Callum stepped out of the estate's front entrance, briefcase in hand, the morning sun casting long shadows across the cobblestone drive. The car was already waiting, its door open. He moved briskly, focused, unreadable—as always.
Then came her voice.
"You forgot something."
He froze.
Seraphine stood atop the stairs, arms crossed, her face calm—far too calm.
He turned halfway, puzzled.
She didn't wait for him to come back. She descended the steps, her boots clicking, posture upright, every movement deliberate.
Callum's shoulders stiffened as she approached, stopping just a breath away. He saw nothing in her hands.
"What did I forget?"
"A kiss."
His brows twitched faintly. "This isn't some high school drama."
He turned again.
But her fingers caught his wrist—firm, unyielding.
And then, before he could speak or resist, her other hand slid behind his head, gripping it with a control so practiced he could not sway. She pulled him down just enough, her lips brushing his without hesitation.
The kiss wasn't gentle.
Seraphine didn't whisper softness. She owned the moment.
Her lips pressed into his like she had every right—calculated, slow, dominant. Her mouth moved against his with precision, brushing, deepening, withdrawing—then returning. She kissed like she'd trained for it, like she meant to leave a scar.
And when he didn't respond, when he stood too still beneath her grasp, she bit his lower lip—sharp but not cruel.
"Kiss back," she murmured, breath mixing with his.
There was something in her eyes—that familiar command, quiet but heavy. Not pleading. Not desperate. Just… certain.
And Callum—against instinct, against pride—obeyed.
He opened his lips.
Her mouth devoured his.
His world tilted slightly, the estate, the car, the driver—all falling into haze. He didn't kiss her back with force, not at first. But he let her take the lead, let her guide the rhythm. She kissed him without asking for a passionate reply but offering a warning. And somehow… he gave in.
When he finally gasped, short of breath, she pulled back—not with regret, but with a half-smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Was it your first?"
His eyes widened, heat crawling up his neck.
"Goodbye...husband," she said sweetly but with a face unromantic, stepping back with military grace.
Not running. Not taunting.
But Callum—though composed—walked faster than usual to the car, his ears tinged red.
Once inside, he dropped the briefcase beside him and exhaled. He didn't speak, didn't move for a while.
"No," he murmured quietly to himself. "It wasn't my first."
But it didn't feel like passion. Not like the kisses he once shared with Dahlia—gentle, warm, full of affection.
Seraphine's kiss… made him surrender.
And yet, strangely…
He didn't hate her for it.
His eyes closed, the ghost of her lips still on his. He drew a long breath, as if to pull the rest of himself back together.
But something had shifted.
And he wasn't sure he could ever go back.
---
Jonas had just arrived after sending Callum, he stood by the entrance, ever vigilant, when he noticed something unusual this morning. General Seraphine Elion was leaving for work later than usual—by three, maybe four minutes.
Seraphine's exit was typically precise, every step echoing with military purpose. Today, she brushed aside his disturbed looks with a clipped nod, her gaze forward as if nothing were amiss. But to Jonas—and to those silent observers—there was a subtle difference. Something in her stride was half a second slower.
---
Callum stepped out of the front door, briefcase in hand. The fading sunlight cast long shadows over the cobblestone drive.
Tonight, his pace was slower, his steps less assured. The residue of tequila and a day's heavy reminders weighed on him.
Jonas had been waiting by the car, his gaze already noticing the delay. However, he saw him. He approached quietly.
"Sir, you're leaving earlier than usual. Is everything all right?"
Callum paused, the cadence of his usually precise walk now laced with hesitation. His voice came out low and slightly unsteady.
"I… I suppose the day turned out heavier than I expected, Jonas."
Jonas studied him carefully for a brief moment. His tone remained even, though concern softened his words.
"Would you like to walk, sir? Some fresh air might help clear your mind."
Callum shook his head slowly, a rueful smile playing on his lips as he glanced at the comfortable interior of the waiting car.
"No, no. The car will do."
Jonas nodded, bringing up the car with smooth efficiency.
"Very well, sir. I'll have it started right away. Just… please take it easy on the ride home."
For a moment, Callum's eyes drifted toward the darkening sky as if searching for solace in the quiet.
"Thank you, Jonas. Tonight, all I want is a quiet ride and some solitude. No orders, no expectations."
As Jonas slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, Callum sat in the car, his expression unreadable yet undeniably altered by the day's cascade of events.
The car slowly pulled away.
---
Seraphine arrived just as twilight deepened, the estate bathed in the muted glow of streetlights. She stepped out of her vehicle and, with quiet resolve, made her way to the entrance. As she reached the foyer, she inquired in a measured tone,
"Is Callum already home?"
Jonas, always vigilant, looked up from the stack of documents on the side table. His calm expression betrayed a subtle concern as he answered,
"Yes, ma'am. He's sleeping in the car. He seemed deeply troubled."
A brief pause hung in the air as Seraphine processed the news. Without another word, she retrieved her leather bag from the foyer and moved swiftly towards their room to change.
After shedding her uniform's stringent lines for something softer—a dark, well-tailored outfit fit for the evening—Seraphine made her way to the parking area. The air was cool, and the hum of distant traffic underscored a quiet solitude.
Seraphine paused at the car's door, her steps measured and deliberate. She leaned over and gently rapped on the window, the sound a delicate invitation. The glass vibrated with the touch of her knuckles against it.
Inside, Callum shifted, stirring from the haze of his half-awake intoxication. His eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep and lingering sorrow. The first sight he caught was the steady, determined gaze of Seraphine, set against a backdrop of cold moonlight and the gentle murmur of the wind.
"Open the door or I will break it."
Her voice carried both authority and care—a blend of command and unexpected tenderness. Callum's head lolled slightly as he pushed himself upright. Though still drunk and half-asleep, he recognized her tone well.
"Seraphine…?"
He blinked, the remnants of his troubled reverie swirling in his eyes. Slowly, as if reluctant to leave the warmth of sleep and the comfort of his troubled thoughts, he emerged from the car. Seraphine's steady hand brushed against his arm as she guided him from the vehicle, ensuring he maintained his balance.
In the cool embrace of the parking area, beneath a sky smeared with the deep blues of dusk, the air between them pulsed with unspoken words.
As they moved slowly through the dimly lit driveway toward their house, every step carried the weight of the day—the heaviness of unspoken words and lingering pain. The quiet crunch of gravel underfoot set an intimate rhythm.
Midway through the walk, Callum stopped abruptly.
His eyes, still shadowed with a mix of fatigue and the residual haze of drink, met hers. For a moment, the space between them seemed to pause, as if the world itself were holding its breath. Then, in a voice softened by vulnerability and raw need, he said,
"Sera... I want a kiss."