My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 240

Chapter 240: Chapter 240 SIMPLY EXISTING

Maya had gone through the five stages of grief when I told her I was leaving.

Denial: “Absolutely not! You’re not leaving me again! Life is so fucking boring without you!”

Anger: “I blame Kieran! I blame your fucking family! I blame you, dammit!

Bargaining: “Okay. Can I come with you? I know it’s about self-discovery, but what if I don’t make a peep? You won’t even know I’m there.”

Depression: “How am I supposed to survive without you? I’ll die before you return, Sera, die!”

Acceptance: “Ugh, fine. Go. Can I at least throw you a send-off party?”

I’d broken her heart by refusing. I didn’t want to drag things out, and I didn’t want to bear the strange, aching weight of goodbyes.

The morning I set off was disarmingly peaceful. Soft LA sunlight filtered through the curtains in warm ribbons, catching the dust motes floating lazily in the air.

The house was still, quiet enough that I could hear my own heartbeat—a steady, determined rhythm reminding me this was really happening.

My suitcase sat by the front door, neatly packed.

Inside were small pieces of everyone who cared about me.

Maya had slipped in an entire “anti-anxiety travel kit” including more good luck charm moonstones, herbal mints, a ridiculous lavender-scented neck pillow shaped like a llama for some reason, and a handwritten note that said, “If you make a new best friend, I’ll astral-project myself to smack you.”

Daniel had once again given me Wolfy. He didn’t make a big deal out of it—just shoved the plush into my hands the night before and muttered, “So you don’t get lonely.”

He’d also made me a small compass out of scraps he must have found in Nightfang’s workshop. It wasn’t pretty, but the needle worked, and he’d tested it at least a dozen times before giving it to me.

"So you always find your way back," he said, forcing a brave face that didn’t match his worried eyes.

Lucian had been vague during our goodbye, saying his gift couldn’t go through airport security and would be waiting for me when I got to my destination.

As for Kieran...

Well, his concession was gift enough.

With those, and Alina’s steady warmth inside me, I felt prepared.

Well, as prepared as I could be.

***

The flight to Seattle was uneventful, the sky outside the window shifting from LA’s golden warmth to the muted, rain-washed grays of the Pacific Northwest.

By the time the plane descended, the world below was a watercolor of mist-shrouded evergreens, glass buildings streaked with drizzle, and streets glistening like polished stone.

The air that greeted me when I stepped out of the terminal was cool and damp, carrying the scent of pine and ocean salt, so different from LA’s dry sun and smog-tinged heat.

The taxi ride downtown wound through narrow streets lined with cozy cafés, indie bookstores, and people bundled in layers despite it being barely autumn.

The clouds hung low, as if the sky were brushing the tops of the buildings, and everything felt softer, quieter, more introspective.

When I arrived at the little street-corner café we’d agreed on, Elaine was already there, fidgeting with a bouquet that was far too extravagant for a casual welcome.

She spotted me instantly.

“SERAPHINA!” she squealed, nearly knocking over her own latte as she stood.

I laughed and hugged her tightly.

My editor and I had spoken hundreds of times over video calls, exchanged countless drafts, fought over deadlines, cried over character deaths, and swooned over happily-ever-afters.

But meeting her in person felt surreal.

She was shorter than I’d imagined. Brighter. A little fidgety, even though she tried to act composed.

“I’m so happy you made it,” she said breathlessly. “Oh! These are for you. And, here, this is from the team. And this is—right, careful, it’s heavy—”

She piled gift after gift into my arms: a stack of customized journals, a custom fountain pen, a hand-knit scarf, fancy chocolates that smelled too rich even through the packaging.

“You didn’t have to bring all this,” I protested.

She waved a hand dramatically. “You’re my bestselling author. You’re a major source of my Christmas bonus.”

I snorted. “Fair enough.”

The rest of the morning was a whirlwind of her excited rambling and my attempts not to get overwhelmed.

Elaine was, in many ways, everything I admired about humans.

Vibrant. Expressive. Unapologetically sentimental. Her emotions lived on the surface of her skin, bright and fleeting yet sincere.

She walked me through Pike Place Market, where the smell of fish and roasted coffee mingled in a way that was both strange and relaxing.

We tried samples of local pastries, watched a man carve tiny soap sculptures, and took photos by the harbor, even though I usually hated posing.

By noon, I felt lighter than I had in weeks.

We passed a bookstore on our way to the art district.

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