ep 5

Seraphine doesn’t expect anything that day — not drama, not distractions, not disaster.

She’s elbows-deep in mockups and launch schedules, high on caffeine, low on hours of sleep, when the receptionist walks in holding a slim envelope.

“Delivery for Miss Myles,” she says.

Seraphine frowns. “From who?”

“No sender listed. Just… very fancy.”

It’s heavy in her hands.

Smooth cardstock. Embossed initials in gold.

Her name — printed with intention.

Her breath falters before she even opens it.

Somewhere in her bones, she knows.

She breaks the seal.

> Celeste Quinn & Sebastian Langford

cordially invite you to their engagement dinner

Saturday, 8PM — The Astoria Ballroom

Gold trim. Handwritten RSVP. Signature wax stamp.

Perfect.

Predictable.

Soul-crushing.

Seraphine doesn’t react. Not in the open.

She closes the envelope slowly, fingers trembling only slightly.

Sebastian Langford.

She remembers the name.

The heir to Langford Holdings. Old money. Clean scandals. Family-friendly smiles.

She remembers the first time his name came up — whispered in one of those charity galas, before she and Celeste fell apart.

She remembers asking, “Are they trying to marry you off like a business merger?”

Celeste had laughed.

Apparently, they were.

And now… they had.

---

“Everything okay?” a junior editor asks as she passes.

Seraphine nods. “Yeah. Just… marketing mail.”

She stands quickly. Her chair slides back a little too fast.

She heads to the elevator without saying a word.

---

In the silence of the elevator, she finally breathes. Shallow. Controlled.

She pulls out her phone. Elena’s already texting.

> Elena [4:31 PM]

You saw it?

She doesn’t reply.

> Elena [4:32 PM]

You weren’t supposed to be on the list. It was sent out by Sebastian’s team. Celeste didn’t catch it in time.

> Elena [4:32 PM]

She looked… awful when she realized.

Seraphine scoffs under her breath.

> Seraphine [4:33 PM]

She could’ve stopped it.

She didn’t.

That’s not an accident. That’s punishment in formalwear.

---

Back in the boardroom, Celeste sits across from a panel of executives, voice steady, gestures precise.

Not a strand of hair out of place.

Not a glance in Seraphine’s direction.

---

That night, Seraphine lays the invitation flat on her kitchen table like evidence. She reads it again and again, trying to see what kind of woman lets someone else choose her future for her — and what kind of woman walks away from the only one who ever knew her heartbeat.

She remembers how Celeste used to touch her — like she was a secret.

She remembers how she stopped — like she became one.

She wonders if Sebastian knows she likes her tea lukewarm and her music sad.

If he knows she only fidgets with her necklace when she’s lying.

If he’s ever seen her lose sleep over someone she didn’t mean to leave.

He probably hasn’t.

Because she probably doesn’t anymore.

Seraphine closes the invite.

She tells herself she’s not going.

She tells herself again.

And then opens her laptop and types “Astoria Ballroom dress code + black tie” into the search bar.

She doesn’t know why.