Chapter 4

Seraphina's POV

I sat in the study through the entire night.

Julian never returned.

When dawn broke, I washed my face with cold water. I intended to head down to the photography studio on the ground level of his flagship mall to collect my cameras and original prints.

I had designed that studio myself, and my unmounted gallery prints were still hanging on the walls.

On the drive over, a news alert popped up on my phone.

The official account of Sterling Enterprises had just published a press release: The ground-floor art studio would be demolished immediately and renovated into a private runway training hall, headed by breakout model Chloe Taylor as chief instructor.

Attached to the announcement was a high-resolution photo: Julian and Chloe standing shoulder to shoulder outside the entrance of my studio, smiling warmly at the camera.

My thumb froze against the glass screen.

By the time I rushed to the mall, a thick crowd had already gathered around the perimeter.

Construction workers in hard hats were hauling equipment in and out. An excavator sat directly outside the studio doors, its heavy steel bucket already raised in the air.

Security guards held back the onlookers while curious shoppers filmed the scene on their phones.

Julian stood at the front of the crowd, with Chloe right beside him in a sleek athletic set, chatting and laughing casually with a group of lifestyle reporters.

I shoved my way through the bystanders, my shoulder slamming painfully against the metal barrier, but the sting barely registered.

"Why are you tearing down my studio?"

Julian turned and saw me, his brows pulling into an immediate frown as he adopted an icy, professional tone.

"It’s a corporate business decision. Your studio generates zero foot traffic and zero commercial value. It’s sitting on prime retail real estate without turning a profit. Converting it into a training facility benefits the brand."

"That is my studio!" My voice shook with fury. "My cameras are in there! My entire portfolio is in there! The least you could do is let me pack my belongings!"

"You’ll get your things back later," Julian waved his hand impatiently and turned to the foreman. "Start the machines."

The construction supervisor blew a shrill whistle, and the excavator’s engine roared to life with a deafening rumble.

I lost all control and charged forward.

I shoved past the workers trying to hold me back, dashed into the demolition zone, and planted myself directly in front of the studio entrance with my arms thrown wide. "Stop! If you want to tear it down, you’ll have to run me over first!"

Gasps erupted from the crowd.

The excavator operator froze, holding the bucket suspended mid-air.

The site manager sprinted over to drag me away, but I violently tore myself from his grip, refusing to budge an inch.

In the ensuing chaos, the heavy mechanical arm of the excavator clipped an adjacent overhead lighting truss.

The heavy metal framework shuddered violently. Bolts sheared off with a piercing screech of snapping steel, and the entire rig began to collapse directly toward the crowd.

Screams tore through the air as people scrambled in every direction.

Looking up at the massive steel frame hurtling down toward me, my instinctive thought was that Julian would dive across to protect me.

He had thrown himself in front of danger for me once. He would do it again.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact.

The heavy blow never landed on my body.

A dull thud echoed nearby. I opened my eyes to see Julian throwing himself in the exact opposite direction. He had wrapped his entire body around Chloe, shielding her beneath him as the truss scraped past his back and slammed into the pavement.

Meanwhile, the jagged, heavy end of the falling rig crashed straight down onto my right hand.

Agonizing pain exploded from my fingers and tore through my arm, like white-hot iron tongs crushing the bones inch by inch.

I heard the sickening, brittle crunch of my own bones snapping, and my vision instantly whited out.

I collapsed to my knees, my right hand pinned beneath the crushed steel, crimson blood pooling out from between my fingers and soaking into the cracked concrete.

The voices around me warped into a distant, muffled buzz. I heard someone screaming for an ambulance, Chloe sobbing hysterically, and Julian frantically yelling my name.

I couldn't process any of it. My ears rang violently, like a thousand hornets swarming inside my skull.

I stared down at my pinned right hand—the hand that had held a camera for ten years—now lying crushed and broken beneath the cold metal.

The skin was already swelling into a grotesque purple, the fingers twisted at unnatural, sickening angles.

It hurt.

It hurt so badly I couldn't breathe.

I tried to pull my hand free, but the slightest twitch sent a jagged wave of agony through my nervous system, dragging black spots across my eyes.

I gave up, letting my forehead rest against the filthy concrete. The dust burned my nostrils, and when I coughed, the spasm sent another shockwave through my shattered bones.

Men rushed in to hoist the metal truss, shouting, "Careful! Don't crush her fingers any more!"

As the weight was lifted, my hand was finally freed, but all sensation had vanished from the limb.

My body tipped forward, my cheek pressing against the freezing stone. Darkness rushed in like a pulled plug, swallowing my consciousness whole.