My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 245

Chapter 245: Chapter 245 BEAUTIFUL TORTURE

SERAPHINA’S POV

Maxwell stepped out into the light, surprise flickering over his features before it melted into a warm, familiar smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and softened the sharpness of his posture.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, stepping forward. “Seraphina Blackthorne.”

I blinked at him. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He chuckled. “Likewise. Maya mentioned that you traveled, but I never in a million years thought this would be your destination.”

I shrugged. “Self-discovery and whatnot. I heard this place has every answer to any question a werewolf could ever ask.”

Maxwell nodded. “You heard right.”

“So, what brings you here?”

He shrugged. “I have some business to take care of in the area, though you’re a far nicer surprise.”

That tugged a smile out of me. Then I glanced behind him, bracing out of instinct.

“Are the twins with you?”

“Gods, no.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine if I brought them here? They’d destroy hundreds of years of history in one afternoon.”

I snorted. “Smart choice.”

He spread his arms in a grand gesture toward our surroundings. “Welcome to the New Moon Institute. Need a guide?”

I arched a brow. “You’re that familiar with this place?”

His smile turned a little wistful. “Yeah, I am actually.”

Part of me hesitated. After all, I came here to find who I was outside of the influence of my old life. But I had to admit, it was nice to see a familiar face.

And I realized, accepting a tour wouldn’t compromise my quest for self-discovery. And I did need help getting my bearings.

So I nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

Maxwell motioned for me to walk with him, and we fell into an easy stride along the cobblestone path.

The energy of the town wrapped around me.

It was...different here.

Not like Seattle’s coastal bustle, or LA’s constant, pulsing chaos.

Here, everything felt grounded. Intentional. Soft around the edges.

People strolled, not rushed. Students debated passionately on benches. Professors sipped tea outside cafés overflowing with books instead of electronics.

Everyone’s eyes seemed lit from within—with curiosity, wonder, purpose. The air tingled with it.

Maxwell glanced at my expression and smirked. “Feels different, huh?”

“It does,” I admitted, unable to keep the awe out of my voice. “Feels like the whole world is sleeping and these are the only people awake.”

He hummed. “That’s the New Moon institute for you. Willow used to say this place was for people bold enough to look behind the veil.”

I tilted my head. “Willow...?”

The name rang a faint, distant bell. Where had I heard it before?

For the briefest moment, something flickered across his face.

Nostalgia. Fondness. Pain.

He didn’t elaborate right away. Instead, he pointed ahead. “Come on. Before you get too philosophical, you need to try the best ice cream on this side of the mountains.”

***

He wasn’t exaggerating.

The ice cream parlor was a tiny little space tucked between a bookstore and a plant shop. The fact that it wasn’t a nationwide franchise was criminal.

“Oh,” I moaned after my first bite of lavender-honey ice cream. “This is phenomenal. Daniel would love this.”

“Of course he would.” Maxwell laughed softly. “Kid has taste.”

I nodded, shoving another spoonful in my mouth. “He’d devour an entire tub.”

“Bring him here next time,” Maxwell said. “My treat.”

I laughed. “The twins might get jealous.”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t know what voodoo Daniel did on them at his birthday, but now they worship the ground he walks on. It’s always Daniel this, Daniel that.”

A relieved laugh spilled out of me. “What can I say? My baby has a way with people.”

Maxwell chuckled. "He definitely has a way with my boys. And that innate talent for relating with people is going to make him quite the Alpha."

Pride unfurled inside me, warm and fierce. “Yeah, he’s going to be something.”

We drifted from topic to topic—how Daniel was adapting after the ceremony, how the twins were proudly calling themselves Daniel’s “loyal lieutenants,” how they’d recently built a makeshift hockey rink in the backyard and nearly broke a window.

After ice cream, we tossed our cups in the bin outside and drifted back onto the cobblestone path. The late-morning sun filtered through the maple trees, scattering warm light over the old stone buildings.

As we walked, Maxwell gestured casually at a few spots—a courtyard where students were gathered around a professor, locked in an animated debate, a tiny café with notebooks stacked in the windows, a bridge overlooking a narrow stream that glittered like glass.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, after he pointed out the ‘best coffee shop on this side of the mountains,’ “but your familiarity with this place seems a little more...intimate than usual.”

Maxwell stopped walking. A shadow crossed his features, and I got the sense that I’d stumbled upon some kind of line I had no business crossing.

A long silence passed before he finally exhaled and leaned against the low stone wall separating the walkway from a sweeping view of the valley below.

“This place,” he said at last, gesturing his chin to the town around us, “is where it all began.”

“...what?”

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