ANMELDEN“Yeah?”“If you want to come home early, just text me. I’ll fake a crisis.”I kiss his forehead. “I love you.”“Love you too. Now go be a normal person for once.”Normal. Right.I grab my clutch, check my lipstick one more time, and head downstairs. My penthouse is quiet except for the soft jazz playing from the speakers, the city lights twinkling through floor-to-ceiling windows. This place used to feel like a fortress. Lately, it just feels empty.The intercom buzzes.My heart kicks into overdrive.“Ms. Moore, Mr. Grant is here,” the doorman says, his voice crackling through the speaker.“Tell him I’ll be right down.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel.I take one last look in the hallway mirror. The woman staring back is polished, confident, beautiful in that effortless way that took an hour to achieve. She looks nothing like the broken girl who signed divorce papers with mascara running down her face.She looks like someone who might deserve a good man.I grab my coat and head t
PROLOGUEThey say revenge is a dish best served cold.They’re wrong.Revenge is a nine-year plan executed in Louboutins and a smile that never reaches your eyes. It’s watching your ex-husband’s empire crumble while yours rises like a phoenix built from the ashes of every tear you cried alone. It’s standing in front of cameras with your son, the child they tried to steal from you, and watching the world finally see the truth.I got my revenge. I won.So why does my chest still feel hollow?The press conference was three months ago. Vivian’s in prison. Adrian’s company is barely hanging on. Margaret doesn’t show her face in society anymore. Ethan calls me Mom without hesitation now, his room down the hall from mine, his laughter filling spaces that were silent for too long.I should be satisfied. Complete.But here’s what they don’t tell you about revenge: it fills your hands but empties your heart. You spend so long building walls that when someone offers to help you tear them down, yo
I thought about Lucas’s voice, that barely contained hope. The way he’d waited a month because I’d asked him to. The way he’d been waiting years without me even knowing.“He said we’d figure it out together.”Clara’s expression softened, going from mischievous to genuinely emotional in a heartbeat. “Oh. Oh, Serena.”“Don’t,” I warned, feeling my own throat tighten. “Don’t get all mushy on me. It’s just dinner.”“It’s not just dinner.” She set the dress down gently, coming around the desk to take my hands. “It’s you deciding you deserve more than just your empire. It’s you choosing to be happy, not just successful. It’s you being brave enough to try again.”“What if it’s a mistake?” The fear clawed up my throat again. “What if I’m not ready? What if I hurt him?”“What if it’s not a mistake?” Clara countered. “What if you are ready, you just don’t know it yet? What if instead of hurting him, you both just… heal? Together?”Together. That word again, terrifying and tempting in equal meas
“Just dinner date. If you hate it, if you spend the whole time wanting to run, we go back to being exactly what we are now. Business partners. Friends. I won’t push. I won’t make it weird. But if there’s even a chance…” He trailed off, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough with something I was afraid to name. “I’ve waited years for you, Serena. What’s a few more months, or years, or however long you need? I’m not going anywhere.”The thing about walls was that they were meant to keep people out. But they also kept you trapped inside, alone with your ghosts and your fears. And maybe, just maybe, it was time to open the door. Just a crack. Just enough to let a little light in.“When?” I asked.The pause on his end was weighted, hopeful. “When what?”“When do you want to have dinner?”“Tonight.” No hesitation. “Right now. This minute. But I’m guessing you need time to, I don’t know, talk yourself out of this seventeen times and then talk yourself back into it.”Despite everything,
{ONE MONTH LATER} The phone rang while I was staring at the city skyline, pretending to care about the quarterly projections Diana had sent over an hour ago. I knew who it was before I looked at the screen. My stomach knew. That traitorous flutter that made me feel seventeen instead of a woman who’d built an empire from ashes. Lucas Grant. One month. I’d told him one month, and Lucas, being Lucas, had probably marked it on his calendar. Maybe even set a reminder. The thought made my lips twitch, something warm and unfamiliar spreading through my chest. I let it ring twice more. Not playing games, just… breathing. Remembering how to do this. How to let someone in when every instinct I’d honed over the past years screamed at me to stay behind my walls where it was safe, where no one could touch me. Where no one could hurt me. But Lucas wasn’t Adrian. He’d never been Adrian. I answered. “Grant.” “Moore.” His voice was warm, with that edge of amusement he always had when we did thi
“I’m sorry about yesterday. Showing up at your office. Pushing when you’d already said no.” He looked genuinely ashamed. “You were right. I was being manipulative. I won’t do it again.”“Good.”“But I meant what I said. About seeing you clearly now. About recognizing what I lost.” He paused. “I’m not going to keep pushing. But I needed you to know that watching you tonight, seeing what you’ve accomplished, I’m in awe. And I’m sorry I ever made you doubt yourself.”“Adrian—”“I know. You don’t want to hear it. But I needed to say it anyway.” He looked at Ethan, who was now examining fabric samples with Emma. “He’s so proud of you. We all are.”Before I could respond, Lucas appeared in the doorway.“I hope I’m not interrupting.”“Lucas!” I moved toward him, grateful for the interruption. “I didn’t know you were here.”“Wouldn’t miss it.” He handed me flowers. Orchids. Expensive and elegant. “That show was phenomenal. You’ve outdone yourself.”“Thank you.” I took the flowers, inhaled the







