor would be waiting, and it was time to continue this game I'd been playing for so long. 

Pretending that one piece of this puzzle was enough to fix the broken whole.

I straightened my jacket, forced myself to move, and stepped off the plane into the world I thought I could control.

But with every step, I felt it unraveling.

The drive back home felt like a blur of noise and empty thoughts. 

The city passed me by, but my mind was stuck somewhere between the feeling of Serafina's absence and the face I would soon have to see. 

Eleanor.

We pulled into the driveway, and the heavy iron gates groaned open, revealing the pristine façade of the estate. 

Everything in place. 

Everything neat. 

On the outside, at least. 

Inside, it was a fucking mess, and I wasn't talking about the house.

As soon as I stepped out of the car, I heard her voice.

"Lucien."

Eleanor.

She appeared at the top of the stairs, her figure framed by the grand entrance of the house, a perfect picture of elegance, poised as ever. 

But as I approached, her eyes narrowed, calculating.

I forced a smile as she stopped in front of me, the distance between us feeling more like a chasm.

"How was the trip?" she asked, her voice smooth, a practiced warmth behind it.

"It was fine," I muttered, brushing past her toward the entrance.

"You must be exhausted," she continued, her steps unhurried as she trailed after me. "I thought about you every day. It was so quiet without you here."

"Yeah, it might be. I'm sure you must have spend time with your Russian friends when I was away," I replied, my voice clipped.

She laughed softly, the sound like honey, but I didn't miss the way her expression tightened for the briefest moment. "You're such a tease," she said, catching up to me.

As I reached for the door handle, her hand slid over mine. "Wait," she said gently, her touch lingering. "You can't just rush past me like this. Don't you want to sit down? Relax? I made sure the staff prepared all your favorites for lunch today."

"Eleanor," I said, pulling my hand away, "I'm not hungry."

She pouted, the kind of look that might've worked once. "Not even for me? Come on, just a few minutes. You owe me that much."

I turned to face her, and there it was—the faint glint of frustration behind her carefully composed features. "I don't owe you anything," I said evenly.

Her smile faltered, but only for a second. "You're in a mood," she said, her tone playfully scolding as she stepped closer. "It's okay. I know how to fix that." She placed a hand on my chest, her voice dropping into a low, sultry whisper. "Let me take care of you. Come upstairs with me, just for a little while."

I stared at her, unmoving. "I have a meeting," I said finally, stepping back and brushing past her.

She blinked, her hand falling to her side. "A meeting? You just got back. Surely it can wait—"

"It can't," I interrupted, not bothering to soften my tone. "We'll talk later."

Her lips pressed into a thin line before curving back into a strained smile. "Of course," she said sweetly, her voice like sugar over a bitter pill. "Later, then."

I walked away, her presence lingering behind me like a shadow. I didn't need to look back to know she was still watching, her mind already working on her next move.

I could feel her, thinking. 

It's not her fault, but I am not in just my right mind.

The doors closed behind me with a dull thud, and I sank into the leather chair at my desk, staring blankly at the paperwork that awaited me. 

The familiar ache in my chest throbbed harder as I tried to focus on anything but the storm raging inside me.

Eleanor was here. Serafina was gone. And somewhere in between, I had lost myself.

The more I tried to compartmentalize, the more the lines blurred. 

Eleanor represented everything I thought I wanted—freedom, escape, the simplicity of a life away from the mafia's suffocating grip. 

But with every passing day, that illusion unraveled. She wasn't the answer. She I guess... never had been.

Serafina was fire. She was the storm I thought I could outrun. 

And now, I was realizing that I couldn't to.

Now I just feel like letting go. Letting everything just fade away.

Eleanor made me tired. Serafina killed me.

Eleanor demanded. Serafina stayed silent.

Eleanor wanted me, beyond my limits. Serafina provided me, beyond her limits.

The sound of my phone buzzing on the desk snapped me back to the present.

 I grabbed it, half expecting some new disaster to unfold. But it was a text.

Michele: We need to talk. Now.

Fuck. Whatever he had to say, I knew it wouldn't be good.

I shoved the phone back in my pocket, running my hand over my face as I stood. 

There was no escaping any of this—not Eleanor, not Serafina, not the weight of my own goddamn mistakes.

I left the office, the warm air hitting my face as I stepped outside. 

As much as I wanted to fight for control, for some sense of clarity, it was slipping through my fingers faster than I could grasp it.

And all I could do was face the mess I'd made.