Mated to My Fiancé’s Alpha King Brother - Chapter 207

Chapter 207: Chapter 207
Seraphina’s POV

Silence.

I kept staring out the window. My reflection stared back—hollow eyes, pale face, a ghost wearing my skin.

*He’s going to say no. Of course he’s going to say no. Why would he let you near them after what you did? After what you’ve become?*

My hands clenched into fists. Nails digging into palms hard enough to hurt.

“The kids. Adrian and Lily.” My voice cracked. “Can I see them?”

More silence. Each second felt like an eternity.

I braced myself. For the refusal. For the lecture about how I didn’t deserve them. How I’d abandoned them. How seeing me would only confuse them, hurt them, destroy whatever peace they’d found without me.

I’d already built the walls back up. Already prepared myself for the pain.

Then he spoke.

“Yeah. Okay.”

My breath caught. My heart stuttered.

*Did he just—*

I spun around so fast my vision blurred. “What?”

Damien sat on the couch, head in his hands like he was holding the weight of the world. He looked destroyed. Aged. Like something vital had been carved out of him.

“I said okay.” He lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with dark circles. “You can see them.”

“You’re…” I couldn’t form words. Couldn’t process this. “You’re saying yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

I stared at him. Searched his face for the trap. The conditions. The cruel twist.

There had to be something. Some impossible requirement. Some way this would blow up in my face.

But all I saw was exhaustion. Defeat. Something broken that might never heal.

“Why?” The word barely made it past my lips.

He was quiet. So quiet I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Then he sighed. The sound was heavy enough to crush me.

“Because you asked.” His voice was raw. Barely human. “Because after everything I’ve done… this is the one thing I can give you.”

The words hung between us like a blade.

My chest tightened. My throat closed up. I couldn’t breathe couldn’t think couldn’t—

“When?” I forced the word out. Focused on that instead. On the kids. On anything except the memory of his hands his weight his—

*Stop. Don’t think about it.*

“When can I see them?”

“Today. If you want.” He paused. His jaw worked like he was chewing glass. “But Sera… there’s something you need to do first.”

There it was.

The catch.

My stomach dropped. “What?”

“You need to clean yourself up.” He gestured at me. The movement was tired. Defeated. “Get yourself together. Eat something. Change clothes. Look…”

“Normal?” The word came out venomous.

“The kids are smart,” he continued like I hadn’t spoken. “Sensitive. Especially Adrian. They’ll know if something’s wrong. They’ll sense it the second they see you.”

Right. This wasn’t about me. Wasn’t about him. Wasn’t about the nightmare we’d become.

This was about Adrian and Lily.

Who didn’t need to see their mother looking like death. Who didn’t deserve a broken shell of a woman who could barely function.

Who deserved better. Had always deserved better.

“Fine.” The fight drained out of me. Left me hollow. “I’ll clean up.”

“I brought food earlier.” He gestured to the table. “You need to eat. You’ve barely eaten anything in days.”

I walked to the table. Each step took effort. My body felt disconnected. Like I was piloting it from somewhere far away.

My stomach turned. The thought of eating made bile rise in my throat.

But I sat down anyway. Opened the first container.

Soup. Still warm somehow. The smell hit me and my stomach lurched.

I picked up the spoon. My hand shook. The soup rippled.

I brought it to my mouth. Swallowed.

It tasted like nothing. Like eating wet cardboard. Like swallowing ash.

But I kept going.

Damien watched from the couch. I felt his eyes on me. Heavy. Guilty. Burning.

I focused on eating. Mechanical movements. Spoon. Mouth. Swallow. Repeat.

My throat kept closing up. My body kept trying to reject it.

But I forced it down anyway.

For them. For my kids.

By the time I finished, my stomach felt wrong. Too full. Like I’d swallowed rocks.

I stood up. Too fast. The room tilted.

I grabbed the table. Steadied myself. Breathed through the nausea.

Things that reminded me of before. When I was whole. When I was someone worth loving.

I pulled out a dress. Dark blue. Simple. Conservative.

“There’s makeup in the bathroom,” Damien said quietly. “And… everything else you need.”

I nodded. Didn’t look at him.

I walked into the bathroom. Closed the door. Locked it.

Then I looked at myself in the mirror.

And nearly screamed.

A ghost stared back. Hollow eyes. Sunken cheeks. Bruises fading to sickly yellow-green.

And on my neck—

*Oh God.*

Dark purple marks. Bite marks. His marks.

Evidence written on my skin. Proof of what he’d done. What I’d let happen.

My hand flew to my throat. Touched one gently.

Pain bloomed. Sharp and immediate.

I pressed harder. Welcomed the hurt.

Tears burned behind my eyes. I blinked them back furiously.

I opened the cabinet with shaking hands. Found the makeup.

Foundation. Concealer. Powder. Brushes.

I started with my face. Dabbing foundation over bruises. Over shadows. Over the truth.

My hands trembled so badly I had to restart three times.

But slowly—slowly—the ghost began to disappear.

The bruises faded under layers of makeup. The hollow look softened. The death pallor warmed to something almost human.

I moved to my neck. The marks there seemed to pulse. To throb.

*His marks. His claim. His proof of ownership.*

My stomach lurched. I gripped the sink until my knuckles went white.

*Cover them. Just cover them and don’t think about it.*

I applied concealer with careful precision. Layer after layer. Building a barrier between the truth and what the kids would see.

Each stroke of the brush felt like burying evidence. Hiding a crime.

*Because that’s what it was. A crime. And you’re covering it up.*

By the time I finished, you couldn’t tell. Couldn’t see what lay underneath.

Just smooth skin. Normal skin.

I pulled on the dress. It fit like it was made for me. Damien must have remembered my size exactly.

I brushed my hair with mechanical movements. Styled it the way I used to. Soft waves.

The woman staring back looked familiar. Like someone I used to know three years ago.

I opened the bathroom door.

Damien was standing by the window. His back to me. Shoulders tense.

He turned when he heard me.

And froze.

His eyes swept over me. Once. Twice. A third time like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He swallowed hard. “The kids will be so happy to see you.”

“Will they?” The question burst out before I could stop it. All my fear. All my doubt. “Adrian hates me. You said so yourself. He said he’s given up. That I made my choice.”

“He’s eight years old.” Damien stepped toward me. Stopped. “He doesn’t understand. But when he sees you… when they both see you… it’ll be different.”

“We should go,” Damien said. He grabbed his keys. Walked to the door. Held it open.

I followed. My heart hammered. My palms sweated. My breath came too fast.

The parking garage was cold. Dark. His car waited like a sleek black beast.

He opened my door. I climbed in. The leather was soft. Expensive. The car smelled like him—that scent that used to mean safety, home, love.

We pulled out. Into daylight. Into traffic.

The city passed by. People everywhere. Living. Laughing. Being normal.

I pressed my hand against the window. The glass was cold. Solid. Real.

“Lily’s going to be so excited.”

Damien’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.

I turned to look at him. He kept his eyes on the road. His jaw was tight. His knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“She’s never…” He paused. Swallowed. “From the time she could remember, she’s never seen her mother.”