At My Driver’s Command

POV: Seraphina MarcellHeadlights sweep across the window, cutting through the rain.Alex is here.I rise from the bed, legs stiff, heart still hammering from the silence below. The house hasn’t made another sound since the vase shattered. No footsteps. No voices. Just stillness, the kind that feels too deliberate, like the air itself is holding its breath.I grab my coat from the chair, my phone, my purse. My fingers tremble when they touch the brass doorknob. I hesitate, listening one more time. Nothing. Not even the hum of the central air.“Mom?” I whisper.No answer.The word dies in my throat.Screw this.I slip into the hallway, closing the door behind me as quietly as I can. The marble floor feels cold beneath my bare feet. The smell of wine lingers faintly in the air, rich, sharp, and wrong. My pulse races as I descend the staircase, each step creaking like it wants to give me away.At the bottom, something glints under the chandelier light.The shards of the vase.They glitte

POV: Seraphina MarcellThe room is heavy with warmth and the faint scent of rain-soaked cedar.I can feel my pulse in my throat, a tremor that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with Alex’s hands on my skin.He kisses like someone trying to erase a memory, slow, deliberate, a little desperate. Every touch feels like it’s made of questions neither of us wants to answer.“Seraphina,” he murmurs against my neck. My name sounds different when he says it. Not like the polished version people use at fundraisers or family dinners, but like something softer, like it belongs to him.“Don’t stop,” I whisper.He doesn’t. His hand slides to the small of my back, guiding me closer, and the world outside disappears. No glass walls. No raised voices. No shattering vases. Just the sound of his heartbeat, unsteady and human.He pulls back just enough to look at me. “You sure?”The question hangs between us, a fragile thread. I nod before I can second-guess it.He searches my face, eyes d

POV: Alex ArthinThe picture glowed on my phone screen like a sin I couldn’t erase.Avery’s half-naked body curled in my sheets; her lips tilted in that teasing smirk that made promises I never should’ve believed. It was the very kind that had already gotten me into trouble more times than I could count.I froze, my thumb hovering over the screen, and my pulse hammering against my throat. In the window’s reflection, I looked like a ghost, hollow-eyed, jaw locked, the kind of man who dug his own grave and still smiled at the taste of dirt.The moonlight was spilling in through the blinds, dimming the edges of the photo, but it didn’t soften what I saw. Her smooth skin. The gold chain glinting against her throat. And behind it all, my reflection, staring back at me through the glass, trapped somewhere between lust and disgust.I shouldn’t have opened it.Not now.Not with Seraphina asleep on my bed, wrapped in my gray blanket, her soft breathing steady. Her innocence draped over me like

POV: Mrs. Elara MarcellThe vase didn’t fall by accident.I pushed it.The crash echoed through the room, making a sharp sound, final, like something in me breaking free. Porcelain and petals scattered across the marble floor, a wild burst of color in a house that had long forgotten how to feel alive.Damian didn’t even flinch. He stood by the window, still in his tie, a silhouette carved out of indifference and city light. His reflection shimmered faintly in the glass, the city skyline cutting through his outline like a wound.“Of course,” he said finally, voice calm in that dangerous way. “You always need to make a scene.”I laughed, it came out brittle, almost hysterical. “Maybe that’s the only way you’ll look at me anymore.”He turned slightly, the reflection of his eyes meeting mine in the glass. “You think shouting fixes anything?”“I think pretending doesn’t.” My chest ached as I said it. “You can buy me the world, Damian, but you can’t even touch me without checking your watch

POV: AveryThe room still smelled like him; faint cologne, skin, and something deeper that clung to the air like unfinished words. Sharp, masculine, familiar, the kind of scent that lingered on my sheets long after he was gone.Alex’s hand had pressed against the small of my back, keeping me anchored as his lips trailed heat down my neck. My fingers tangled in his shirt, clutching it like I needed it to breathe. Every time he kissed me, the world blurred a little more, until it didn’t matter who I was betraying. Until the thought of her stopped hurting.“Alex…” I whispered, half a moan, half a warning.“We shouldn’t…”He silenced me with another kiss. It was deeper this time, desperate, as though he could chase away the guilt with his tongue. The sheets rustled beneath us. My mind spun between pleasure and panic, between wanting him and hating myself for it.Somewhere in the distance, I thought I heard a car door shut. Probably just a student getting back late. Nothing unusual. Still,