Serena Vale didn’t sleep.Not really. She lay awake, the city lights casting restless shadows across the penthouse walls, her mind replaying the same image on an endless loop — her sixteen-year-old self frozen in time, standing outside her old home, clutching a sketchbook to her chest like it was armor. A stranger had taken that photograph. A stranger who, years later, turned out to be Damien Drake.And scrawled on the back, in his sharp, deliberate handwriting, were two words:Never again.Every time she closed her eyes, the questions clawed their way back.Why did Damien have that photo?How long had he been watching her?And what happened that day — what had she forgotten — that made him write those words?She wanted to be furious, to march into his room, and demand answers. But beneath the anger, a quieter, far more dangerous thought whispered:What if it means he cares?It was ridiculous. Madde
Serena Vale woke to silence.Not the soft, comfortable kind that promised peace, but the heavy, suffocating kind that made the air feel wrong. The penthouse was still, save for the faint hum of the city far below. The blinds were only half-drawn, letting in streaks of pale dawn light that painted the marble floors in slanted, cold lines.Damien wasn’t beside her.Not that he should’ve been. They hadn’t crossed that line. Not completely. But a shameful, traitorous part of her had expected to wake with him near — maybe sitting on the edge of the bed, murmuring something that would make last night feel less like a dream and more like something solid.Instead, the only sound was his voice, low and muffled, coming from down the hall.Serena slid out of bed, every step careful on the cold floor. She followed the faint hum of his words until she stopped just shy of the study door, the shadows cloaking her.His tone was clipped, del
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