Theo's POV
My brothers look like they've been chewed up by the wedding industry and spit back out for a refund. Kaiden's shirt is wrinkled, Zaire's hair has given up entirely, and both have the thousand-yard stare of men who have seen horrors no man should face—namely, constant client revisions.
"You two look great," I say flatly.
"Shut up," Zaire mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. "This wedding is a nightmare. Jill changes the floral arrangements every twelve hours and Jack keeps insisting on adding 'just one more' chandelier to the reception tent."
Kaiden throws his head back. "Is it possible to lightly wring a client's neck without breaking the contract?"
"Sure," Zaire says. "As long as you write it into the catering schedule and call it 'interactive entertainment.'"
I sip my coffee and let them spiral. There's no point trying to put out this fire—you just wait until it burns itself out.
---
By the time I'm ready to meet Seraphine, I'm mentally prepared for chaos. She's… difficult to describe without sounding like I'm exaggerating. Poised, sharp, and somehow still glowing despite running entirely on caffeine, willpower, and maybe two hours of sleep.
We make it to the garage, and her eyes go wide at the sight of my hummer. Without hesitation, she tries to climb up like a determined raccoon after a garbage can.
"May I?" I ask.
She pauses mid-climb and nods, smiling. I grip her waist and lift her effortlessly until she's perched comfortably in the seat.
"You've done this before," she teases.
"Only with people who need it."
I fasten her seatbelt, and she glances down at the way she's sitting. "I probably look like a toddler in this seat."
"Nope," I say bluntly. "You look like a princess."
Her cheeks color, but she covers it with a deep breath. "Okay… let's work. They sent me several photos of what they want." She fires up her laptop. "Let's go make arrangements."
---
Working with Seraphine is… easy, in a way most people aren't. She's decisive, focused, and her brain works like mine—always three steps ahead, considering the logistics. But it's chaos. Jack and Jill's demands arrive in a constant drip-feed of madness. A forest theme one hour, crystal ballroom the next.
I quietly agree with Kaiden's earlier suggestion about neck-wringing.
As she scrolls through the latest "urgent" list, I notice the tension in her hands, the flicker of frustration in her eyes. She doesn't complain—she just adjusts, re-plans, keeps going.
We create something simple, elegant, practical. A design that could be breathtaking even if half the plan changed. I think we've nailed it.
Then her phone buzzes.
She reads the message. And without a word, she closes her laptop.
Core theme? Changed. Again.
---
I drive. She doesn't ask where we're going.
When we pull up, she blinks at the building. "A gym?"
"When I'm frustrated, it's best to beat the living shit out of something," I say.
Her smile returns. "That… sounds great."
I step out, open her door, and offer a hand. She takes it.
A few minutes later, she's changed into boxing gear—shorts, tank, gloves. I stand in front of her with the stance of an old coach.
"Don't hold back," I tell her. "You're still holding back."
She glares, then punches. Hard. The impact travels up my arms and I'm impressed enough to raise a brow.
---
She collapses onto the bench afterward, sweat dampening her hair. "What am I going to do, Theo?"
I sit beside her, listening.
"I'm this close—this close—to designing a rainbow scene or maybe a color-cha—" She stops mid-word, like she's just discovered gravity.
Her eyes light up. "A conventional solution is impossible. But a magical one… isn't. Witches. Shapeshifters. We can hire shapeshifting florists who change the flowers instantly, or witches who can cast an illusion over the entire venue. Jill changes her mind? Fine—snap your fingers, new theme."
I watch her, filing away the fact that she doesn't just adapt—she weaponizes the chaos.
As she starts texting contacts, I ask, "Do you always find solutions this fast?"
She glances at me, surprised. "You mean…?"
"I mean, even when it's impossible, you don't stop."
For a moment, she just studies me, like she's realizing I've seen something she wasn't trying to show. Then she smiles faintly and goes back to her phone.
I don't push. Some truths don't need to be spoken to be understood.
---
We're hunched over her laptop in the corner of the gym's juice bar, her hair still damp from the workout, cheeks flushed, eyes alight with a sharp kind of excitement. She's calling in favors with the precision of a general plotting a war campaign—short, clipped sentences; no wasted words.
"Six shifters for the floral team," she says into her phone. "Color spectrum training up to Tier Four… No, I don't care if they can also do balloon animals. And three witches, minimum Level Two in large-scale glamour spells. Yes, with insurance."
I watch the way her hands move as she talks. She doesn't fidget, doesn't stall. Every motion is deliberate. Even the pauses are intentional, like she's letting the world catch up to her brain.
"You always this… decisive?" I ask.
Her eyes flick up briefly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
I shrug. "You take a problem, even one that's designed to make you fail, and you turn it into something that works for you. Most people panic. Or compromise."
She arches a brow. "And you think I don't compromise?"
"I think you've had to get good at solving problems without waiting for someone else to step in," I say, voice even. "Like it's not new to you. Like you've done it before."
There's a moment of silence, and I can see I've hit something. Not a nerve exactly—more like a locked drawer she didn't expect me to notice.
"You're… observant," she says carefully.
"I watch," I say simply.
Her lips twitch in a faint smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Sometimes watching is the only way to survive."
We don't speak for a minute. She finishes one call, starts another, all business again. But I can tell—she knows I saw it. That flicker of something in her that's equal parts strength and scar tissue.
---
By the time the calls are done, we've got a working plan:
Shapeshifting florists to handle Jill's mood swings.
A glamour spell woven over the venue to change the theme instantly.
A supernatural crew handpicked by Seraphine herself, who all treat her like she's the only client worth having.
"You ever notice," I say, "that when you give orders, no one questions you?"
She grins, a sharp flash of teeth. "That's because I know exactly what I want. And I don't waste time pretending otherwise."
"And people just… listen."
"They listen," she corrects, "because I make it worth their while. And if that fails, I make it very clear what happens if they don't."
I believe her. Completely.
---
By the time we get back to the venue, the supernatural crew is already waiting.
Six shapeshifters, all in identical black jumpsuits, are lounging like a synchronized intimidation squad. Each one's hair and eye color shifts every few seconds—blue to silver to green—as if they're cycling through a catalog.
Three witches stand apart, sipping coffee and radiating I could hex you without spilling my drink energy. One of them has a notebook that seems to be writing on its own.
Kaiden and Zaire are already there, watching the newcomers with a mix of interest and mild suspicion.
"Don't tell me these are your Plan B?" Kaiden asks.
"Plan B?" Seraphine says, stepping out of the Hummer like she just descended from a runway. "This is Plan A. The only plan. The rest of you just haven't caught up yet."
Zaire snorts. "And here I thought 'magical theme-shifting floral crew' wasn't on the approved budget list."
"It wasn't," she says, striding past him. "But neither was dealing with Jill's hourly emotional breakdowns. Consider it… preventative spending."
Kaiden leans toward me. "Is it possible to love someone more every time they threaten financial ruin?"
I don't answer. My focus is on her—how she doesn't waste a single second. She's giving the shapeshifters instructions in a tone that's not loud, but absolutely unarguable. Each witch gets her exact placement, timing, and parameters for the glamour spell. There's no shouting, no posturing—just control so effortless it makes my skin prickle.
Zaire mutters, "So this is her 'softie' side you were talking about?"
Kaiden grins. "Soft like a diamond."
---
I keep catching little things—the way she studies each crew member like she's assessing both their strengths and their breaking points, the way she adjusts her language depending on who she's talking to. She's running this like she's done it before… and I'm starting to think she has.
When the first test run starts, the room transforms in an instant. A sea of white and gold morphs into deep crimson and black lace with a shimmer, then into pastel spring blossoms, then into glittering frost and crystal. All seamless. All flawless.
Kaiden whistles low. "This is… actually genius. We could just tell Jill we'll 'start the theme change in an hour' and just hit the switch last minute."
"That's the point," Seraphine says, satisfaction curling in her voice.
---
Once the crew breaks for lunch, I walk up to her. "You've done something like this before."
She doesn't even try to deny it. "You don't pull this kind of thing out of thin air."
"Military?" I ask.
Her lips twitch. "Not officially. But let's just say… I've had to manage complicated moving parts with high stakes and unpredictable variables."
"You mean people," I say.
"Exactly." She glances at me, eyes sharp. "And you notice more than you talk about."
I don't answer right away. "Someone has to."
For a second, it's quiet between us. Not tense—just… mutual recognition.
---