My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 281

Chapter 281: Chapter 281 TO FRIENDS

SERAPHINA’S POV

I didn’t sleep. Not really.

I drifted in and out of something like rest, but every time my body tried to settle, my mind lurched and pulled me somewhere else.

First, it was filled with Lucian’s dark blue eyes. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Not angry. Not cold. Just...quietly disappointed.

I faced him in a vast, echoing hall, desperate to explain, but every word I tried to speak vanished into mist before it could reach him.

He watched me with that infuriating patience of his, as if he already knew how the story ended and was simply waiting for me to catch up.

He didn’t accuse or demand—only stayed back and let the space between us stretch until it hurt.

Then the scene fractured.

And there was Kieran.

The sharp line of his jaw, the way his shoulders bowed ever so slightly, as if holding himself upright required constant effort.

His obsidian eyes fixed on me, braced for impact, as if waiting for me was a storm he’d chosen to weather with no protection at all.

I reached out, fingers aching for the familiar solidity of him—

And he stepped back.

The dreams tangled after that.

Lucian and Kieran kept swapping places. Disappointment, anger, pain—emotions blurring until their faces became shapeless shadows.

One moment, Shadowveil’s cold stone pressed against my feet, the next, I wandered Nightfang’s halls, then Seabreeze’s endless sky spilled into everything, until I couldn’t tell where one place ended and the other began.

Fate. Choice.

Every time I thought I’d landed on one, the other dragged me under.

When morning finally arrived, it felt as if I’d been hauled through a gauntlet of barbed wire.

I stared at the ceiling, listening to the house wake around me: muffled footsteps, far-off laughter, the gentle hush of the sea beyond the windows.

My chest ached as if I’d spent the whole night holding my breath.

Eventually, I gave up on the idea of more sleep and got up.

The kitchen was quiet when I padded in, wrapped in an oversized sweater. The windows were washed in late-morning light, bright enough to strip the edges from shadows and remind me of my late start.

I busied myself with the coffee machine, grateful for the simplicity of the ritual. Measure. Pour. Wait.

My hands, however, wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Bad night?”

I flinched at the sound of Maris’ voice, then let out a breathy laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

She leaned against the counter opposite me, hair loosely braided, mug already in hand.

I envied the calm that radiated from her, as if she’d made peace with herself ages ago and never lost sleep over the weight of decisions.

“You look like someone who fought an entire war before breakfast,” she said lightly.

I poured the coffee a little too fast, then winced as it sloshed over the rim. “Didn’t sleep much.”

“Mmm.” She studied me over the edge of her mug. “Bad dreams?”

I hesitated. Then, instead of answering directly, I said, “Can I tell you a story?”

Her lips curved. “I love stories.”

I wrapped my hands around my own mug, grounding myself in the heat.

“Say there’s a girl,” I began, staring into the steam. “She’s been walking along a path her whole life. She didn’t necessarily love it, but it was all there was. It was...safe. Familiar. Hard, but predictable.”

Maris nodded but didn’t interrupt.

“And then one day,” I continued, “she realizes that path isn’t as straightforward as she thought. That she didn’t choose it—not really. It was chosen for her. And suddenly there’s another road. Unmarked. And it has a hundred branches, a million micro-choices. No guarantees. Just...possibility.”

I swallowed. “She doesn’t know whether staying on the old path is loyalty or fear. Or whether stepping onto the new one is courage or recklessness.”

Maris’ smile softened. “Sounds like your friend is very tired.”

I huffed out a laugh despite myself. “That too.”

“And she’s asking herself whether love is something you accept because it’s given to you,” I went on, “or something you build because you choose it.”

Maris took another sip of coffee. “And what does your friend want to know?”

“How to tell the difference,” I said quietly. “What’s the secret to happiness—fate or choice?”

For a moment, Maris was silent. I half-expected her to gently call me out, to say my friend sounded suspiciously like me.

Instead, she said, “If your friend is thinking about accepting new love, she could always ask Brett.”

I blinked. “Brett?”

She nodded, utterly calm. “He’s...uniquely qualified.”

I lowered my mug so the steam no longer blurred her face. “What do you mean?”

Maris watched the steam curl from her own mug, expression thoughtful. “We’re just like Selene and Adrian. Before me, Brett had a fated mate.”

The words landed softly—and still knocked the air from my lungs.

“Oh,” I breathed. “I didn’t...I thought you two...I had no idea.”

“Most people don’t,” she said. “It’s a part of his life he doesn’t like to look back on.”

I hesitated. “And you’re...okay with that?”

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