Chapter 4 WATCHING
Seraphina's POV
College felt smaller than I remembered.
Not physically. The buildings were the same, the walkways just as crowded, but everything felt distant, like I was moving through it behind glass.
I sat in lectures and took notes I didn't remember writing, laughed at jokes a second too late, and spent more time staring at the board without actually hearing what the lecturer was saying.
My mind kept drifting back to the quiet hallways.
Rules I hadn't agreed to.
A voice that sounded like it already knew what I'd do next.
And the car.
It was waiting in the parking lot when my last class ended.
Black. Polished. Completely out of place among the dented sedans and bicycles chained to the rails. The driver stood beside it like he belonged there, hands folded in front of him as his eyes moved across the crowd.
I stopped short.
“You've got to be kidding me,” I muttered.
“Miss Winters,” the driver said when he saw me. “Mr. Blackwood asked me to...”
“I know what he asked you to do,” I cut in. “And I didn't ask for you.”
He didn't react or argue, he simply opened the door.
People were already staring, of course they were.
Heat crawled up my neck as I climbed inside, and the door shut behind me with a soft, final sound that felt too much like surrender.
The ride home was quiet.
I watched the city pass by and tried to convince myself this wasn't a cage, that it was temporary, that I still had choices.
But when we pulled through the gates and the car glided up the driveway like it belonged there, something inside me tightened.
The rest of the afternoon dragged on.
I retreated to my room, sketched, scrolled through my phone, paced around, then did it all over again.
Anything to keep myself from thinking about locked doors and warnings that had sounded too specific to ignore.
By evening, I felt restless enough to scream.
So when Noah texted, I didn't hesitate.
Study group tonight? Café near campus.
I stared at the message for a moment. Just long enough to feel the weight of the house pressing in around me.
Then I typed.
'Sure.'
I told myself I was allowed. I was normal.
I needed this.
The café was warm, loud, and alive. Nothing like the house.
People talked to each other, chairs scraped against the floor, and someone laughed too loudly in the corner.
It felt real.
Noah was easy company. He smiled too much, talked with his hands, and leaned in when he laughed, like the world was simple and open and uncomplicated.
It felt harmless.
“Your place or mine?” he joked, nudging my foot with his.
I rolled my eyes. “Focus.”
He grinned. “Worth a try.”
For a while, I forgot about the rules.
About the house. About the way my name sounded in Damon’s voice.
I just existed. Until we stepped outside.
The night air was cool against my skin, open and free, and for a moment, I almost forgot what it felt like to be watched.
Then I saw the car. Parked across the street.
Waiting.
My stomach dropped.
Noah followed my gaze. “Wow. That for you?”
I forced a laugh. “Something like that.”
The driver was already moving toward me.
Of course, he was. Always right on time.
I didn't look back as I said goodbye.
“See you,” Noah called, a little uncertain now.
“Yeah,” I replied.
But my voice sounded thinner than before.
The ride home was unbearable.
I stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, counting my breaths as if that could keep something inside me from snapping.
By the time the car stopped, I was vibrating with anger.
Damon was in the foyer when I walked in.
Waiting.
“How was your evening?” he asked.
I didn't slow down. “Fine.”
“You didn't mention any plans.”
“I didn't need permission.”
His footsteps followed mine, measured and unhurried.
“You went off-campus.”
“I’m aware.”
“You didn't take security.”
I turned on him then, the words already sharp on my tongue.
“I'm not a criminal witness.”
His expression tightened.
“That boy...”
“Don't.”
He stopped. But his eyes didn't leave mine.
“He was touching you.”
The certainty in his voice made my skin prickle.
“You were watching.”
“I was informed.”
“By who?”
He didn't answer. That bothered me more than it should have.
“Same thing,” I said.
“This isn't about jealousy,” he said evenly.
I laughed bitterly. “Then what is it about?”
“Safety.”
“Everything is safety with you.”
“You don't understand...”
“No,” I cut in. “I understand perfectly. You want control.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is keeping tabs on everything I do.”
He stepped closer. Too close.
“You draw attention without realizing it,” he said, his voice low now.
“And you decided that makes you responsible for me?”
“Yes.”
The word landed hard. Immediate and unshaken.
I stared at him, my chest rising too fast. “I didn't ask you to.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
Silence stretched between us.
His jaw tightened, like he was holding something back, something he still refused to say.
“This conversation isn't over,” he said.
“No,” I replied. “It isn't.”
I turned before he could add anything else and walked straight to my room.
Once inside, I locked the door.
This time, I didn't hesitate.
I checked it twice, then leaned against it, heart pounding as I listened to the silence on the other side, wondering if it would finally tell me what was really happening in this house.
It didn't.
But that didn't make me feel better.
Later, I lay in bed staring into the dark. The house was quiet as usual.
My phone lit up once on the nightstand.
It was a message from an unknown number. My stomach tightened as I reached for it.
I shouldn't open it. But I did anyway.
You shouldn't have gone out tonight. I stared at the screen, barely breathing.
Another message appeared before I could think.
Next time, I won't just watch.
