Chapter 47: Chapter 47 Choosing Sides
Seraphina’s POV
"So did you actually speak with her last night?" Julian moved closer, his voice dropping to that dangerous tone that made my skin prickle.
I continued shaking my head, completely thrown off by where this conversation was heading. This wasn’t what I had expected at all.
"I... I didn’t say anything inappropriate to your mother," I stuttered, my head moving frantically from side to side. "I would never be rude to her. I couldn’t possibly-"
"Seraphina. Enough." His palm shot up, cutting off my rambling mid-stream. Those dark eyes of his were boring straight through me like lasers. "Did you have any conversation with her during dinner last night?"
The question seemed simple enough, but something about his delivery made my stomach twist.
"Obviously I did," I replied, bewilderment creeping into my voice. "We were seated at the same table. I greeted her properly and thanked her for the meal. Did you expect me to ignore her completely?"
The moment those words left my mouth, the confusion evaporated like smoke, replaced by an icy realization that made my stomach plummet. This wasn’t about basic courtesy. This was about what happened. That little confrontation where she had prodded and provoked until I finally snapped back.
"Oh," I breathed out, understanding crashing over me like a wave. "You’re talking about when she wouldn’t stop bringing up Roxanne and the pregnancy, or are you referring to what happened when we were in the kitchen?"
His jaw muscles flexed tight. "I’m talking about when you decided to start a confrontation with my mother during dinner."
"I didn’t start anything!" Heat flooded my cheeks instantly, my defensive response morphing into burning indignation. "Your mother was the one who began it! She spent the entire evening discussing that pregnancy, making absolutely certain I caught every single detail about Roxanne’s doctor visits, the nursery preparations, the delivery date. She was being deliberate. Trying to diminish me. Trying to make me feel invisible and worthless. And that doesn’t even cover the things she said when we were alone in the kitchen."
I stretched my hand toward him, attempting to grasp his forearm, desperate to make him see that I wasn’t the antagonist in this scenario. But he remained motionless, unmoved, his expression carved from marble.
"I understand I have mistakes to correct," he interrupted before I could complete my explanation. His tone was rigid, devoid of any trace of the compassion I was desperately seeking. "I understand I owe you some serious apologies, and I’m prepared to make every one of them. I will repair every error I’ve made concerning you and what we have together, Seraphina. But you will not drag my mother into this battle."
"My battle?" My voice splintered. "This is about us! About our relationship! And I wasn’t trying to involve her! She approached me in the kitchen and started going on about the pregnancy and essentially told me I needed to love that baby the same way I love my own children and I thought she was completely out of line because the baby isn’t even here yet. It was beginning to infuriate me because she was being purposefully provocative!"
He retreated a step, folding his arms across his chest, every line of his body screaming defense. "My mother would never behave that way. She constantly tells me I need to repair things between us. She has always been in our corner."
His words cut straight through me. He wasn’t simply protecting her. He was casting me as the villain, the deceiver.
"So you’re siding with them?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. My heart was hammering against my chest, waiting for his response that would either rescue us or destroy us completely. "You’re choosing them over me?"
That was his breaking point.
"Enough, Seraphina! Just stop this fighting!" He flung his arms up in exasperation. The fury blazing in his eyes was blinding. "I’m pleading with you to settle down. All this tension, this pressure, this endless conflict... it might harm the baby!"
The statement hung in the air between us.
The baby.
He hadn’t mentioned my emotions. He hadn’t acknowledged my anguish or my suffering.
His only concern was the potential impact on the child. The child that came into existence without my knowledge, not to mention the same child he’d been constantly begging my forgiveness over.
The rage abandoned me immediately, replaced by an empty, nauseating hopelessness. The oxygen fled my lungs. This was the deepest wound yet.
"You’re concerned about the baby," I echoed, my voice completely flat and hollow, like I was swallowing ashes. "Not about what I’m going through."
"I’m concerned about everything! About both of you!" he protested, but the force had left his voice, replaced by weary frustration. He wasn’t fighting me anymore; he was fighting against circumstances beyond his control.
"No, you’re not," I said quietly. I knew this sensation. It was the feeling you experience when you understand you are utterly isolated, even with the person you love standing mere feet away. "You’re protecting them from me because you also believe I might harm your baby."
I waited for him to immediately dismiss that notion from my head, but he remained silent, and that silence was all the confirmation I required.
I had no more words left. I didn’t possess the strength to explain the torment of hearing about his other child while struggling to be acknowledged for this one. I pivoted, planning to exit the house and find somewhere peaceful. I needed room to breathe, to repair the fresh wounds he had just inflicted on my heart.
I had become skilled at that because I had been doing it for years.
I managed three steps toward the exit.
"Go ahead then," he snarled, his voice razor-sharp and dripping with pure disdain. "You should leave, Seraphina. Because that’s exactly what you do whenever things become difficult."
