I stumbled upon Serafina at the bar, barely able to recognize the woman who was usually so composed and in control. 

Her head lolled to the side, her fingers clutching a glass of whiskey like a lifeline. Her emerald eyes, usually sharp and discerning, were now unfocused, clouded by alcohol.

"Lucien..." she murmured as I approached. Her voice was thick, slurred. "You're... here." 

I wasn't used to seeing her so vulnerable, so broken.

I don't know what the fuck happened there, but I hope it is just some miscommunication.

Eleanor is fond of Serafina, she won't say or do anything to hurt her. 

But now that I look at her, I think something has happened.

She has never been like this, this vulnerable and... and broken.

I made sure of that.

"Perle," I said gently, placing a hand on her arm. "I think you've had enough."

She turned to me, her eyes glassy and unfocused. "Lucien... you don't get to tell me what to do."

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do," I replied, keeping my voice calm. "I'm just worried about you."

"Worried?" she scoffed, swaying slightly. "Since when do you worry about me?"

Fuck, Serafina.

The hurt in her voice, the way she said it—it was like she didn't believe I cared about her anymore.

"Since always," I said, my heart aching at the pain in her voice. "Let's get you home, okay?"

"Why do you care, Lucien?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost vulnerable. "You have Eleanor. You don't need me."

"That's not true," I said, looking into her eyes. "I do need you, Serafina. You're my wife."

The second the word "wife" left my mouth, she laughed.

It was a hollow, bitter sound, one that sent chills down my spine.

"A wife," she mocked. "Is that what I am to you, Lucien? Or am I just... just something convenient?"

The pit in my stomach twisted further. "No, Serafina. You're not just something convenient. You've always been more than that."

She leaned forward, her eyes suddenly sharpening as she locked them onto mine.

"Then why... why does it feel like I've been nothing but a protocol? Why do I feel like you stopped caring the second Eleanor came into your life?"

"Eleanor has nothing to do with this," I shot back, my tone firmer than I intended. "This is about us."

"Us?" she slurred, lifting her glass again, though her grip faltered. "What 'us,' Lucien? You've been gone for so long... It's like you're not even here."

I clenched my jaw, the weight of her words settling in my chest like lead.

I couldn't even argue. She wasn't wrong.

I hadn't been there, not like I should have been. Not in the ways that mattered.

"I'm here now," I said, though even I knew how weak that sounded.

Her laugh this time was quieter, sadder. "Too late," she whispered, looking down at her hands, shaking as they gripped the glass. "I feel like I've been drowning, Lucien... and you just... watched."

The words hit me like a punch in the gut.

I didn't know what to say, didn't know how to undo the damage, but fuck, I wanted to. Desperately.

"I didn't realize—"

"You never do!" she snapped, her voice shaking with anger, pain, and... fear? "You're too busy pretending everything's okay, Lucien. You don't see me. Not anymore."

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came.

She wasn't wrong.

When did I stop seeing her? Or had I never truly seen her at all?

Her shoulders slumped, and she rested her elbows on the bar, burying her face in her hands. "I hate you sometimes... you make me feel so weak, Lucien," she whispered, and this time I saw it—those glassy eyes weren't just from the whiskey.

They were from tears.

Fuck.

I stepped closer, guilt gnawing at my insides. "I never wanted to make you feel that way, Serafina."

She shook her head, her voice barely audible now. "You just don't get it... do you? I don't want your pity. I wanted your heart."

I felt my chest tighten, the truth in her words twisting the knife of guilt even deeper. "You have it," I whispered, but the words felt hollow.

She looked up, her eyes searching mine with a glimmer of something that used to be there—hope, maybe? "Do I?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Because I can't feel it anymore."

I stood there, helpless. The silence between us thickened, suffocating.

This was my fault. I let her slip, let us slip, and now she was shattering in front of me because of it.

Serafina swayed on the barstool, eyes barely staying open, but when they did, they burned through me. 

It wasn't just the alcohol in her system that had her like this—it was something deeper, something rawer. 

The sharp-tongued, calculating woman I knew was unraveling in front of me, and fuck if it didn't make my chest tighten.

"Lucien, you need me?" she slurred, her voice both mocking and sad as she lifted her glass, but her grip was weak.

The amber liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rim. "That's a joke, right?"

I moved closer, instinctively reaching out to steady her before she tipped over completely. "I'm not joking, Serafina. Come on, let's get you out of here."

But she yanked her arm back, nearly losing her balance again.

"Stop... stop trying to control me," she hissed, her words heavy with alcohol and something else—anger, frustration? "I don't need you. I never... needed anyone."

Her laughter was bitter, slicing through the hazy noise of the bar.

"I bet Eleanor loves how perfect you are, huh? So concerned, so caring," she sneered, her eyes blinking hard, as if fighting to focus. "I wonder what she'd say if she knew you were here, trying to play hero."

"Eleanor has nothing to do with this," I said firmly, my stomach twisting at how she was dragging her into this. "This is about you and me."

"Is it though?" she shot back, her voice breaking. "Because sometimes, Lucien... sometimes it feels like I'm just... a part of this safety protocol." 

Her words were half mumbled, but they cut deep. "I thought—no... hoped—that maybe... maybe..." Her words trailed off, her shoulders slumping as if the fight had drained out of her.

I gritted my teeth. This wasn't her. This was the booze talking, right?

But still... a part of me knew there was truth to her words, buried under the alcohol-induced haze. And that hit me harder than I wanted to admit.

She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling, her lips parting in a soft, sad laugh. "God, I hate you sometimes. How you make me feel... weak. So fucking weak." She wiped at her eyes, but I couldn't tell if it was the whiskey or tears that made them so glassy.

I stepped forward, feeling helpless. "Serafina, let's go. I'm just trying to help."

She barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. "Help? You? No... you just make everything worse, Lucien. You always do." 

She waved the bartender off when he came by, pushing her glass away, but she kept staring at me like I was the one who poisoned her drink.

"Look at me," she slurred, her hands trembling as she motioned to herself. "I'm not the woman you married. I'm... I'm falling apart. And you? You don't even see it."

I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to ignore the sick feeling gnawing at my gut. "That's not true. I see you, Serafina."

Her eyes locked on mine, wide, glossy, searching for something. "Do you?" she whispered, voice thick with something between hope and despair. "Because I'm starting to think you never really did."

I didn't know what to say. For the first time in a long time, I was fucking speechless.

Serafina slouched forward, resting her elbows on the bar, her head hanging low. She looked... defeated, and I hated it. 

She wasn't supposed to look like this—feel like this. 

She was a fighter. She was fire.

And now she was crumbling, right in front of me, and I didn't know how to stop it.

"I'm tired," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. "So fucking tired, Lucien."

I exhaled, swallowing hard as I reached for her, hesitant but desperate to pull her out of this spiral. "Then let me take you home. You don't have to do this here."

She leaned back, tilting her head to look at me through bleary eyes. "Home? With you?" She let out a soft, sad chuckle. "Was it ever my home? Or is it just another place where I feel... alone?"

Those words hit like a bullet straight to the chest. I stood there, frozen, trying to piece together a response that wouldn't make things worse. 

But there was nothing. Not a single fucking thing I could say that would fix this moment.

Serafina's hand suddenly reached out, gripping my arm tightly, her nails digging into my skin. Her face softened, eyes filling with something raw, something vulnerable. 

"Why did you stop caring, Lucien?" she asked, her voice breaking as she looked up at me with those wide, pleading eyes. "When did you stop needing me?"

I blinked, unable to answer. Fuck. When did I stop? 

The silence stretched between us, thick and unbearable, until Serafina let out a shaky breath and slumped against me, all the fight drained out of her.

For a moment, she stared at me, her eyes searching mine. 

Then, without warning, she leaned in and pressed her lips to mine.

The kiss was desperate, fueled by alcohol and pent-up emotions. 

It caught me completely off guard, my body freezing as her lips moved against mine.

I could feel the eyes of onlookers on us, their whispers and murmurs adding to the pressure. 

In that moment, I made a decision.

I kissed her back, not just for the sake of appearances, but because a part of me needed to reassure her, to ground her in the midst of her turmoil.

Serafina's hands clung to me, her desperation palpable. 

She was seeking something, anything, to hold onto. 

And I, despite everything, wanted to be that anchor for her.

As we pulled away, her eyes were filled with a mix of confusion and sadness. "Take me home, Lucien," she whispered, her voice so soft it was barely there. "Just... take me home."

"Let's go home.",  I said softly.

The ride home was somber. 

She occasionally mumbled something incoherent, but most of the time, she was silent, staring blankly out the window. 

What happened to you, Serafina? 

This wasn't the woman I knew, the woman I cared for, and it was tearing me apart.

Her energy was starkly different from her usual self—raw. I could sense a shift, something off that I couldn't quite grasp.

We reached home and I helped her in the bed and retreated to my bedroom.

Eleanor didn't wait long after I entered the room before launching into her complaints. 

She was already sitting on our bed, legs crossed, scrolling through her phone with an irritated expression. 

Her eyes flicked up the moment I stepped in, and she clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"I just can't believe you made me leave the party for her," she scoffed, dropping her phone onto the bed with a sharp thud. 

"And the way she treated me in front of everyone? Like I'm nothing. God, Lucien, she's out of control, and you—" She cut herself off, shaking her head as if to emphasize her disbelief.

I didn't respond. I couldn't.

My mind was still with Serafina, still replaying her broken voice, the pain in her eyes, the way she clung to me like I was her last tether to the world. 

What the fuck had happened to her? How did she get to this point?

Eleanor, oblivious to the storm inside my head, continued her monologue, pacing the room as she spoke. 

"She's always like that—so cold, so damn superior. The way she looked at me tonight, Lucien! It was humiliating." Her voice rose, but I barely registered it. 

She was talking, but it was like I wasn't even there.

"Lucien?" Eleanor stopped pacing and stood in front of me, her brow furrowed. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Hmm?" I muttered, dragging my eyes up to meet hers. "Yeah. I heard you."

It wasn't much of a response, and she knew it. 

Her lips thinned, her eyes narrowing in frustration. "Of course, you did," she snapped, but the fight in her voice didn't have the same bite as usual. She sounded... tired. "It's always like this when it comes to her."

Eleanor sighed and sat down on the bed again, this time closer to me, her hand sliding over my thigh. "I just don't get why you're still so hung up on her," she murmured, her tone softening as she tried to shift the mood. "I'm here, Lucien. I'm the one who loves you. Why can't you just let her go?"

Her fingers trailed up my leg, slow and deliberate, but I couldn't focus on it.

My mind was spinning, stuck on Serafina. The way she looked so... defeated, so broken. Her words kept echoing in my head. "When did you stop needing me?"

Eleanor leaned in, her breath warm against my neck as she pressed a kiss to my jaw. 

Her lips were soft, familiar—usually, this would be the point where I'd respond, where I'd pull her closer and lose myself in her touch.

But not tonight.

Instead, a wave of discomfort washed over me. 

I wasn't thinking about her. I couldn't feel anything but this gnawing frustration, this hollow pit inside me where thoughts of Serafina swirled like a storm. 

What the hell was wrong? Why was she acting like this?

"Lucien," Eleanor whispered against my skin, her voice trying to draw me back. 

Her hand slipped under my shirt, her nails grazing lightly along my chest, but I just... couldn't.

I clenched my jaw, my whole body tensing as I tried to push through it, tried to be in the moment with Eleanor, but everything about it felt wrong. I felt... nothing.

She kissed me again, harder this time, her body pressing against mine, and it wasn't the heat I expected—it was cold, empty. 

The touch I once sought felt foreign, her lips too demanding, too much.

I couldn't take it.

"Enough," I muttered, my voice harsh as I pulled away, physically pushing her back. "Stop."

Eleanor stumbled slightly, her eyes widening in shock as she looked at me like I'd slapped her. "What the hell, Lucien?"

"I'm exhausted," I snapped, running a hand through my hair, trying to reel in the frustration boiling over. "I just... I need to sleep. I can't do this right now."

Her face fell, the irritation flashing in her eyes fading into something more hurt. 

"You've never pushed me away like that," she whispered, her voice tight. "What's going on with you?"

I stared at her for a second, trying to come up with an answer, but all I could think about was Serafina. 

The guilt gnawed at me, and the exhaustion weighed on me like a lead blanket. "I just... need a shower."

Without waiting for a response, I turned and headed toward the bathroom, my footsteps heavy, the space between us thick with unspoken tension. 

As the door closed behind me, I leaned against the sink, staring into the mirror.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

The question echoed in my mind as I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, the hot water doing little to ease the tension coiled in my muscles. 

The warmth washed over me, but my thoughts remained tangled, locked on Serafina's broken expression, her words piercing through the fog.

"Why did you stop caring, Lucien?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the water cascade over me, hoping to drown out the guilt, the confusion, the mess I'd made of everything.

But her voice haunted me. 

Now it always would.