It's been a year since Sera left to finish her task in a far province of the country. Also, Callum's year of indulging himself with work, cigarettes, and whiskey.
Callum, sent by his father, went to fetch Sera at the camp but he sent Jonas instead.
Along the drive, Sera remained sleeping.
For the week, Sera remained in the house.
When Jonas and Callum, reached the Avienne Hall just as the last hues of dusk melted into night. The lamps that lined the stone pathway flickered to life one by one, casting golden pools on the gravel.
Callum stepped into the foyer first.
It smelled different now.
Fresher.
Brighter.
His eyes swept the surroundings automatically. The rug had been changed into a woven in hues of muted green and cream. A low shelf stood near the entryway now, home to a trio of succulents in tiny ceramic pots. Ferns curled out of an aged brass planter by the staircase.
His gaze drifted upward, drawn toward the hallway wall where the familiar portraits hung. Each frame gleamed faintly under a lover's touch of fresh dust. But then, his eyes stopped at a new addition: their wedding picture, perfectly nestled among the others.
In that breathless moment, his heart quieted as layers of deep emotion and broken hope washed over him. The photograph captured more than just a moment in time. It carried the weight of every vow once spoken, every secret promise shared in whispers, and every dream they had built together, only to see it all slip away.
"Dahlia," he whispered.
A bittersweet warmth stirred within him. He ached for what they had lost, yet beneath the sorrow lingered a quiet gratitude for the fragile, beautiful memories that time had failed to erase.
It was as if the simple act of dusting had polished not only the frames but had also brushed back those memories to stabbing clarity.
He lingered staring it and was only put to move when Jonas tapped his shoulder and said, "Sir, are you alright?"
Callum blinked. The haze of memory receded, and he offered a small, wistful smile before nodding.
"Yeah," he said softly.
And in the fresh air of the house, he realized Sera is in.
"Jonas."
Callum's voice was quiet, but there was an unusual certainty in it.
Jonas answered right away. "Yes, sir?"
A faint smile touched Callum's lips as he stared back at their wedding photo into its frame.
"I suddenly remembered something."
"What is it, sir?"
"Today is our second wedding anniversary."
The words hung in the air for a moment.
Jonas blinked, unsure how to respond.
Callum turned to him.
"Let's go out."
Without another question, Jonas followed.
The walked quieter than usual.
"Sir," Jonas asked, glancing toward the parking area, "what car are we going to use?"
Callum answered softly.
"We'll use our feet."
For the first time that evening, Jonas heard genuine warmth in his voice.
They walked through familiar streets, passing convenience stores, late-night vendors, and couples lingering beneath neon signs. Callum led the way with surprising confidence, as though he had walked this route countless times before.
Eventually, they stopped before a café that never closed.
The warm light spilling through its glass windows stood in stark contrast to the darkness outside.
Jonas frowned.
"A café?"
"Not exactly."
The bell above the door chimed as they entered.
The moment Jonas stepped inside, his eyes widened.
The place looked nothing like an ordinary café.
Paintings covered nearly every wall. Landscapes, portraits, abstract pieces, and sketches filled the room with color and life. Easels stood in corners. The plates, spoons, forks and mugs are sculptures of desire, fashion , beauty and emotions. Shelves displayed handmade crafts and sculptures. A few customers sat quietly painting while sipping coffee.
It felt less like a business and more like a sanctuary for memories.
A woman behind the counter looked up and smiled the moment she saw Callum.
"Good evening, Sir Callum."
"Good evening, Mara."
The familiarity between them surprised Jonas.
"What art are you going to make today?" she asked.
Callum's gaze drifted toward a display case near the counter.
Inside were handcrafted keepsakes such as, lockets, engraved charms, miniature sculptures, and custom-made coins.
For a brief moment, his reflection appeared in the glass beside them.
Then he smiled.
"Prepare me a charm coin."
Mara's expression softened immediately, as though she understood exactly what the request meant.
"Right away, sir."
---
A few minutes later, Mara returned and guided Callum toward a workstation near the back of the dining area.
Unlike the cozy seating area, this section resembled an artist's studio. Small tools were neatly arranged across a wooden table. Tiny hammers, engraving pens, polishing cloths, and trays of unfinished charms lay beneath warm hanging lamps.
Mara placed several blank silver coins before him.
"Would you like me to make it for you, sir?"
Callum shook his head.
"No."
His voice was gentle but firm.
"I'll do it myself."
Mara smiled knowingly and stepped aside.
Jonas pulled up a chair nearby and sat quietly.
For a long moment, Callum simply stared at the blank piece of silver resting in his palm.
---
The moment Callum touched the metal silver, Jonas realized something.
This wasn't his first time.
Callum's hands moved with practiced precision, steady and deliberate. There was no hesitation in his strokes, no uncertainty in the way he guided the tool across the blank surface. Every movement was measured, every line intentional.
Mara noticed Jonas' amusement.
A knowing smile tugged at her lips as she bid her leave and went quietly to resume arranging supplies behind the counter.
Jonas had seen Callum lead businesses through impossible situations. He had watched him flip papers with frightening accuracy and make life-or-death decisions without blinking.
Yet somehow, seeing him create something so delicate felt far more impressive.
The café drifted through the night around them.
Customers came and went.
Conversations rose and faded.
Coffee cups emptied and were refilled.
Still, Callum never once did he lift his gaze from the coin.
Nearly four hours later, he finally set down the engraving tool.
"Jonas, what's the time?"
"10:48 pm, already sir."
Callum stood and stretches his hands while Jonas take the chance and immediately leaned forward.
The first side of the silver coin had transformed into a beautiful white lily.
Every petal had been carved with painstaking detail.
Elegant.
Pure.
Timeless.
The flower seemed almost alive beneath the warm light.
"A lily?"
Jonas thumb gently brushed over the engraving.
His eyes softened.
"Ma'am Seraphine loved lilies."
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"She said lilies reminded her that even after the harshest winters, something beautiful still finds a way to bloom."
For a moment, silence settled between them.
Then Callum sit, flipped the coin over and began again.
Another hour passed.
The city outside slipped deeper into the night.
Jonas eventually wandered off to work on his own small craft project but when he cannot be satisfied, he decided to sit and sip his coffee slowly.
When he finally returned, Callum was polishing the finished coin.
"Are you done, sir?" Jonas asked.
Callum nodded.
Jonas immediately snatched the coin before he could stop him.
"Hey—"
Jonas was already reading. His eyes scanned the engraving.
"God protects."
Simple.
Only two words yet it carried the weight of countless prayers.
For years, Callum knew Sera had protected others.
Now, all he could do was entrust her to the protection of the Creator.
Callum took the coin back and held it in his palm. For a long moment, he simply stared at it.
---
It was already 11: 49 pm when they arrived.
He walked to their room.
He opened it.
It wasn't locked.
Inside, the room was bathed in amber light from a wall sconce she must've lit earlier. The curtains were pulled open to the moonlit garden. Books were stacked neatly beside the bed, and on the windowsill, a lavender plant stretched toward the night sky.
The colors were bold but soft dusty rose, emerald, pale blue.
Her desk had hand-penned letters stacked under a stone paperweight, and on the dresser, a framed photo of Sera in uniform with her father, both saluting, faces unreadable.
There was nothing of him here.
And yet, for a moment, he stood there longer than he meant to—absorbing a life that had always been more disciplined, more colorful, more certain than his.
---
Downstairs, soft voices filtered in from the kitchen.
He didn't make a sound as he descended the stairs.
From the hallway, hidden by shadow, he saw her—Seraphine—with her sleeves rolled up, speaking to the maids in her usual calm tone. Her hair was loosely tied now, a few strands falling as she reached for vegetables.
She wasn't directing.
She was doing.
Slicing, stirring, tasting.
Then, Sera's face turned sour."
"Ma'am this has been your tenth cake," the maid softly chuckle.
Callum leaned against the archway quietly, unnoticed.
A flicker of warmth spread in his chest—confusing in its simplicity.
He didn't move.
He just watched her, her movements quiet and steady, the soft laughter of the staff mixing with the crackle of oil and the bubbling of soup.
And somehow, without meaning to, he stayed there longer than he ever had.
---
The crash of porcelain shattered through the estate's dining hall, followed by a sharp gasp—a sound that struck Callum like a knife.
He turned just in time to see the steaming dish tip forward, the scalding liquid cascading down Seraphine's shoulder.
She flinched. Her breath caught, but she didn't make a sound.
Callum was already moving. He didn't hesitate. He didn't think.
His hands were on her before the maids could react, fingers gripping the fabric of her dress at her back—pulling, exposing the burned skin beneath.
The maids startled, some reaching to help, others frozen in uncertainty.
"Get the ointment kit," he ordered, his voice sharp, leaving no room for delay.
One of the younger maids bolted toward the medicine cabinet.
Callum's gaze locked on the angry red blotch blooming across her back, his jaw tightening. His movements were swift and precise, pressing a cool cloth to the wound, his touch firm but careful.
Sera stiffened beneath his hands—but not in pain.
She should feel it. The sting, the raw ache. Should recoil from the heat that had seared her skin.
But she felt none of it.
Only the urgency in Callum's grip, the intensity in his eyes, and the way his hands steadied her with a certainty made the burn feel secondary.
She swallowed.
"I'm fine, it's not that hot," she murmured, though even she wasn't sure if she meant the wound—or the way his presence overshadowed it entirely.
Callum didn't answer.
He only continued tending to her, his focus unwavering.
The maid trembled, hands pressed to the cold stone floor, her voice tight with desperation. "Please, madam, sir, forgive me—I meant no harm."
Callum's fury surged, his voice sharp enough to cut through the chamber. "Do you think an apology is enough?" His fists clenched at his sides, his composure threatening to snap.
Before he could unleash the full weight of his anger, Sera stepped forward, placing a steady hand on his arm. "Go and tend to your hand. When you are ready, come back and join us for our very late dinner." There was a quiet dignity in her tone, a soft directive that balanced firmness with compassion.
As the maid bowed her head in silent acknowledgment, she rose slowly and retreated.
In that moment, Callum's fierce demeanor faltered. Stunned by the calmness in Sera's words.
Callum turned to her, his breath ragged, but her unwavering gaze held him still.
Callum, caught between his lingering frustration and the startling gentleness of Sera's gesture, could do little but stare at her. "You—" His voice faltered.
Sera only offered him a knowing look before turning away. The moment hung between them, fragile yet profound.
"Let me just finish this cake."