When morning crept through the windows and birds began their quiet chorus, he woke to find her gone.
The room smelled faintly of mint—her scent.
Downstairs, Seraphine sat at the head of the long dining table, dressed in her uniform slacks and black fitted blouse. Her hair was pulled back, clipped in place with military efficiency. Breakfast had been set: eggs poached to softness, coffee brewed dark, toast still warm.
Callum came down already in his blazer, phone in hand, briefcase at his side. His steps were soundless, his expression unreadable.
He walked to the door without pause.
"Eat with me," Seraphine said calmly, her spoon poised above her plate.
Callum didn't even look at her.
He reached for the door.
The clatter of silver startled him. A small spoon flew through the air—clinking once on the floor before spinning to a stop near his feet.
Her voice was low but sharp as the blade she once trained with.
"I hate disobedience."
Callum turned.
Seraphine stood, no expression on her face—but a clear tension in her stance, the final command is hers.
"If you walk out that door," she said, "I will move my quarters to your office. Permanently."
A beat.
He stared at her, waiting for a trace of sarcasm, a joke.
None came.
Her eyes didn't waver.
He let out a slow exhale, then turned back toward the dining table, pulled out a chair, and sat beside her.
The air was taut with unspoken rules, but not hostility.
As they ate, it was Seraphine who finally spoke—her tone as measured as ever, but laced with a chill of steel.
"Our marriage, my rules," she said without looking at him. "If you break them, I will break something in return."
He took a sip of his coffee.
"What would you break?" he asked, voice still distant.
"We have grown together, not close, but I know you knew the Elion way." She met his gaze then. "I can go far."
He didn't respond right away.
Instead, he watched her take another bite—calm, unfazed, commanding without theatrics. Her plate was half-cleared before she added, almost offhandedly:
"If I'm here, breakfast and dinner must be shared."
Callum set his fork down and regarded her for a moment longer.
He didn't agree. But he didn't refuse.
And somehow… he didn't find her cruel.
He simply stood after the meal, fixed his cuffs, brushed his teeth, and then, walked towards the door.
This time, she let him go.
---
High-ranking duties and military protocols often demanded Seraphine's unwavering attention, yet today something stirred within her that she couldn't ignore. Rushing from the military compound with an urgency.
She emerged into the city's pulsing heart. Every step was measured; every motion charged with determination as she navigated twisting streets toward a singular purpose—Callum.
After a long, tense ascent of a business deal, Callum drove to seek refuge in the familiar haze of a small drinking establishment—a temporary escape from the weight of obligations and memories. But fate had other plans.
The neon glow and blurred figures lent the outskirts of his chosen refuge with an almost surreal air. There, at the threshold of the drinking establishment, Callum hesitated—a lone figure caught between battered resolve and an unspoken longing.
Before he could cross the door, Seraphine's presence cut through the murmur of the evening. With a firm, decisive motion, she reached out and pulled him back. Her hand gripped his arm with authority, and the bold tenderness glimmered in her eyes, demanding obedience without question.
For a long heartbeat, Callum stood rooted by the magnetic force of her gaze. In that moment, everything about the noisy world faded—the distant hum of conversation, the anxious whisper of a closing door—and he found himself drawn to the unspoken power hidden in her eyes.
Without a word, Seraphine guided him away from the oblivion of the bar.
They walked side by side, neither leading nor following completely, as if the echoes of their shared past and uncertain future had merged into one path. The city around them stirred in vibrant hues: street vendors proclaiming the day's last bargains, the soft laughter of passersby, and the warm aroma of spices from a nearby market.
Reaching the lively market, Seraphine finally slowed.
Under the gentle glow of streetlights and amid the murmurs of evening commerce, she locked her eyes onto his. In a voice both calm and resolute—akin to the cadence of orders once given on the parade ground—she declared,
"Mr. Virell, you will be in charge of tonight's food."
Her words, blunt and unwavering, it was a subtle invitation to reclaim something tender from the ruin of their fragile union—something crafted with intention and warmth rather than swallowed in bitterness.
Callum's gaze shifted, his features softening as he met her steady look. The suggestion, unexpected as it was, resonated deep within him. With a barely audible sigh of resignation and defeat mingled, he murmured,
"What should I cook?"
---
Later that conversation, Sera trailed alongside Callum with a quiet curiosity. She watched, both bemused and amazed, as he navigated the maze of vendors with a practiced efficiency.
Callum moved from stall to stall, selecting ingredients with a purposeful precision. His bargaining was swift—a soft smile here, a nod there—and yet, despite his nimble negotiation, she found him paying twice the listed price on several occasions. When some would return his extra payment, he would offer an excuse in a teasing tone, "You can just give me some freebies."
His eyes twinkled with the memory of a long-ago lesson.
As they lingered near a stall piled high with fresh produce and fragrant herbs, Callum paused to share a story, his voice low and tinged with nostalgia.
"Dahlia used to bring me here," he began, a wistful smile softening his features. "She taught me that purchasing wasn't merely a transaction—it was an art. I learned then that bargaining wasn't always about getting the lowest price; it was about engaging, about understanding the vendor's story as much as your own. Even if I ended up paying twice as much, it was worth the experience. And sometimes, if you ask just right, you might even get a little extra on the house."
Sera listened intently as he continued to share market memories with Dahlia. The efficiency with which Callum conducted his purchases, the rhythm of his negotiation, and the gentle humor in his excuses all evoked both admiration and an unspoken sorrow.
A recollection of a love and a life that once was.
As they gathered the bagged ingredients, Sera marveled at the layers within him.
In that bustling market, beneath the hum of commerce and the glow of city lights, she recognized that even in the smallest tasks, Callum carried remnants of his past. And though they walked the path with unspoken rules and quiet commands, that moment, rich with the flavor of shared memories and gentle defiance, hinted at a future where every detail of his being was worth noticing, even when it came at a higher price.