Seraphine’s smile was steady, but there was a faint crease between her brows that refused to disappear, a quiet sign that sothing about the way he kept calling her his donner wasn’t sitting right with her, even if she didn’t fully understand why yet, and still, she reminded herself to stay focused, to play along, to keep everything moving exactly the way it needed to.
Santiago stood across from her, his gaze moving over her slowly, intensely, taking in every detail and committing it to mory, and the look in his eyes carried a kind of hunger that made her skin prickle despite the composed expression she kept in place.
"You are beautiful," he said, his voice smooth, as he extended his hand toward her.
Seraphine hesitated for the briefest mont, just enough for her pulse to tighten in her chest, before placing her hand in his, her fingers cool against his warmth as he closed his grip around hers.
He guided her across the room at an unhurried pace, like the night belonged entirely to them.
The dining room felt excessive in the most extravagant way, with a massive round table at its center covered in polished glassware and bottles of sparkling wine that caught the light from the chandelier hanging high above, its crystals scattering a soft golden glow across the room, while the faint clink of distant movent and the quiet hum of the estate settled into the background like a carefully crafted atmosphere.
When they reached the table, Santiago pulled out a chair for her, his attention never leaving her face, and Seraphine lowered herself into the seat with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
"I never imagined you to be a romantic," she said lightly, tilting her head just a little as she watched him.
Santiago’s lips curved in response, sothing knowing flickering behind the expression. "There is a lot you do not know about ."
He reached for a bottle and poured her a glass of wine, but Seraphine didn’t drink right away, her fingers resting lightly against the stem as her gaze wandered around the room again, curiosity threading through her voice.
"Isn’t this room a little too big for just the two of us?"
Santiago let out a low laugh. "There is nothing too big for my donner."
That word again.
Seraphine’s attention snapped back to him, her expression still pleasant but sharper now, more curious than before. "You keep calling your donner. What does that an?"
He leaned back slightly in his chair, completely at ease, like he had all the ti in the world to explain sothing that clearly mattered more to him than it did to her. "My wife, my love... whatever you want to call it."
The words landed heavier than she expected, and for a split second, sothing tightened painfully in her chest, sothing old and buried trying to surface, but she didn’t let it show, didn’t let it crack through the calm exterior she wore so effortlessly.
"I’m flattered," she said, her tone smooth, almost teasing, even as that faint ache lingered beneath it, "except I don’t plan on settling down anyti soon."
"I know," Santiago replied, almost too easily.
Before she could question that, the doors opened and servants began to enter, moving with quiet precision as they placed dishes on the table one after another, each plate arranged with such detail that Seraphine found herself wondering if they were ant to be admired rather than eaten.
Her eyes lingered on the food for a mont longer than necessary before flicking back to him.
"But once you enter Santiago’s fortress," he continued, his voice carrying a subtle change, a thicker accent weaving through his words now, "you do everything I say."
Seraphine leaned back slightly in her chair, her posture relaxed, her expression calm and unreadable, like still water hiding whatever lay beneath. "Then I’m curious... how many won have you married in this fortress of yours?"
Santiago chuckled, clearly amused, his gaze never leaving her. "I’ve never proposed to any woman before."
He paused just long enough for the weight of his next words to settle. "But you?"
Seraphine let out a soft breath that almost sounded like a laugh, lifting her glass and taking a small sip this ti, letting the wine linger on her tongue before she spoke again. "That’s what n say. Don’t you think I’ve heard that a thousand tis?"
Santiago didn’t argue, didn’t rush to defend himself, instead reaching for his utensils as if the conversation could wait. "Let’s eat first. We have the whole night ahead of us."
There was sothing about the way he said it that made the words feel heavier than they should have.
Seraphine gave a small nod and began to eat, taking careful bites, her attention split between the al and the man across from her, the air between them thick with sothing unspoken that refused to settle.
Ti passed more quickly than she expected, the plates eventually cleared away and replaced with dessert, another beautifully arranged dish that looked almost too perfect to disturb.
"This is good," she said after tasting it, her tone genuine this ti.
Santiago smiled, clearly pleased. "It was made just for you, my donner."
Before she could respond, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small red velvet box, placing it on the table between them with a quiet confidence that imdiately drew her attention.
He opened it slowly.
The ring inside caught the light instantly, its brilliance sharp and captivating, the kind of piece that would make most won stop breathing for a second, the kind that promised everything without saying a word.
Seraphine stared at it, her expression softening, though not in the way he might have expected.
For people like them, things like this didn’t exist. There were no rings, no grand gestures wrapped in velvet boxes, only marks, permanent, binding, undeniable.
Ravyn had never given her one.
The thought ca and went without the bitterness it once carried, replaced instead by sothing quieter, steadier, like a Chapter of her life she had already closed.
"It’s beautiful," she said finally, her voice calm, almost gentle, "but like I said... I don’t see myself belonging to any man for the rest of my life."
She nudged the box back toward him with a smooth, effortless motion, her refusal wrapped in elegance rather than defiance, and sohow, that seed to affect him more than if she had outright rejected him with harsh words.
Sothing in his expression tightened, not anger exactly, but sothing more possessive.
It only heightened his interest. "You can’t refuse, my donner," he said, his voice lower now, the warmth from earlier fading into sothing far more rigid.
Seraphine’s eyes narrowed just slightly, her fingers still resting lightly against the table as she studied him. "And why is that?"
For a mont, he just looked at her, like he was deciding how much to reveal, or maybe enjoying the tension stretching between them.
Then he answered. "Because you shouldn’t have co," he said quietly. "Or maybe... you shouldn’t have won that dress."
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