Page 29 of Blood Debt

Serafina’s mouth parts slightly. Her shoulders tighten.

“I….” She blinks. “No, sir.”

I tilt my head.

“I take lovers among my staff,” I say casually. “You might be the lucky one.”

She inhales—shallow, just once—and lowers her eyes.

“I’m sure…” she begins slowly, “I’m sure someone of your standing has far better taste than to be with someone as lowly as me.”

Her tone is quiet. But her fingers tighten where they rest.

I take one step closer. Just one.

“You’re right,” I say. “You are lowly. And I hope you remember that.”

She nods once, quickly. “Yes, sir.”

I wave a hand toward the door. “That’ll be all.”

Matteo speaks for the first time. “Guard—escort her to the staff quarters. Room five.”

The door opens again. She curtsies slightly, as if that one movement might shield her from a storm, and exits without another word.

The door closes behind her with a soft click.

Silence stretches.

Then Matteo mutters, “What the hell was that?”

I glance at him.

“Are you my boyfriend, Matteo?”

He rolls his eyes hard enough that I hear it in his breath. “Please. You wish.”

But I don’t laugh. I watch the door.

She didn’t look at me once. Not the way someone who once lay in my bed would. Nothing behind her eyes except the tired posture of a working girl in need of money and shelter. She should have been at least surprised to see me.

It doesn’t make sense. And then it hits me.

She doesn’t recognize me.

She forgot.

The thought tastes bitter.

She forgot me.

I clench my jaw, staring at the space she occupied just seconds ago.

Chapter 7 – Serafina

Bellarosa Estate – South Wing, Room Five

The hallway narrows the deeper we go. Stone floors. Smooth walls painted in muted, neutral tones. There’s a chill to this part of the house, the kind that creeps along the floor and collects in the corners. The guard walking ahead of me doesn’t speak. His boots thud rhythmically against the tile. He’s broad and silent, body taut in his tailored black uniform. I trail behind with slow, careful steps, keeping my head slightly lowered, hands clasped in front of me. Not tight. Just enough to say I belong here. Just enough to not invite a second look.