Chapter 2: The Breakup Contract
The drawing room of the Astrea Estate was stifling. To the common folk, it was a display of obscene wealth; to Seraphina, it felt like a funeral parlor for her former self’s dignity.
She sat perched on a velvet chaise longue, sipping a cup of tea that cost more than a month’s rent in her previous life. Opposite her sat Crown Prince Kallisto von Heiron. He was exactly as the novel described: golden hair, eyes like frozen sapphires, and an expression that suggested he had just smelled something particularly foul.
“You have five minutes, Seraphina,” Kallisto said, his voice cold enough to give her frostbite. “If this is another one of your pathetic attempts to fane a fainting spell for my attention, I shall increase your house arrest to a full month.”
Seraphina didn’t flinch. In her past life, she’d been yelled at by middle managers who were far more intimidating than a nineteen-year-old prince with a hero complex. She set her teacup down with a delicate clink and pulled a thick parchment from the side table.
“Your Highness, you’re early. I appreciate the punctuality,” she said calmly.
Kallisto blinked. Usually, at this point, she would be weeping at his boots or throwing a tantrum about the Lady Eara. “What is that?”
“It is a contract of mutual termination,” she replied, sliding the paper across the mahogany table.
Kallisto picked it up as if it were laced with arsenic. As he read, his eyebrows climbed higher and higher toward his golden hairline.
Clause 1: The engagement between Lady Seraphina von Astrea and Crown Prince Kallisto shall be nullified effective immediately.
Clause 2: Lady Seraphina waives all rights to the position of Crown Princess and Empress-Consort.
Clause 3: In exchange for a quiet, scandal-free exit, the Imperial Treasury shall provide a ‘Severance Package’ consisting of the Duchy’s southern vineyard and 5,000 gold mana-stones.
“Are you… breaking up with me?” Kallisto asked, his voice cracking slightly in genuine shock.
“Technically, I’m ‘resigning’ from the position of your fiancée,” Seraphina corrected, leaning back. “It’s a high-stress role with no benefits, poor work-life balance, and an extremely hostile boss. I’ve decided to move into a consultancy role. Or perhaps just retire to the south to grow grapes.”
Kallisto stood up, the chair screeching against the floor. “Is this a game? Is this your new way of playing hard to get? You’ve spent three years harassing every woman I’ve spoken to!”
“And I apologize for that. I was… hormonal? Overzealous? Let’s just call it a temporary lapse in sanity.” She waved a hand dismissively. “The point is, I’ve seen the light. You love Eara. I love… not being executed. It’s a win-win.”
The Prince looked at her as if she had grown a second head. In the original novel, this was the moment where he would have shouted at her for her cruelty. But because she was being reasonable—scarily reasonable—he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
“You want the southern vineyards?” he muttered, looking back at the paper. “Those are some of the most profitable lands in the Empire.”
“A small price to pay for your freedom, wouldn’t you say?” Seraphina smiled. It wasn’t her usual predatory smirk; it was the tired, relieved smile of a woman who had just finished a fourteen-hour shift. “Sign it, Your Highness. Then you can go take Lady Eara to the moonlit gardens without me ‘accidentally’ falling into the fountain to ruin the mood.”
Kallisto hesitated. This was everything he had ever wanted. He should be overjoyed. But looking at Seraphina—her emerald eyes no longer filled with desperate, cloying obsession, but with a strange, business-like boredom—he felt a sharp, inexplicable prick of annoyance.
“Fine,” he snapped, grabbing a quill and scrawling his signature with enough force to rip the parchment. “But don’t come crawling back when you realize the social circles of the capital will devour you for this.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Seraphina said, picking up the signed document and blowing on the ink. “I don’t plan on being in the capital long enough for them to catch me.”
As the Prince stormed out, Yuna, the maid, peeked from behind a curtain, her eyes wide. “My Lady! You just… you just dumped the future Emperor!”
“I didn’t dump him, Yuna,” Seraphina said, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. “I just traded a headache for a vineyard. Now, pack the trunks. We’re going shopping for some ‘retirement’ clothes. Something less ‘evil enchantress’ and more ‘wealthy woman who disappears mysteriously.'”
She looked at the contract. The first step of survival was complete. She had the funds, she had the freedom, and she had five months and three weeks left before the “original” ending of the book.
Now, she just had to make sure the plot didn’t try to drag her back in.
