4

Manhattan woke up to photographs of Serena Vale leaving St. Patrick’s Cathedral wearing Asher Blackwood’s ring.

By seven in the morning, every financial daily and gossip column featured the same high-resolution shot on their front pages: the heiress of Vale Maison, radiant and unbothered, her hand resting over the chest of the exiled Blackwood son. The headlines asked the same question: Why did Serena Vale choose the outcast over the heir?

Serena didn't hide.

At eight-thirty sharp, her armored black SUV pulled up to the glass-and-steel facade of Vale Maison’s SoHo headquarters. A wall of fifty paparazzi surged against the polished security barricades, flashbulbs detonating in rapid succession.

Serena stepped onto the pavement dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, her dark hair pulled into a sleek, low bun. She didn't duck her head, and she didn't rush. She walked past the shouting reporters with her chin high, the gold signet ring on her left hand gleaming beneath the morning light.

The moment she crossed the marble lobby, the quiet, frantic energy of an enterprise in crisis hit her like a cold wave.

Assistants scurried between desks with tablet screens, phones buzzed incessantly at the reception counter, and executive murmurs died out instantly as she walked toward the private glass elevator.

"Serena!" Marcus, her senior Vice President, intercepted her at the elevator doors, his face pale and his silk tie slightly crooked. "Thank God you're here. The board has been calling since six. The legal department is panicking, and the media team doesn't know what statement to approve."

"We don't release defensive statements, Marcus," Serena said, stepping into the elevator and hitting the top-floor button. "Has the market opened?"

"In forty minutes," Marcus replied, rushing into the car beside her as the doors slid shut. "Blackwood Capital’s notice of review hit the wires at midnight. Our European suppliers are already asking for collateral guarantees on our autumn production lines."

"Assemble the executive finance committee in my office right now," Serena ordered coldly. "Tell them if anyone panics, they can hand in their resignation before nine."

Ten minutes later, five of Vale Maison’s top executives sat around the heavy glass table in Serena’s corner suite. The atmosphere was thick with tension. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, rain streaked down over the grey Manhattan skyline.

"We need to issue a joint statement with Blackwood Capital to stabilize investor sentiment," suggested Arthur, the head of corporate communications. "If we frame the annulment and your... new marriage as a personal matter that doesn't impact our commercial ties, the stock won't take a hit."

"There will be no joint statement with Cassian Blackwood," Serena said, her voice cutting through the room like a razor. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. "And we are not begging Blackwood Capital for leniency. We are auditing every contract we hold with them."

"Serena, be reasonable," replied David, her senior finance director, nervously shifting his leather ledger binder. "Blackwood Capital holds significant secondary leverage over our credit facilities. If they tighten lending terms, our cash flow for the Q4 launch gets choked within forty-eight hours."

Serena turned her gaze to David, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Then we draw from our primary reserve accounts."

David swallowed hard, avoiding her direct glare. "That... might not be as simple as you think."

The room went dead silent.

Serena’s posture stiffened. "Explain that, David."

"When Blackwood Capital initiated their review last night," David began, his voice tight, "I pulled our master credit history to prepare our defense strategy. The pressure Cassian is exerting on our credit facilities... it isn't a new maneuver designed this morning."

Serena’s eyebrows drew together. "What are you saying?"

"Blackwood Capital didn't start building a position in our debt after you walked down that aisle yesterday," David revealed, sliding a red-labeled file across the glass table toward her. "They’ve quietly acquired major positions in our outstanding liabilities through affiliated investment vehicles over the last half-year."

Serena picked up the file, her heart giving a sharp, heavy thud against her ribs. She flipped open the tab, her eyes scanning the dates and transaction codes listed in neat black columns.

Her breath caught.

"Six months..." Serena whispered, staring at the dates.

Six months ago, Vale Maison had restructured its production debt to fund its European expansion. At the time, Cassian had casually recommended a Swiss credit syndicate, claiming it was a favor to help her secure a lower interest rate.

Looking at the transaction logs now, the truth was naked and undeniable: Cassian hadn't given her a favor. Entities she had believed were completely independent were actually controlled by or connected to Blackwood Capital. He had been quietly accumulating positions in her company's liabilities long before he ever brought her a ring or asked her to be his wife.

He hadn't just betrayed her yesterday at the altar. He had spent half a year laying a financial net, ensuring that whether she married him or not, Vale Maison’s neck was already inside his snare.

"Serena?" Marcus asked cautiously, noticing the complete drain of color from her face. "Are you alright?"

"Leave," Serena commanded softly.

"Serena, the market opens in twenty five minutes—"

"I said leave the room. All of you."

The executives exchanged uneasy glances, but the quiet authority in her tone offered no room for argument. One by one, they gathered their tablets and files, filing out of the corner office until the heavy double doors clicked shut behind them.

Serena sat alone in the quiet suite, staring at the document spread across her desk.

The realization burned through her chest like ice. Cassian hadn't just humiliated her on their wedding day; he had been positioning himself against Vale Maison for six months.

Her desk phone buzzed, the private line flashing with an unlisted number.

Serena picked up the receiver, her voice steady despite the rage burning in her veins. "Serena Vale."

"You look remarkably focused for a woman whose company is on a timer," a smooth, composed female voice replied through the speaker.

Serena instantly recognized the refined, razor-sharp tone. "Liora."

"I see you finally read the credit audit," Liora said cleanly, the faint background murmur of a high-end coffee lounge drifting through the call. "Cassian is currently telling his board that he has you backed into a corner."

"If you called to gloat on his behalf, you're wasting your time," Serena said coldly.

"You are wrong," Liora replied with cool disdain. "I didn't call on his behalf, Serena. I called because you're looking at the wrong name on that six-month debt acquisition file."

Serena’s eyes snapped down to the paper on her desk. "What are you talking about?"

"Cassian didn't have the liquidity to make that acquisition himself six months ago," Liora said smoothly, dropping each word like a falling blade. "He needed a second authorization to approve the capital."

Serena's fingers tightened against the leather desk mat. "Who?"

"Look at the second authorization," Liora murmured. "The name attached to the money."

The line went dead with a soft click.

Serena stared at the silent phone in her hand, her pulse roaring in her ears. She pulled the confidential filing closer, flipping past the primary corporate pages until her eyes reached the secondary authorization block at the bottom of the document.

Her gaze landed on the crisp, dark signature stamped beneath Cassian's name.

Serena's breath hitched. She knew that handwriting.

And that person was never supposed to have anything to do with Vale Maison’s finances.