My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 450

Chapter 450: Chapter 450 FOLLOW THE SCENT

SERAPHINA’S POV

I was really beginning to hate mornings.

For a long moment, I didn’t open my eyes, desperate to cling to the warmth cocooning us for a while longer.

I was aware of Kieran before anything else—his arm heavy around my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck, the steady, grounding presence of him pressed along the length of my body.

The sheets were tangled low around us, the air still carrying the faint heat and scent of everything we had shared hours before. For once, my mind wasn’t racing ahead to the next problem, the next threat, the next decision waiting for me.

It was quiet.

Peaceful.

Dangerously easy to stay.

I shifted, and his hold tightened instinctively, a low, half-asleep sound rumbling in his chest.

“Don’t,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “It’s too early for the world to start demanding things.”

A soft huff of laughter slipped out of me. “If only the world cared.”

“It should,” he muttered, burying his face against my shoulder. “I’m Alpha.”

“Mm.” I turned in his arms and tapped him lightly on the nose. “You’re also about to be very late.”

His eyes snapped open.

“What time is it?”

I pushed myself up onto one elbow, glancing toward the window where sunlight had already begun to spill in far more generously than it had any right to. My stomach dropped.

“Later than it should be.”

Kieran swore under his breath, already sitting up. He raked a hand through his hair as the weight of duty settled on his face, eyes sharpening with reluctant resolve.

“The meeting,” he groaned.

“Yes,” I replied, swinging my legs off the bed, reaching for the nearest piece of clothing—Kieran’s shirt. “Tardiness on our first alliance strategy meeting is not a good look.”

“Damn it.”

There was no real panic in his tone, but urgency crackled in the air, chasing away the remnants of peace and blissful intimacy.

Kieran disappeared into the bathroom with a muttered comment about needing two minutes.

We had just barely crossed the line between rest and responsibility when a sharp, frantic knock broke through the air.

I jerked toward the sound.

It wasn’t the polite, measured kind of knock that came with formal summons or routine communication.

Another knock followed immediately, louder this time.

It was urgent. Desperate.

My heart skipped.

“Who the hell is that?” Kieran called out from inside the bathroom.

“I’ll get it,” I said quickly as I buttoned his shirt, fingers working faster than my thoughts could keep up.

I crossed the room in a few quick steps and pulled the door open.

My brows shot up to my hairline.

Celeste stood there, her chest rising and falling too quickly, her eyes wide and twitchy in a way that sent a sharp spike of alarm through me.

“Cel—”

She slipped past me so fast I barely had time to register it, brushing against my shoulder as she rushed into the room like something was chasing her.

“Celeste—wait—what’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t slow down.

She went straight for the far side of the room, yanked open the closet door and slipped inside, slamming it shut behind her.

I stood there, stunned into immobility.

Kieran stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, a towel wrapped around his waist, his expression shifting from irritation to confusion as he took in the scene.

“Did I just see Celeste run into our closet?”

I didn’t answer immediately.

Because something else had risen in my mind.

Something I hadn’t thought about in years. A memory I didn’t even realize I had.

Small hands clutching at hanging fabric.

Wide, frightened eyes.

A dark space.

A hiding place.

My chest tightened.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “She did.”

Kieran frowned. “What the hell?”

I crossed the room slowly, my pulse steadying not from calm but from recognition.

I had seen this before. I knew what this was.

I stopped in front of the closet door and rested my hand against it.

“Celeste,” I called out softly.

There was no answer, but I could hear her harsh, stuttered breaths.

“Hey,” I murmured, gentler now. “It’s me.”

I opened the closet door.

She had curled into herself in the corner, arms wrapped tight around her knees, her body trembling in a way she was clearly trying—and failing—to control.

For a moment, my throat closed, and tears burned hot behind my eyes, a helpless ache of memory crushing me.

Something about the way she had folded into herself, the way fear had stripped everything else away, made her look small. Like the little girl I always found huddled behind coats in the closet when she was scared.

I crouched down slowly.

“Hey,” I said again, softer this time.

Her head lifted, her eyes locking on mine, raw and glassy, and my breath stuttered at what I saw there.

Raw, unfiltered terror.

“It’s okay,” I murmured, reaching for her. “You’re okay.”

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