LOGIN**Vivian’s POV**She was everywhere.I couldn’t open a magazine, scroll through social media, or turn on the television without seeing her face. S. Moore. The mysterious fashion mogul who’d taken New York by storm.My hand shook as I poured my third glass of wine. It wasn’t even noon yet.“You’re spiraling.”I turned. Melissa stood in the doorway of my bedroom, arms crossed, that look on her face. The one that said she’d been watching me fall apart for weeks and was done being patient about it.“I’m not spiraling,” I said, taking a long drink. “I’m thinking.”“You’re panicking.” She walked in, took the bottle from my hand, set it on the dresser. “And you have every right to be. She’s back, Viv. And she’s not the broken little wife you destroyed.”The words hit like a punch. I wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, but my reflection in the mirror told a different story. Dark circles under my eyes. Skin pale from lack of sleep. I looked haunted.Because I was.“I know she will be b
Lucas extended his hand. “Partners?”I shook it. Firm. Final. “Partners.”He pressed a button on his desk. “Send them in.”The door opened. Three people entered. Two men and a woman, all in expensive suits, all carrying briefcases.“Serena Moore, meet your new team. David Pierson, corporate strategist. He’ll handle the business expansion. Rebecca Walsh, head of PR and brand management. She’ll make sure every move we make is perfectly positioned in the media. And James Morrison, private investigator. He’ll find everything we need to know about Adrian Moore’s empire.”I stood, shaking hands with each of them. “When do we start?”“Now,” David said, opening his briefcase. “I’ve already identified twelve luxury retail spaces in Manhattan that Moore Enterprises has been trying to secure. We’re going to outbid them for every single one.”“And I’ve drafted a PR campaign,” Rebecca added, “that positions you as the future of luxury while subtly painting Moore Enterprises as outdated. Old money.
I stared at the courthouse defeat on every news channel for exactly twenty-four hours.Then something inside me shifted.Not broke. Not crumbled. Shifted.Adrian thought he’d won. Thought his courthouse victory meant I was finished. Thought I’d crawl back to Paris defeated and broken.He was wrong.The courtroom had taught me something valuable: playing fair didn’t work. Following rules didn’t work. Being the bigger person didn’t work.Adrian had won because he was ruthless. Because he used every connection, every dollar, every weapon at his disposal without hesitation.Fine.If that’s how this game was played, I’d learn the rules.I pulled out my phone. Found Lucas Grant’s number. The one I’d deleted after his sympathetic text.Unblocked it.And called.He answered on the second ring. “Serena?”“Your offer. The investment in ETHEREAL. The partnership. Is it still on the table?”A pause. “Yes. But I thought you said—”“I said I didn’t want ETHEREAL to become a weapon in someone else’s
“My decision is final. If Ms. Moore wishes to pursue custody modification, she may file for a full hearing. But there will be no emergency change today. We’re adjourned.”The gavel came down.I sat there, stunned. Unable to process what had just happened.We’d had evidence. Photographs. Witnesses. Medical documentation.And it hadn’t mattered. None of it had mattered.Adrian stood, buttoning his suit jacket. Calm. Collected. Victorious.He leaned over to Blackwell, whispered something. Blackwell smiled.They’d won. Again.“I’m sorry,” Isabelle said beside me. “I truly thought—the evidence was strong—”“It didn’t matter.” My voice sounded hollow. “His connections. His money. His lawyers. It didn’t matter what evidence we had. He was always going to win.”“We can appeal—”“To what end? To have another judge dismiss it? To waste more time while Ethan gets older and forgets I exist?” I stood on shaking legs. “I need air.”I walked out of the courtroom. Clara followed. The hallway was pack
The emergency custody hearing was scheduled for three days after the gala incident.Three days of media frenzy. Three days of speculation. Three days of me believing, hoping…..that finally, finally I had enough to get my son back.The marks on my wrist had been photographed. Documented by my doctor. Witnessed by dozens of people at the gala. Isabelle was confident. More confident than I’d ever seen her.“This is it,” she’d said that morning. “Adrian showed violence. Lost control. That’s enough to at least get you temporary custody until a full hearing. The judge will have to take this seriously.”But as we sat in the courtroom waiting for Judge Patricia Walters—the same judge who’d ruled against me eight years ago—I felt dread creeping in.Adrian sat across the aisle with his team of lawyers. Four of them. The best money could buy. He looked calm. Composed. Not like a man who’d been caught assaulting his ex-wife on camera.Vivian sat behind him, perfectly styled. Margaret beside her,
“You think because you’re successful now, because you have money, you can challenge me? I will destroy you, Serena. Your business. Your reputation. Everything you’ve built. I’ll make sure you lose it all. Again.”His grip tightened. Pain shot up my arm.“Let. Go.”“Or what? You’ll make a scene? Play the victim? That’s all you’re good at, isn’t it? Playing victim while—”“Adrian!” Vivian’s voice cut through. She’d followed us. “What are you doing?”He dropped my wrist immediately. I stumbled back, cradling my arm.Clara appeared seconds later, taking in the scene. “What happened?”“Nothing,” Adrian said quickly. Too quickly. “Just a conversation that got heated.”“Heated?” I held up my wrist. Red marks already forming. “You grabbed me.”“That’s not—I didn’t mean—”“You put your hands on me. In anger. Because I told you the truth you didn’t want to hear.”“Serena, please—” Vivian started.“Don’t.” I turned on her. “Don’t you dare try to smooth this over. He just threatened me. Physicall







