CHAPTER 2: AFTERMATH

The headlines were worse than Seraphine had anticipated, and she’d anticipated them being brutal.

“ASHTON ASHAMED: Seraphine Spotted Fleeing Premiere After Ex’s New Romance Reveal”

“Derek Castellan Finds True Love with Co-Star: ‘When You Know, You Know’”

“Poor Sera: America’s Sweetheart Left Heartbroken as Director Moves On”

Seraphine sat curled on her cream-colored sofa, her Malibu beach house silent except for the rhythmic crash of waves outside and the occasional ping of her phone receiving another sympathetic text. She’d turned off social media three days ago when the think pieces started rolling in, each one dissecting her relationship with Derek, analyzing her body language at the premiere, speculating about what she’d done wrong to lose him.

What she’d done wrong. As if Derek’s infidelity and manipulation were somehow her failure.

“You need to eat something,” Maya said from the kitchen, emerging with a plate of cut fruit and cheese that Seraphine had zero appetite for. Her manager had basically moved in since the premiere, playing the role of bodyguard, publicist, and best friend all rolled into one fierce, protective package.

“I’m not hungry.” Seraphine’s voice was hoarse from crying. She hated that she’d given Derek even one tear, but apparently her body hadn’t gotten the memo that he wasn’t worth the salt.

Maya set the plate on the coffee table with more force than necessary, making Seraphine flinch. “Eat. You have the gala in four days, and you need to look radiant, not like you’ve been surviving on wine and spite.”

“The wine and spite diet has worked well so far,” Seraphine muttered, but she picked up a strawberry anyway. Maya’s concern deserved that much.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message. Seraphine glanced at the screen and felt her stomach turn. Chloe Park, her friend and fellow actress, had sent a screenshot of Derek’s I*******m post—a black and white photo of him and Vanessa in an intimate embrace, captioned with some pretentious quote about destiny and soulmates.

The post had three million likes already. Comments flooded in by the thousands, split between congratulating the happy couple and expressing sympathy for poor, dumped Seraphine.

“He’s really milking this,” Seraphine said, showing Maya the phone. “It’s not enough to humiliate me. He needs to parade his happiness for the world to see.”

Maya’s jaw clenched, her knuckles whitening around her coffee mug. “He’s a narcissist. This is what they do. They need validation, constant attention, proof that they’re the hero of every story.” She paused, then added with vicious satisfaction, “But narcissists also fall hard when the world stops worshiping them. Trust me, his time will come.”

Seraphine wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe in karma and cosmic justice and all the things that made suffering feel purposeful. But right now, watching Derek’s star rise while hers seemed to dim, justice felt like a fairy tale for children.

“Maybe I should release a statement,” she said, scrolling through the comments. Some people were defending her, calling Derek out for the way he’d handled the announcement, but they were drowned out by the majority who saw this as a simple case of one relationship ending and another beginning. “Tell my side of the story. Let people know what he was really like.”

“No.” Maya’s response was immediate and firm. “That makes you look bitter and vengeful. Derek would spin it as jealousy, and the media would eat it up. The woman scorned, unable to accept that her man found someone better.” She sat beside Seraphine, her expression softening. “I know it’s not fair. I know you want to defend yourself. But sometimes the best revenge is living well and letting their own toxicity eventually expose them.”

“And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime, you show up at that gala looking like a goddess. You smile, you mingle, you remind everyone why you’re America’s Sweetheart. And then you take your break, work on projects you actually care about, and let Derek fade into irrelevance.”

Seraphine leaned her head on Maya’s shoulder, exhausted by the weight of performing strength when all she wanted was to curl up and hide. “What if I can’t do this anymore? The acting, the scrutiny, the constant performance even when the cameras aren’t rolling?”

“Then you don’t,” Maya said simply. “You have enough money to walk away if you want. But I don’t think you want that. I think you love acting, love storytelling, love connecting with people through your work. Don’t let one manipulative asshole steal that from you.”

The words settled over Seraphine like a blanket warm, comforting, true. She did love acting. It was Derek she hated, Derek’s control she’d finally escaped. She wouldn’t let him take her career too.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Four more days. Then I face the world.”

“That’s my girl.” Maya squeezed her shoulder, then stood. “Now eat the damn fruit before I force-feed you.”

Seraphine managed a small smile, the first real one since the premiere. She picked up another strawberry, then her phone rang. Not a text this time, but an actual call. Her brother’s name flashed on the screen, and her smile grew wider.

“James,” she answered, her voice already lighter.

“Hey, superstar.” Her older brother’s warm, familiar voice flooded through the phone, and Seraphine felt tears prick her eyes for an entirely different reason. “How are you holding up?”

“I’ve been better,” she admitted. There was no point in lying to James. He could always tell. “But I’m surviving.”

“Good. Because I’ve been reading these articles, and I need you to know that anyone who believes Derek’s bullshit doesn’t know you at all.” James’s teacher voice came through, the one he used when explaining difficult concepts to his high school students. “You are brilliant, talented, kind, and way too good for that pompous jackass. He didn’t lose you—you freed yourself from him. Don’t let anyone spin that differently.”

Seraphine’s throat tightened. “I love you, you know that?”

“Of course you do. I’m extremely lovable.” She could hear his grin. “Mom and Dad send their love too. Mom wants to fly out, but I told her to give you space. Was I right?”

“So right. I love her, but I can’t handle her worry right now.”

“Figured. Listen, Sera, I know Hollywood is a mess and people are terrible, but you’ve got people who love you for real. Not for your face or your fame or what you can do for them. Remember that when the noise gets too loud.”

“I will,” she promised. “Thank you for calling.”

“Always. And Sera? The right person is out there. Someone who will see you, really see you, and protect that. Don’t close yourself off completely.”

Seraphine wanted to argue that she was done with men, done with trust, done with vulnerability. But she just said, “We’ll see,” and let him believe she hadn’t already built walls around her heart.

After they hung up, she stared at her phone for a long moment, then opened her email. Three new scripts from her agent, two interview requests, and one message that made her pause.

Subject: The Ashford Foundation Gala - Final Confirmation

Right. The gala. Four days away. The first time she’d face the public since her humiliation. Maya was right that she needed to go, needed to show strength and grace. But the thought of walking into a room full of Hollywood elite, all of them knowing about Derek, all of them watching to see if she’d break it made her want to vomit.

“What’s wrong?” Maya asked, noticing her expression.

“Just the gala confirmation. I’m regretting agreeing to this.”

Maya crossed her arms, her manager face sliding into place. “Seraphine Ashton does not run and hide. You are going to that gala. You are going to wear something stunning. And you are going to remind everyone why you won that Academy Award while Derek has only been nominated.”

Despite everything, Seraphine laughed. “Low blow.”

“But accurate.” Maya grinned, then her expression turned thoughtful. “You know what? This could actually be good for you. The Ashford Foundation gala is different from the usual Hollywood circus. It’s philanthropic, intellectual, private. No press inside, just donors and genuinely good people doing genuinely good work. You might even enjoy yourself.”

“Doubtful, but I appreciate the optimism.”

“Plus,” Maya continued, warming to her theme, “it’s the most exclusive event of the year. A-list only, billionaires and power players. Derek and Vanessa won’t be there they’re not high profile enough for the guest list. You’ll be safe from running into them.”

That, at least, was a relief. Seraphine picked up another piece of fruit, actually tasting it this time. Strawberries. They reminded her of her mother’s garden back in Oregon, of summers before Hollywood, before fame, before Derek Castellan entered her life like a poison disguised as love.

“I miss home,” she said quietly.

“Then visit after the gala,” Maya suggested. “Take a month off. Go back to Oregon, see your family, remember who you were before all this.”

“Who I was before was a broke waitress with big dreams and no connections.”

“Who you were before was authentic. Unguarded. Happy.” Maya’s dark eyes held hers. “Find that girl again, Sera. She’s still in there, under all the armor you’ve had to build.”

Seraphine nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Maya was right, as usual. She had built armor, layer upon layer, until she wasn’t sure where the performance ended and her real self began. Derek had demanded perfection, compliance, a version of Seraphine that existed solely to make him look good. Breaking free meant rediscovering who she actually was beneath his expectations.

The next four days passed in a blur of preparation. Seraphine worked out with her trainer, had fittings for her gala dress, ran lines for an upcoming audition she wasn’t sure she’d take. She avoided social media, ignored the continued coverage of Derek and Vanessa’s “fairy tale romance,” and tried to convince herself that attending the gala was a good idea.

By the time the night arrived, she almost believed it.

Standing in front of her full length mirror, Seraphine barely recognized herself. The woman looking back was elegant, composed, untouchable. Her gown was midnight blue silk that hugged her curves before flowing into a subtle train, the color making her hazel eyes appear more green than gold. Her chestnut hair was styled in loose waves over one shoulder, and her makeup was flawless natural enough to look effortless, dramatic enough to photograph well.

She looked like someone who had her life together. Someone who hadn’t spent the last week crying over a man who’d never deserved her tears.

“You look incredible,” Maya said from the doorway, stunning in her own emerald cocktail dress. “Derek is going to see these photos and regret every choice he’s ever made.”

“I don’t care what Derek thinks,” Seraphine lied.

Maya smiled knowingly but didn’t call her out. “Car’s here. Ready?”

No, Seraphine thought. But she nodded anyway, picked up her clutch, and followed Maya out into the night.

The Ashford Foundation gala was being held at a private estate in the Hollywood Hills, the kind of old-money mansion that didn’t advertise its wealth but quietly demonstrated it through perfect landscaping and security so discreet you barely noticed the armed guards. As their car pulled up to the entrance, Seraphine took a deep breath, assembled her public smile, and prepared to face whatever came next.

She had no idea that inside that mansion, a man who never attended public events had made a rare exception tonight. A man who valued his privacy above all else, who built empires from shadows and destroyed enemies without mercy. A man who was about to see her walk through those doors and make a decision that would change both their lives forever.

Damien Hale was waiting, though he didn’t know it yet.

And neither did Seraphine.