The envelope Serena held was plain white and seemed innocuous, merely paper and ink. But what it concealed inside had rattled her more than any headline, betrayal, or insincere compliment ever could.
Ask your mother about Athens, 1999.Athens. It was the year Serena turned six. It was also the year when her father stopped taking her to the park, and her mother stopped tucking her in at night.That was the year laughter disappeared from their home.Serena perched on the edge of her bed, fixated on the note in her hand. Her fingers itched to ball it up and discard it, to erase it from her memory.But she knew from experience, forgetfulness was futile.Silence, she had realized, was just another form of hurt.She opened her contacts.Mother - Don't Answer.Her thumb lingered over the contact for several momentsThen she pressed it.The phone rang three times."Hello?" Her mother'Selena stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, fingers gripping the cold porcelain sink as if it could anchor her. The face looking back was unfamiliar—flushed cheeks, wide, glassy eyes, lips slightly parted, caught between words left unsaid. She’d stormed out of the party nearly an hour ago, heart pounding and pride in pieces, but Damien hadn’t come after her.Not this time.She told herself it was all just a game. A contract. A favour. Nothing more.But when he looked at her like she was the only woman in the room… when he gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek, a tenderness she hadn’t expected… when his voice lowered and he whispered her name like it was sacred—How was any of that fake?“Selena?” Lexi’s voice, hesitant, came from the doorway.Selena didn’t turn.“Do I look okay?” she said bitterly.Lexi stepped in, closing the door quietly behind her. “You left like you were on fire. Damien’s still at the party. People are asking.”“Let them,” Selena snapped. “I’m do
Serena froze.The garden exploded with light—phones flashing, voices rising, and reporters shoving forward. For a second, it didn’t feel real. Just noise, heat, panic.Then she saw her.Camille stood at the edge of the hedge, poised like a serpent in stilettos, phone held high as it streamed live. Her voice oozed with artificial sweetness.> “This is Camille Hawthorne, reporting live. Looks like our ‘perfect’ couple has something to hide. Stay tuned to find out what contract really holds them together.”Serena’s fingers tightened around Damien’s arm. “She’s going to ruin everything.”“Come on,” he said, already pulling her toward the hotel.Inside, chaos still buzzed, whispers trailing behind them as they ducked into an elevator. Serena stared at her reflection in the gold doors. Her lipstick was smudged. Her eyes were wide with panic.“She knows,” she said quietly.Damien’s voice was low
Serena stepped into her temporary studio apartment with nothing but a duffel bag, an exhausted heart, and the kind of silence that made your thoughts too loud to bear.The place was modest—just a kitchenette, a bed shoved against the wall, and a canvas by the window she'd started painting weeks ago but hadn’t touched since. She sank down onto the mattress and stared at her phone, lying face-up on the nightstand.No calls. No messages from Damien.She wasn’t sure which hurt more—that he hadn’t reached out or that she hadn’t wanted him to.The man she saw on the street still lingered in her mind. Had she imagined him? A trick of light and anxiety? Or was someone really watching her?Either way, she didn’t tell Ava. Didn’t tell anyone. Some fears were easier to carry alone.Still, the world refused to pause for her grief.Her inbox had exploded overnight—emails from reporters, bloggers, and influencers. Her name w
Damien’s penthouse gleamed with glass and steel, every surface polished to a mirror shine. The kind of place that showed you had it all—wealth, power, and control.But as Serena stood alone in that vast, empty room, the silence felt like a cage wrapped tight around her chest.She held the photo again—the one she’d found buried inside a stack of old files in Damien’s locked drawer. A little girl in a paint-splattered sundress, grinning crookedly at the edge of a playground. And several feet behind her, half-hidden in shadows… Damien.Her stomach twisted into knots.Coincidence? She didn’t believe in those anymore.Part of her wanted to confront him. To demand answers.But another part whispered that maybe there was some reason. Maybe it was all a terrible misunderstanding.Then she heard it.Damien’s voice muffled behind the door to his office.She pressed herself against the wall, heart poundi
Morning light filtered softly through the blinds, casting golden bars across Serena’s bare shoulder. She stirred beneath the sheets, the faint scent of smoke still clinging to her skin from the night before. Her muscles ached, a reminder of everything they'd survived—everything they hadn't yet.The mattress dipped beside her. She blinked, half-expecting another nightmare.Instead, it was Damien, holding a tray.Toast. Strawberries. Black coffee—just the way she liked it.“You cooked?” she mumbled, her voice hoarse from sleep.He gave a one-shoulder shrug, eyes unreadable. “I toasted.”A small, surprised laugh escaped her lips. It felt strange, foreign. Like her body wasn’t used to it anymore.She sat up slowly, brushing tangled hair behind her ear. The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was fragile, healing.Her smile faded. “I’m sorry, Damien. For... doubting you.”He didn’t flinch. Just
Serena didn’t sleep that night.She sat curled on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to her chest, a blanket wrapped around her like armour. The tablet in her lap glowed with soft blue light, casting ghostly shadows on the walls. She hadn’t moved in hours.Across the room, Damien sat at his desk, tapping keys on his laptop. He wasn’t pretending to work—he was giving her space. But every few minutes, his eyes flicked toward her.He didn’t push. He waited.Eventually, her voice cut through the quiet like glass.“My mother was one of them.”Damien paused. His fingers stilled.“I know,” he said softly. “I saw the file.”Serena’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. “She authorized it. Every test. Every injection. She stood there while I screamed. And then she wrote me that letter... like that made it okay.”Damien crossed the room and crouched in front of her, steady, quiet. His hands rested on his thighs,