Seraphina's Point Of View
I groaned.
Not the soft kind. The ugly, dragged-out kind that clawed its way out of my throat before I could stop it.
Every inch of my body screamed.
It wasn't just soreness… it was the kind of deep, bone-heavy ache that made it feel like I'd been hit by a truck, backed over, then dragged for good measure. My thighs throbbed. My hips burned. My lower back felt like it had been snapped and poorly stitched back together.
"What the fuck…" I whispered hoarsely.
My eyes stayed shut, because opening them felt like too much effort, like if I did, reality would slam into me harder than whatever had already wrecked my body.
My head was pounding. Not a dull ache… sharp, relentless, like something was drilling into my skull from the inside.
Memories fluttered at the edges of my mind, just out of reach. Shadows. Heat. Voices.
Men.
I sucked in a breath, and hissed when my chest tightened.
Slowly, cautiously, I forced my eyes open.
The first thing I saw was the ceiling.
White. Smooth. Too clean.
I blinked once. Twice.
That wasn't my ceiling.
My heart skipped violently as panic crawled up my spine. I turned my head, and instantly regretted it. Pain exploded behind my eyes, making me groan again.
"Okay… okay…" I muttered, swallowing hard. "Where the hell am I?"
The room was massive. Dark wood accents. Heavy curtains pulled halfway open, letting in a soft slice of morning light. Everything looked expensive. Intimidating. Like I didn't belong here.
Then I felt it.
The air against my skin.
Bare skin.
My breath caught.
Slowly… too slowly, I looked down.
I was naked.
Completely.
My hands flew up on instinct, slapping over my breasts as if that would somehow undo it, as if modesty could be salvaged after whatever the hell had happened.
"Oh my God…" I gasped.
The sheets were tangled around my legs, silk or satin or something equally sinful, clinging to my skin like it knew secrets I didn't.
And then… Movement.
I froze.
Three silhouettes. My head snapped to the side. They were there. All three of them. Sitting. Standing. Watching.
My heart slammed so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest.
"What…" My voice cracked. "What are you doing here?!"
Lucian was lounging in a chair near the window, one ankle resting on his knee, fingers steepled under his chin. Calm. Infuriatingly calm. His pale eyes flicked over me with open interest, not even trying to hide it.
Draven was closer. Too close. Standing near the foot of the bed, arms crossed, his expression dark, unreadable, like a storm waiting for permission to break.
Azriel leaned against the wall, smirk already tugging at his lips, his gaze sharp and knowing, as if he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
I scrambled backward, clutching the sheets to my chest. "Don't look at me!"
Azriel chuckled softly. "A little late for that, sweetheart."
My stomach dropped.
My pulse roared in my ears.
"What happened?" I demanded, my voice shaking despite my effort to sound strong. "Why am I here?"
Lucian tilted his head, studying me like a fascinating puzzle. "You don't remember?"
My mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
And then, it hit me.
Not all at once. Not clean. It crashed into me in fragments, violent and overwhelming. The hospital room. The sterile smell. The doctor's voice, too gentle, too rehearsed.
"You have six months left."
Six.
Months.
My chest tightened as if I was back there again, staring at the white walls, my future shrinking into a countdown.
Then… my boyfriend. My best friend. Their tangled bodies. The betrayal burning hotter than the diagnosis ever had.
The bar. The alcohol. The desperation. The way I'd wanted to forget. To disappear. To feel anything other than fear. The men.
These men.
My breath hitched sharply.
"Oh God…" I whispered.
Lucian's lips curved. "There it is."
I shook my head violently. "No. No, no, no…"
Draven took a step forward.
I flinched.
"Easy," he said, his voice low, rough. "You're safe."
Safe?
The word felt absurd.
"I…" My throat closed. My voice dropped to a whisper. "I remember agreeing to forget. Just for one night."
Azriel's smirk softened into something unreadable. "And you did."
Heat crept up my neck as my body betrayed me with memories I didn't fully see, only felt… heat, closeness, hands guiding, voices murmuring my name like it mattered.
I swallowed hard.
My hands trembled.
"I…" My eyes burned. "I've never… I mean, I was…"
Lucian rose slowly from his chair, his movements unhurried, deliberate. Power rolled off him without effort.
"Untouched." he completed.
I nodded before I could stop myself. The room went still. Silence stretched, thick and suffocating. My mind raced, spiraling, connecting pieces I wasn't ready to face.
The soreness.
The way my body felt different. Open. Changed. Permanent. My chest tightened painfully. I stared down at my trembling hands clutching the sheets. A single thought crashed through me, loud and unforgiving.
I'm…
The word echoed in my head like it had nowhere to land.
My breath hitched.
Not a soft hitch. Not a shy one. It tore out of my chest, sharp and broken, like my lungs suddenly remembered they belonged to a body that had been used, stretched past something I could never undo.
I'm no longer a virgin?
The realization didn't settle gently. It slammed into me, violent and unforgiving. My stomach dropped so hard I thought I might be sick. Heat crawled up my spine, not pleasure… never that, but humiliation, thick and choking.
I stared at them again.
Really looked this time.
Three men.
Three.
The room tilted slightly, like the world was mocking me, daring me to keep my balance. My fingers tightened in the sheets, knuckles whitening as another wave of shock crashed over me.
I slept with three friends.
The thought felt unreal, like it belonged to someone else's life. Someone reckless. Someone empty enough not to care. But the ache between my thighs, the bruised soreness, the way my body felt… changed, proved it was mine.
My mouth opened.
I was about to speak.
About to scream.
About to demand answers, apologies, something;
"I have to admit," Lucian said.
His voice cut through the room with surgical precision, smooth and cruel and entirely too calm. I turned to him slowly, my heart pounding as dread curled in my gut.
"I have to admit," Lucian repeated, his voice dripping with a silken, condescending edge. "For a first-timer, you were surprisingly… efficient. Most girls with your 'lack of experience' are a clumsy mess. You? You took it like you had something to prove. Impressive, in a desperate sort of way."
The word desperate hit me like a physical blow.
Not metaphorical. Not emotional.
Physical.
My chest tightened violently, breath stalling halfway in. It felt like he'd reached inside me and crushed something vital between his fingers. The warmth in my blood turned to ice, spreading fast, numbing and sharp all at once.
"Efficiency?" I whispered.
My voice cracked on the word, thin and disbelieving, like it didn't belong to me anymore. I looked at Draven.
He was watching me… really watching, but his face was locked down, stony, unreadable. No regret. No softness. Just control. Always control.
Then Azriel.
He looked almost bored.
Bored.
As he toyed with a stray lock of my hair, twirling it around his finger like it meant nothing, like I meant nothing.
That's when it hit.
Not a queen. Not desired. Not chosen.
The reality crashed down on me with brutal clarity. I wasn't a "queen" for a night. I was a novelty. A shared experience. A toy they had passed between themselves to see if it would break.
Something inside me snapped.
Fury surged up, hot and blinding, burning through the pain in my chest like gasoline on fire. My hands moved before my mind could catch up. I scrambled up on the bed, the silk sheet sliding off my body, pooling uselessly around my thighs.
Lucian didn't even have time to finish his smirk.
CRACK.
The sound was loud. Sharp. Final.
My palm connected with his cheek so hard my own hand went numb instantly, pain shooting up my arm. His head snapped to the side, the echo ricocheting off the walls like a gunshot in the cavernous room.
"How dare you," I hissed.
The words shook, but not with fear. With rage so intense it felt like it might tear me apart from the inside. "How dare you speak to me like that."
Lucian's hand went to his face slowly.
Too slowly.
When he looked back at me, his eyes flashed with a lethal, silver light I hadn't seen before. Something dangerous stirred beneath his calm.
Behind him, Draven straightened.
The air changed.
His presence pressed down on me, dark and suffocating, like the room itself had decided to take sides.
I didn't care.
I turned on Azriel, fury refocusing like a blade. He had sat up now, surprise flickering across his face, clearly not expecting this.
"And you," I snapped, pointing a shaking finger at his chest. "Thank your lucky stars you're hot, Azriel. Because if you weren't, I would have slapped you so hard your head would have rearranged itself to your back."
"Princess…" Azriel started, that reckless grin trying to crawl back onto his face like a bad habit.
"Shut up! Don't call me that!" I screamed.
The word princess felt like mockery now. Like they were laughing at how easily I'd been fooled.
I scanned the room wildly, my gaze landing on the floor where my clothes lay discarded.
Ruined.
The silk top was torn down the side. The skirt was stretched, stained, unwearable.
"My clothes are trashed," I said, my voice breaking again, this time sharp with frustration and humiliation. "I need something to wear. Now."
"We can get you a dress…" Lucian began, his voice low, dangerous.
"I don't want a dress!" I snapped. "I want a shirt and shorts. Now!"
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Azriel surprised me.
He stood, walked to a drawer, and pulled out a pair of black gym shorts and a soft, oversized t-shirt. He tossed them at me without a word.
I caught them, hands trembling.
I threw them on quickly, the fabric swallowing me, hanging loose and wrong. It smelled like him… clean, faintly spicy, and I hated that my body reacted at all.
I grabbed my purse from the nightstand. I didn't even remember bringing it here, but my fingers clenched the strap like it was the only real thing left.
"You're all assholes," I said, backing toward the door.
My voice shook, but I didn't stop.
I looked at Draven last.
The silent one.
The scariest one.
"I came here to feel alive," I told him, my chest aching. "You just made me feel like trash. Let our paths never cross again."
Then I turned and ran.
I didn't wait for them to stop me.
I bolted through the mansion, heart pounding, bare feet slapping against marble floors, through hallways too big and too empty, until I burst out a side door into the cold morning air.
I didn't stop until I hit the gravel of the main road.
The sky was gray. Damp. Heavy.
As the iron gates blurred behind me, the adrenaline drained away, leaving nothing but a hollow, crushing ache.
The first sob broke out of me before I could stop it.
"Don't," I choked, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of Azriel's shirt. "Don't you dare cry for them."
I walked toward the road, the oversized shorts slipping low on my hips. I looked like a wreck.
I felt worse.
"That's what you get, Seraphina," I whispered to the empty street. "That's what you get for playing at being a whore when you're just a girl with a timer."
The fairytale wedding I'd once dreamed of… the moonlight honeymoon, the forever Adrian had promised, was gone. Tossed aside like it never mattered.
I had traded my last shred of dignity for a night with three monsters who didn't even know my name.
I flagged down a taxi, my heart heavy as stone.
"Where to, miss?" the driver asked.
"Anywhere but here," I whispered.
As the car pulled away, I stared at my reflection in the window. Swollen lips. Marked skin. A stranger's shirt.
And the thought came back, relentless, impossible to outrun.
I'm no longer a virgin?