My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 496

Chapter 496: Chapter 496 HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SUNSHINE

SERAPHINA’S POV

I stayed with Jack long enough to feel the weight of his words settle in the air between us.

His presence, usually steady—an anchor when everything else was uncertain—now felt too close. Too bright. Like a flame held near skin already burned too many times.

I could still hear the echo of my mother’s voice from earlier, still feel the hollow space where my family’s rejection had landed and stayed, and now Jack’s certainty—his promise, his claim—pressed against that same wound in a way I did not know how to bear.

“I think I need to rest,” I said quietly.

Jack studied me for a moment, his expression shifting as though he wanted to argue, as though he wanted to close the distance between us with something firmer than patience.

But in the end, he only nodded.

“Of course,” he said softly. “I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

I managed a faint smile—awkward, uncertain, barely mine—and turned away quickly, needing distance before doubt could take hold.

The corridors of the estate were quieter now, the preparations in the distance softened into a distant pulse of life.

Every step felt like moving through layers of something I could not quite name, and that feeling had built all day, growing stronger with every hour.

I closed the door to my room behind me and leaned against it for a moment, pressing my palm flat against the wood as though I could steady myself through it.

The room was beautiful in that way Catherine always excelled at creating—soft golden lighting, open balcony doors letting in the sound of the ocean, fabrics that felt as if they had been chosen to soothe.

It should have felt like peace.

...why didn’t it?

I moved slowly toward the bed and sat down. My hands rested in my lap, and I tried to breathe through the uneasy tension in my chest, unsure if it was sorrow, fear, or something else entirely.

I closed my eyes, and instantly, fragments of images bombarded my mind.

A flash of a dark hallway.

The blur of trees under moonlight.

A voice calling my name.

A warm hand on mine.

A face that vanished before I could make sense of its features.

The sensation of falling, or maybe rising, or both at once.

And beneath it all, a pain so raw it felt like my insides were being sandpapered.

“Get it together, Sera,” I whispered to myself, pressing my fingers to my temple.

But the words did nothing to quiet it.

Instead, exhaustion pulled at me in slow waves, like the tide outside the balcony doors drawing the world in and out without permission.

Eventually, my thoughts became too heavy to hold, and I sank into sleep not because I chose to, but because I could not remain upright under the weight pressing inward.

It was not a peaceful sleep.

It was fractured, filled with half-formed images that dissolved the moment I reached for them.

And even when I woke, the pain persisted, like my heart was being shredded piece by piece.

***

The night of my birthday came in the blink of an eye.

Catherine had not simply prepared a celebration for my birthday. She had created an atmosphere that felt like stepping into a dream.

The estate had transformed. Soft lantern light floated through the gardens like captured stars, and the entire coastline of the Maldives shimmered beneath a sky so clear it looked almost unreal.

Music drifted through the air—live instruments, gentle and melodic, layered with the sound of waves meeting stone terraces.

Everywhere I looked, there were flowers arranged in cascading displays, white and gold blossoms woven into arches and pathways, petals scattered like offerings across marble floors.

I stood at the center of it all, awash in admiration and beauty, and felt my emotions swing between gratitude and a dizzying sense of exposure.

It was the way the lights softened when I moved, the way conversations hushed just slightly when I passed, the way people smiled at me as though I were something precious rather than simply present.

Catherine wore a gown that caught the light in subtle waves, silver threading through ivory fabric, her presence as composed and captivating as ever.

When her eyes met mine, her smile was like a thousand glowing stars.

“Happy birthday, sunshine,” she said.

I swallowed, emotion tightening in my throat before I could even respond. “It’s...beautiful.”

Her gaze softened in a way that made me feel as though she had been waiting a long time to hear me say something like that.

“You deserve beauty,” she replied simply.

And then she guided me forward into the celebration.

There was laughter, music rising and falling in perfect rhythm, the warmth of the people around me, who had never once raised their voices in anger, never once made me feel unwanted or misplaced.

Jack lingered around me for most of the evening, watching rather than interrupting, his expression unreadable but steady.

What overwhelmed me, more than anything, was the way the night slowly began to change as midnight approached.

It was subtle at first—a quiet shift in the atmosphere.

Conversations slowed. Laughter softened. Even the music seemed to hesitate between notes, as if something larger than the celebration was drawing attention inward.

Someone whispered it near me, though not loudly enough to feel intentional.

“Midnight...”

Another voice responded, lower, “If it doesn’t come tonight, it never will.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify