Chapter 10: The Spider's Web
1374words
"The blue silk has arrived from Como," my assistant Marco announced, wheeling in a rack of fabric. "And Professor Bianchi called to confirm tomorrow's meeting with the buyers from Paris."
"Thank you, Marco. Let's break for lunch. Everyone back at two."
As the studio emptied, I remained at my drafting table, sketching modifications to my signature piece. The work centered me, pushing away doubts and questions I wasn't ready to face.
The studio door opened behind me. "I said lunch break, Marco," I called without looking up.
"Still the same poor manners, I see."
The pencil snapped in my hand. That voice—cold, precise, dripping with disdain—had haunted my nightmares for years.
I turned slowly. Victoria Whitestone stood in my studio doorway, elegant as ever in a tailored cream suit, her blonde hair swept into an immaculate chignon. She surveyed the space with the same critical eye she'd once used to catalog my flaws.
"Hello, Victoria." I kept my voice steady, though my heart hammered against my ribs. "What an unpleasant surprise."
"Is that any way to greet your mother?" Her smile never reached her eyes.
"Stepmother," I corrected. "And an uninvited one at that."
She moved into the studio, trailing manicured fingers over a bolt of silk. "Quite the little empire you've built yourself. Isolde mentioned you'd improved your appearance, but she failed to mention this... enterprise."
So Isolde had betrayed me after all. The knowledge stung, despite my lingering distrust.
"What do you want?" I asked bluntly.
"Direct as always." Victoria settled into a chair, crossing her legs with practiced grace. "I want you to come home, Seraphina. Your father is concerned."
I laughed, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "My father hasn't been concerned about me a day in his life."
"Nevertheless, your place is in London. This little rebellion has gone on long enough."
"This isn't rebellion. This is my life." I gestured to the studio around us. "My career. My success."
"Built on Cassian Vexley's money and influence." Her smile turned knowing. "Yes, I'm well aware of your... arrangement with him."
Heat flooded my face. "You know nothing about my relationship with Cassian."
"I know he's nearly old enough to be your father. I know he's using you to spite his family, just as you're using him to spite yours." She leaned forward. "And I know he'll discard you the moment you become inconvenient, just as he did his wife."
The barb struck deep, touching on fears I'd barely acknowledged to myself. "You're wrong."
"Am I?" Victoria stood, moving to examine the design board where photos of my latest collection were pinned. "Your father has been very patient, Seraphina. That patience is running out."
"Is that a threat?"
"A reality." She turned, her expression hardening. "Did you think there would be no consequences for your actions? For embarrassing the family? For stealing your mother's jewelry box and the documents inside it?"
My breath caught. "So you do know about those."
"Of course I do." Her laugh was brittle. "Who do you think has been keeping your father's secrets all these years? Protecting him from the evidence your mother collected?"
"Blackmailing him, you mean."
"I prefer to call it insurance." Victoria moved closer, her perfume—expensive, suffocating—filling my nostrils. "Your father's financial indiscretions could send him to prison for decades. My silence has been... valuable."
The pieces clicked into place—Victoria's power in our household, my father's capitulation to her demands, even when he clearly despised her.
"What does this have to do with me?" I asked, though I feared I already knew.
"Your relationship with Cassian Vexley threatens everything. The Vexley empire and Whitestone Holdings have business connections that must remain... undisturbed." Her eyes narrowed. "End it and return to London, or I'll ensure both your father's crimes and Cassian's involvement in them become very public knowledge."
"Cassian's involvement? What are you talking about?"
"Ask him." Her smile was venomous. "Ask him how he really knew your mother. Ask him why he really helped you escape."
Before I could respond, the studio door opened again. Cassian stood there, his expression darkening as he took in the scene.
"Victoria," he said coldly. "This is a surprise."
"Cassian." She turned, composing her features into a pleasant mask. "I was just catching up with my stepdaughter. Family matters."
"Seraphina is no longer your concern." He moved to my side, his hand finding mine in a deliberate gesture.
Victoria's eyes tracked the movement. "I see subtlety has been abandoned. How disappointing."
"I'm not interested in your approval," Cassian replied. "Or Frederick's."
"No, just his daughter." Victoria's gaze hardened. "Tell me, does she know the truth about you? About your connection to her mother?"
I felt Cassian tense beside me. "Victoria—"
"I thought not." She gathered her handbag, triumph in her eyes. "Well, this has been illuminating. I'll be sure to tell Frederick about this... development when he arrives tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I echoed.
"Yes, dear. I called him the moment Isolde confirmed my suspicions." She paused at the door. "Family reunions are so important, don't you think?"
After she left, silence fell between us. Cassian's hand still gripped mine, but a new tension radiated from him.
"What did she mean?" I finally asked. "About you knowing my mother?"
He released my hand, moving to the window. "It's complicated."
"Then uncomplicate it." My voice shook. "Did you know my mother?"
"Yes." The admission seemed torn from him. "Not well, but yes."
"And you never thought to mention this? In all these months?"
He turned, his expression pained. "I was going to tell you. When the time was right."
"When would that be, exactly? After Victoria used it against us?"
"Seraphina—"
"What else haven't you told me?" The hurt was morphing into anger. "Was this all some elaborate plan? Did you help me escape because of some obligation to my mother?"
"No!" He crossed to me, gripping my shoulders. "What I feel for you has nothing to do with your mother or the past. Nothing."
I wanted to believe him. God, how I wanted to. But doubt had taken root, fed by Victoria's insinuations and Isolde's warnings.
"We need to talk," I said. "About everything. No more secrets."
"We will." His eyes searched mine. "But not here. Not now. Your father arrives tomorrow, and we need to be prepared."
"Prepared for what?"
"For whatever he throws at us." His hands moved to frame my face. "I won't let him take you back, Seraphina. I won't let anyone separate us."
Despite my doubts, my body responded to his touch, leaning into him as it always did. "Promise me," I whispered. "Promise me there's nothing else I should know."
His hesitation was brief but unmistakable. "I promise that everything I've done has been to protect you."
Not quite the answer I sought, but before I could press further, his mouth found mine in a desperate kiss that swept away questions and doubts. His hands tangled in my hair, his body pressing mine against the drafting table with urgent need.
"Come home with me," he murmured against my lips. "Now."
We barely made it through his apartment door before clothes were discarded, hands exploring with frantic intensity. Our lovemaking had always been passionate, but this was different—tinged with fear, with the knowledge that tomorrow might change everything.
"I won't lose you," he whispered later as we lay tangled in his sheets, the Milan sunset painting his bedroom in gold. "Whatever your father says, whatever Victoria threatens—I won't let you go."
I traced the scar along his jaw, studying the face I'd come to love. "What if there's no choice?"
His eyes, dark with emotion, held mine. "There's always a choice, Seraphina. Always."
As night fell over Milan, I nestled against him, trying to ignore the growing certainty that our time together was running out—that the web Victoria had spent years spinning was finally closing around us both.
