Chapter 7: Ten Million Dollars
Seraphina's POV
Cradling Isolde's urn, I returned to Ravencroft Manor, only to find my uncle Atticus waiting at the entrance.
"Atticus, what are you doing here?" I asked coldly.
Atticus scolded me for my lack of respect: "Why shouldn't I be here? I'm your uncle!"
When he noticed the urn and asked what happened, I replied calmly, "Isolde is gone."
Atticus actually said, "That little girl was too weak, wasn't she? Just died like that?"
He then declared his intention to seek compensation from Dorian: "I'm going to find Dorian and get justice for you. He needs to pay up!"
"Atticus," I said quietly, "From now, you and I have no relationship. I am alone now, and I will soon be divorced. There will be no more money for you. Please leave."
His face contorted with anger. "You ungrateful little bitch! If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have married into the Ravencroft family in the first place! You wouldn't have had that sick little girl!"
"Don't you DARE talk about my daughter," I warned, my voice dropping dangerously low.
But Atticus was too far gone in his rage to heed the warning. "It's your own fault anyway. You weren't good enough to keep Dorian interested. You gave him a defective child, and now you're surprised he doesn't care?"
I felt something snap inside me. "GET OUT!" I screamed, my composure finally breaking. "GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"
Atticus took a step back, momentarily startled by my outburst, but then his lips curled into a cruel smile. "You know what's really funny? You probably don't even know what your precious husband was doing last night while your daughter was dying."
I didn't want to hear it, but he continued anyway.
"Dorian was throwing a fireworks display worth six hundred thousand dollars to celebrate his anniversary with Belladonna. Six hundred thousand dollars of fireworks while your daughter took her last breath."
The amount struck me like a physical blow. Six hundred thousand dollars—exactly the amount I had begged Dorian to provide for Isolde's treatment.
"GET OUT, Atticus," I snarled, my entire body shaking with rage and grief. "You're a monster. GET OUT!"
He finally retreated, but not before calling over his shoulder, "Don't come crying to me when you have nothing left, Seraphina! You're going to need me a lot more than I need you!"
I stumbled into the house, clutching Isolde's urn to my chest as if it were still possible to protect her. Once inside, I collapsed against the door, sliding down until I sat on the floor of the foyer, and finally allowed myself to break down completely.
Great, heaving sobs tore through my body as I cradled the pink container that held all that remained of my beautiful daughter. I screamed until my throat was raw, cursing Dorian, cursing myself, cursing a world that would allow a child like Isolde to suffer while monsters like her father thrived.
The next morning, I took Isolde's ashes to Peaceful Valley. The funeral director had prepared a small niche in their children's memorial garden, surrounded by butterflies and fairies—things Isolde had loved.
As I placed her urn in its final resting place, I whispered, "I love you, baby girl. Mommy will always love you."
Afterward, I returned to the manor and mechanically began packing Isolde's things. Each tiny dress, each stuffed animal, each crayon drawing was like a knife to my heart, but I couldn't leave them behind. They were all I had left of her.
I was just finishing when my phone rang. Dorian's name flashed on the screen, and for a moment, I considered ignoring it. But something—perhaps morbid curiosity, perhaps the desire to hear him acknowledge what had happened—made me answer.
"What do you want?" I asked, my voice flat.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dorian's voice was ice-cold with fury. "I'm warning you, Seraphina—if anything happens to Belladonna, I will destroy you completely. Do you understand me?"
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it in confusion. What was he talking about?
Before I could respond, Olivia, his assistant, called on my other line.
"Mrs. Ravencroft," she said urgently when I answered, "you need to come to Ms. Hawthorne's apartment immediately. Your uncle has taken her hostage and is demanding to speak with you."
My blood ran cold. "What?"
"He's claiming you put him up to it," Olivia continued, her voice shaking. "He says he's acting on your behalf to get revenge for Isolde."
That manipulative bastard. Of course Atticus would try to use my daughter's death for his own gain.
"I'll be right there," I said, already heading for the door.
When I arrived at Belladonna's apartment, the scene was chaotic. Security personnel stood outside the door, and Dorian was pacing furiously, barking orders into his phone.
When he saw me, his eyes narrowed dangerously. He strode over and grabbed my wrist, his fingers digging painfully into my skin.
"Fix this," he hissed, dragging me toward the door. "Fix it now, or I swear to God, Seraphina, you will regret the day you were born."
Inside, Atticus had Belladonna tied to a chair. She was sobbing dramatically, her mascara running down her cheeks in black rivulets. When she saw me, her eyes widened with fear and hatred.
"Atticus," I said calmly, "what do you think you're doing?"
He grinned at me, and thrust a fruit knife into my hand. "Do it. Make them feel what you felt. An eye for an eye!"
I looked down at the knife, then at Belladonna's terrified face, and finally at Dorian, who had followed me into the room.
"Seraphina," Dorian said, his voice suddenly softer, almost pleading. "Don't do this. Whatever you want—whatever conditions—I'll agree to them. Just let her go."
I raised an eyebrow, unable to believe what I was hearing. After everything, after letting our daughter die, now he was willing to negotiate?
"You'll agree to anything?" I repeated.
"Yes," he said quickly. "Anything. You want money? It's yours. The house? Take it. Just don't hurt her."
Then he added, his voice dropping to a whisper, "You wanted me to spend time with Isolde, right? I promise I will. I'll visit her. I swear."
At the mention of my daughter's name—my dead daughter—something inside me shifted. I looked at Dorian with new eyes and saw him clearly for the first time. This man had never loved me. He had never loved our child. He was incapable of love.
I walked toward Belladonna, watching Dorian tense as I approached her with the knife. Without a word, I cut through the ropes binding her to the chair.
"You can go," I said quietly.
"No!" Atticus shouted. "This isn't right! After what they did to Isolde—"
"Ten million dollars," I interrupted, turning to face him. "I'll give you ten million dollars to leave right now and never contact me again."