Shadows of the Forgotten Heiress

"Hey, Sera! Now that we're lovers, your fans might just hate me," Alistair smirked, his voice teasing but his eyes holding something deeper.

Seraphina chuckled, the sound soft and melodic. She reached up, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Let them. I'll always protect you, just like I always have," she whispered, her voice carrying a promise far beyond mere words.

Alistair stepped closer, his presence warm and intoxicating. He pressed one hand against the wall beside her, caging her in— not as a trap, but as if she were something precious he couldn't bear to lose. Their breaths mingled, the space between them growing thinner.

"What do you think the future holds for us?" Seraphina murmured, her gaze searching his.

Alistair tilted his head, his fingers trailing along the curve of her jaw, tracing her skin like a delicate melody. "If it means being with you, I don't care what the future holds," he said softly.

Her heart stuttered, and before she could stop herself, she hooked her arms around his neck, pulling him down. She placed a feather-light kiss on his lips, her touch hesitant yet filled with a quiet longing.

Alistair let out a small chuckle against her lips, but the humor faded as he deepened the kiss. Soft and slow at first, as if savoring the moment, but then his grip on her waist tightened, and the kiss turned desperate— hungry.

Seraphina melted into him, fingers threading through his hair, responding with equal passion. Every kiss, every touch spoke of unsaid emotions, of promises that had no need for words.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths were uneven, and Alistair rested his forehead against hers.

"Now the whole world can be jealous of me," he murmured, his lips curling into a mischievous smile.

Seraphina laughed softly, tracing the shape of his lips with her fingertips. "And yet, they don't know that I'm the lucky one."

Alistair's fingers traced a slow, lingering path down Seraphina's arm, his touch sending shivers across her skin. Their foreheads rested against each other, breaths mingling, hearts pounding in sync.

Her hands tangled in his hair as he leaned in again, lips mere inches from hers. His gaze held her captive—full of devotion, warmth, and something deeper, something unspoken yet powerful.

Then—

"Seraphina!"

The urgent voice shattered the moment.

Both she and Alistair snapped out of their embrace, their bodies separating instinctively. The warmth of his touch faded too quickly, like a dream slipping away before it could be fully grasped.

Seraphina gasped and bolted upright, her chest rising and falling heavily.

But the moment was gone.

Blinking in confusion, she found herself staring at the white walls of a hospital room. The dim overhead light flickered slightly, casting soft shadows around her.

Her heart pounded— not from fear, but from something else. A lingering sensation of warmth. Of something important.

She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself.

What was that? Who… who was that?

The dream was already fading, dissolving like mist in the morning sun. She couldn't remember his face. Couldn't recall his name. But the feeling… oh, the feeling remained. It wrapped around her like a comforting embrace, like a long-lost melody she should have known by heart.

The door creaked open.

Seraphina turned just as a tall man stepped inside. His sharp blue eyes softened as he met her gaze, a warm smile tugging at his lips.

"Seraphina," Reginald said, his voice gentle. "Are you ready to go to your new home?"

She hesitated for a moment, glancing around the sterile room as if searching for something. Someone.

But there was nothing. Just the hum of machines and the rhythmic beeping of her heart monitor.

With a slow nod, she rose to her feet.

She didn't remember her past.

But that feeling… that warmth… told her that once, she had been happy.

Yet, if her past had been so good, then why had she fallen off a cliff with two gunshot wounds?

A chill ran through her.

Had she been running toward something?

Or trying to escape?

As she followed Reginald out the door, she clenched her fists, willing herself to remember.

And somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, a name whispered through the haze— just out of reach.

Six months of rehabilitation had passed. Seraphina, once fragile and barely able to stand on her own, could now walk with ease. Her strength had returned, her body no longer a prisoner to weakness.

Now, she stood at the entrance of a majestic palace—its towering white pillars and intricate golden accents radiating wealth and power. She tilted her head back slightly, taking in the sheer grandeur of the estate.

Had she… won a lottery in her previous life?

Her savior, Reginald, turned out to be one of the richest men she had ever encountered. The sheer extravagance of this place was something she could barely comprehend. But deep down, she knew—wealth never came without its own shadows. Even in the grandest of homes, problems had a way of lingering like ghosts in the halls.

Seraphina exhaled, gathering herself before stepping forward.

Reginald, ever composed, gestured for her to follow him inside. As the massive wooden doors swung open, the warmth of the interior enveloped her, a stark contrast to the cold, unfamiliar uncertainty of her forgotten past.

The estate was a masterpiece—three floors of unparalleled elegance.

"The ground floor has three guest rooms, a large kitchen, a dining hall, and a grand living room," Reginald explained, his voice calm yet authoritative. The chandelier above them cast soft golden light, making the marble floors gleam beneath their feet.

As they ascended the grand staircase, he continued.

"The first floor is where I live, along with Nicholas. Each of us has our own bedroom and study. The last room on that floor is a walk-in wardrobe space for us both."

Seraphina nodded, taking in every detail. Everything felt unreal.

When they reached the third floor, Reginald paused before opening a pair of double doors.

"This is your space now," he said.

Seraphina stepped inside, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

The room before her was breathtaking—a bedroom fit for royalty. Velvet drapes adorned the tall windows, the bed large and luxurious with embroidered sheets. The entire space was designed with elegance and comfort in mind.

"You have five rooms on this floor," Reginald continued, watching her reaction carefully. "One is your bedroom, of course. Two rooms have been connected to form a walk-in wardrobe—your dresses, suits, bags, shoes, heels, jewelry, and accessories are stored there."

Seraphina blinked. Dresses? Jewelry? The idea of owning such luxury felt foreign to her.

"The fourth room is your study," Reginald went on, "and the last is a specialized workout space. Nicholas also uses it occasionally."

She listened, but her mind was still processing. This wasn't just a place to stay—this was hers. Given to her without expectation.

She turned to Reginald. He had given her everything—a second chance, a place to belong.

Seraphina clenched her fists, a quiet fire igniting within her.

She didn't remember her past. She didn't know why she had fallen off that cliff with gunshot wounds. But if there was one thing she knew for certain, it was this—

She would not waste this opportunity.

Lifting her chin, she met Reginald's gaze with newfound determination.

"I won't let this go to waste," she said firmly. "I will work hard—no, harder than you expect. I promise."

A small, approving smile curved Reginald's lips.

"I never doubted you."