I: THE VOW AND THE LIE

Sera

Light. Not the soft kind, like dawn creeping through curtains. This was sharp, sterile, the kind that makes your skin feel too thin. Something was buzzing somewhere above me, humming like it had a secret I wasn’t supposed to hear.

Dry, raw. The first thing I notice as I’m drifting back to consciousness was my throat. It felt like it had been scraped with sandpaper. Every swallow was a struggle, each breath catching on the scratchiness.

Water. I needed to quench the deep aching thirst clawing at me, but my throat was too sore to even whisper. I blinked once, twice. The world clicked into place in fragments, a ceiling too clean, the biting sting of antiseptic, and the slow, measured beep of a heart monitor to my left.

Hospital. I was in a hospital. But not a public one, this one smelled too expensive. Silence padded the walls like insulation, muting even my own thoughts. I moved my fingers first, then toes and chest. Everything ached like I’d been hit by something faster than time. My body remembered what my mind couldn’t.

I had no memory and no clue why my wrists were bandaged or why the IV in my arm burned just beneath the skin. What was my name? Then the door opened. A woman in scrubs entered, her face as unreadable as the room. She was a blonde, clinical. Her eyes swept over me, calculating.

“You’re awake.”

It wasn’t a question. More like an observation someone might make about a broken machine blinking back to life. I tried to speak but my voice cracked out an inaudible whisper.

“What... happened?” Her lips twitched. Not a smile, not exactly.

“There was an accident. A plane. You were the only survivor.”

My heart stopped. Plane crash survivor. The words sat on top of my chest like bricks, refusing to sink in.

“You’re lucky. The doctor should be with you shortly,” she said, adjusting something on the monitor. “Your fiancé’s been waiting.”

I stared. “My what?” But she was already gone.

The door opened again. I expected to see the doctor, but this time the man who entered didn’t wear scrubs. He wore a perfectly tailored navy-blue suit, the kind that whispered power. He was tall, with piercing greyish bluish eyes and dark hair slicked back like he knew what control looked like and had no intention of sharing it. His eyes met mine, and something cold trickled down my spine. Not fear, recognition. But it came without a name or a face.

“Seraphina,” he said making it sound like I should be grateful just to hear it.

“That’s not my name,” I replied. Or maybe it was. I couldn’t be sure. A soft smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

“It is. You don’t remember me?” He stepped closer and sat in the chair beside my bed like he belonged there. Like I belonged to him.

“My name is Laziel... Laziel Raye,” he said smoothly. “I’m your fiancé.”

Silence stretched between us.

“No,” I whispered. “I... I don’t remember you.”

His eyes softened, but only on the surface.

“You really don’t remember anything? Not even... the lake house?” He said leaning in closer wrapping my frail hand gently into his strong steady hands. None of this felt familiar. The twist in my stomach wasn’t butterflies from love. I didn’t respond. Because the words meant nothing to me, but his tone did. He was probing, testing, watching for something behind my eyes. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees now, voice quieter.

“Six months ago,” he said, “you and I spent a week at your family’s summer home in Austria. Snow hadn’t melted yet. You said it felt like the world was asleep, peaceful, untouched. You wore that ridiculous fur hat you hated, and we drank cheap wine on the dock, even though your father warned you not to. He said you’d catch a cold.”

A flicker, a face, blurred and distant. A man with sharp eyes and the smell of cigars.

“Dominic Vale,” he added, as if the name would anchor me. “Your father.”

“He’s dead?” My voice cracked again. A slow nod. “The crash.” My throat tightened.

He smiled, soft and knowing. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You cried when I proposed. Not because you were surprised, but because you said it felt right.” I felt something tighten in my chest. Like a string being pulled too hard.

“You don’t remember any of that?” he asked, gentler now. “The ring? Your father’s toast? How he called you, his legacy?” I wanted to. God, I wanted that to be real. A life with snow and wine and crying over love. Sure, did sound like a fairytale. But that life wasn’t in me. Not that I know of.

“I... no,” I said, and my voice felt smaller than it should’ve. His smile thinned. Not cruel, just measured.

“I thought this might happen,” he murmured, pulling a folder from inside his coat. “You don’t have to believe me, Sera. Just read what he left behind.” He slid it onto the table beside me. The weight of it hit with a dull thud. It looked ordinary. But it wasn’t.

“This is your father’s signature. His final agreement. His blessing. I even added a couple of our favorite pictures of the night” I stared at it, but didn’t move. His voice dropped lower.

“You said you wanted to honor him. Even if you didn’t always agree with him.”

A flicker again, smoke, a ring on a large hand, a voice like thunder. Gone too fast to catch. I still didn’t reach for the folder. I saw how his eyes tried to calculate my every move. Laziel reached out, his hand brushing mine like it was nothing. I flinched.

His smirk didn’t fade. “You’ve been through hell, Sera. But I’m here now.”

And that’s when it hit me. Deep down, in the part of me still trying to resurface, I knew I had to belong to someone. But not him. Not this man with eyes like glass and hands too sure of their place. So, I didn’t believe him. And every fiber of my body screamed the same thing.

“Run”.