Sebastian loves Seraphina carefully, like she’s something bruised he’s trying not to press too hard on. She doesn’t know what to do with that. With her ex, everything had edges—disappearing acts, emotional whiplash, the constant anticipation of damage. She knew how to survive that version of love. Knew how to predict it, reshape herself around it, return to it even when it hurt. Sebastian is different in every way that matters. He stays. He notices things she wishes he wouldn’t. He touches her like he expects her not to flinch away from it. And every time he looks at her like she’s worth something gentle, Seraphina feels the instinct to ruin it before he gets the chance to leave first. Because pain has always felt recognizable. But happiness feels temporary.