My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 449

Chapter 449: Chapter 449 A BATTLEFIELD

CELESTE’S POV

I had never thought of a kitchen as a battlefield before.

Not the kind with blood and claws, but this—this felt perilously close in its own way.

The clatter of utensils, the hiss of heat, the sharp, watchful glances that slid toward me and then quickly away, all pressed against my nerves in a way that made me wonder if a battlefield wasn’t easier to bear.

I stood there anyway.

Because walking away would have been easier.

And I was done choosing easy.

The knife felt unfamiliar in my hand at first, its weight slightly off, the balance something my fingers didn’t quite trust.

I adjusted my grip, forcing myself to slow down, to pay attention the way I had during Sera’s mind-wandering sessions—deliberate, grounded, present.

“You’re holding it too tight.”

I flinched before I could stop myself, the blade pausing mid-air as I turned toward the voice.

One of the older kitchen staff stood a few feet away, her expression carefully neutral, though there was a flicker of something softer in her eyes—concern, maybe, or cautiousness.

“I’m fine,” I said, voice tight and brittle.

Her gaze lingered for a moment longer, then she inclined her head. “If you say so.”

She didn’t come closer.

None of them did.

They gave me space—wide, noticeable space, like I might shatter if they brushed against me too hard or, worse, like I might lash out.

A part of me didn’t blame them.

Another part of me hated it.

I exhaled slowly, unclenched my jaw, and deliberately dropped my shoulders.

The vegetables in front of me blurred for a second before coming back into focus. I shifted the knife in my grip, loosening my fingers just slightly and then placing the blade in position to continue cutting.

I brought the blade down in a steady rhythm, each cut cleaner than the last.

There.

Better.

This wasn’t me.

Or at least, it hadn’t been.

Once, there had always been someone else to do this for me. Servants, attendants, people whose names I hadn’t bothered to remember because they never mattered more than if they were punctual with my meals or not.

All of that was gone. The kingdom I had built for myself had crumbled.

I swallowed against a sudden lump in my throat and kept cutting.

Sera’s voice echoed faintly in the back of my mind, calm and steady the way it always was when she guided me through the fractured pieces of myself, separating what Catherine had planted as illusion.

‘Focus on what’s yours. What’s real.’

The kitchen.

The knife in my hand.

The scent of herbs and heat rising into the air.

My breath slowed.

It worked.

It had been working more often lately.

The sessions were exhausting in a way I couldn’t quite put into words, like clawing through fog and broken glass at the same time, but they had given me something I hadn’t realized I’d lost.

A sense of...solidity.

Of being someone instead of something hollow and splintered.

My memories still weren’t whole. They came in pieces and flashes, like dreams that slipped through my fingers the moment I tried to hold onto them.

But some of them stayed. Most of them came back as dreams.

Especially the ones with Sera.

I paused, the knife hovering again as a memory surfaced unbidden.

Sunlight.

Laughter.

The feeling of small fingers laced with mine as we ran through grass too tall for our legs.

I blinked, and the kitchen snapped back into place around me.

The lump in my throat grew, raw and aching.

I set the knife down carefully and reached for an onion, my movements slower but more certain this time.

This mattered.

Not because the dish had to be perfect—it probably wouldn’t be—but because I had chosen to do it.

Because I had decided that I wasn’t going to keep running from the things I’d done...or the things I hadn’t done.

Mireya.

Her name alone made something in my chest tighten.

The guilt her presence had elicited had sat in me like a stone for days, heavy and suffocating.

But it had been...quieter lately. Less sharp. Less all-consuming.

I could think around it now, could breathe without it choking me.

And with that clarity had come something else.

It didn’t belong, but...

It wasn’t unfamiliar.

In the worst possible way.

My pulse stuttered.

I had no business at the reception. I knew Kieran and Sera had important visitors this week, and I had no intention of crossing paths with any of them.

But my feet moved anyway, slow and cautious, drawn by something I couldn’t ignore.

The scent grew stronger with each step.

And with it—a memory.

Darkness.

A corridor.

The muted elegance of polished floors and dim lighting.

My breath caught as unease prickled at the back of my neck.

I was there again. I could feel it.

The unease that had prickled at the back of my neck.

The split second of awareness before everything had gone wrong.

My heart started to race.

No.

No, no—

A hand clamping over my mouth.

The sharp, suffocating scent filling my lungs as I struggled—

My vision blurred.

My grip slipped, my arms jerking as the tray tipped off-balance and dropped from my hands to the floor.

Porcelain shattered against marble, the sound loud and jarring in the quiet space, food scattering in every direction.

I didn’t even flinch.

I was too focused on that scent.

On the way it settled deep in my bones and poured ice into my veins.

It was the last thing I’d smelled in the hall of the Vesper Grand hotel before everything went black.

“They’re here,” I whispered, my voice barely audible even to myself.

The person who’d kidnapped me—who’d slammed a hand over my mouth and carried me out of the hotel—was here.