2. Serena
Serena
T he parking garage concrete is cold against my back as I slide down the wall beside my car, not caring that my suit might get ruined. The banker's box sits beside me like a cardboard tombstone marking the death of my career.
Five years. Five years of sixty-hour weeks, of proving myself over and over, of building something I was proud of. Gone in twenty minutes.
My phone buzzes.
David Kingsley:
Heard what happened. I'm so sorry. Can't formally help - conflict of interest. But Serena... you need a lawyer. A good one.
Call my brother. You know Caleb, and he specializes in this type of case. He's also the best there is.
I laugh, and it’s harsh, bitter. Of course. Of course the universe would do this to me.
My hands shake as I call Layla.
"Hey, babe!" Her voice is bright. "How was the meeting? Did the board love the campaign?"
"Layla." My voice cracks. "I need you."
Her tone shifts immediately. "Where are you?"
"Parking garage. At work. Or... not work anymore."
"Stay there. I'm coming."
"No, I'll come to you. I need... I need to get out of here."
"My place. I'll call Audrey. Just drive carefully, OK?"
The drive to Layla's is muscle memory. I don't remember the turns, the lights, the other cars. Just suddenly I'm there, handing my keys to the valet and being escorted to the penthouse elevator by a very friendly concierge that I’m sure I’m being rude to.
Layla is waiting when the doors open. "Oh, honey."
That's all it takes. I collapse into her arms, my purse tumbling forgotten to the floor.
"Come on," she murmurs, guiding me inside. "Audrey's on her way. Bennett's here. We've got wine."
Bennett's pacing by the windows, phone pressed to his ear, clearly in CEO mode. He ends the call when he sees me.
"Serena," he says, and there's something in his expression. "Take a seat. You look like you could use a drink."
I sink onto their pristine white couch. "They think I sold our campaign to Radiance. Eighteen months of work, and they think I just... sold it. For a job offer."
"Tell us everything," Layla says, taking the glass of wine Bennett hands her and pressing it into my hands.
So I do. The emergency meeting. The email from Victoria Chase offering triple my salary. The five recruitment attempts over eight months. Patricia's cold efficiency. Richard's disappointment. The security escort when it was all over. The way my team tried not to look at me as I left…
"They had digitally tracked access logs," I say, voice hollow. "Someone used my credentials. Someone who knew my passwords, my schedule. Someone I trusted."
The elevator opens and Audrey rushes in, still in her lab coat from Carmichael Innovations.
"I left in the middle of a neural mapping session," she announces, dropping beside me on the couch. "Layla said code red. Tell me who I need to destroy."
Despite everything, I almost smile. "The entire board of Luminous, apparently."
"Done. I'll start with targeted neurotoxins."
"Audrey," Bennett warns.
"Kidding! Mostly." She turns to me. "But seriously, what do you need?"
"A lawyer," Layla says before I can answer. "A really good one."
"The best," Bennett corrects. "This is corporate espionage, intellectual property theft, possibly conspiracy. You need someone who can navigate all of it."
They exchange looks. All three of them.
"Don't," I warn.
"Caleb," Audrey says anyway. "You need Caleb Kingsley."
"No."
"Serena—" Layla starts.
"No. I'll find someone else. There are hundreds of lawyers in Chicago."
"Not like him," Bennett says quietly. "There’s a reason I trust him with my entire business. If you want to win this, get your name cleared, and not have the next decade of your life ruined, you let him take the lead. Trust us.”
"I don't care if he's Clarence Darrow reincarnated. I'm not calling him."
"Because you ghosted him?" Audrey asks, pragmatic as always. "That was six months ago. He's probably over it."
Bennett makes a choking sound that he tries to cover with a cough.
"What?" I demand.
"Nothing. Just... he's definitely not over it."
"What does that mean?"
"It means," Layla says carefully, "that he asks about you. Every time he sees any of us."
My stomach flips. "He does?"
"'How's Serena? Is she seeing anyone? Is she seriously busy or just actively avoiding me?'" Audrey does a surprisingly good Caleb impression. "It's actually kind of pathetic. But sweet. Pathetically sweet."
"Or sweetly pathetic," Layla adds.
"The point is," Bennett interrupts, "he'll help you. Without question. Hell, he'll probably drop everything the second you call."
Drop everything. The phrase makes my skin crawl. That's how it starts—someone dropping everything for you, then expecting you to do the same. Then one day you wake up and realize you don't exist anymore, you're just an extension of someone else's identity.
"That's what I'm afraid of," I mutter.
"Why?" Audrey leans forward, studying me like I'm one of her lab specimens. "Because you still have feelings for him?"
"I don't have feelings for him."
They all stare at me.
"I don't! I just... I can't sit across from him in some conference room, asking him to help me when I know I’ve been a total asshole. He’ll want to know why I did it. And…and I don’t have it in me to explain it to him."
"I'm not sure you need to explain why you didn’t show that night," Layla says quietly.
Audrey gives me a look that tells me she thinks I should. But for once, even she knows not to push.
I take a shaky sip of the wine.
"Even if I wanted to," I say, staring into the liquid, "what would I say?
Hey, Caleb, remember that time I disappeared from your life with zero warning?
Could you also drop everything and possibly risk your reputation to defend me against a multi-billion dollar corporation that thinks I'm a traitor?”
"Look," Bennett says. "Personal feelings aside, you need him. You trust David, right? You trust me?” I nod. “Both of us are recommending him for a reason. He's brilliant, he's connected, and he knows how to fight dirty when necessary."
"Plus," Audrey adds, "there's the added bonus that seeing you again might finally put him out of his misery."
"He's not in misery."
Bennett lets out a short, humorless laugh. “He’s my lawyer and my best friend, Serena. I see him every day. Trust me, the man has dedicated an impressive amount of billable hours to staring out his office window in your office’s general direction. It’s misery, with a view.”
“He’s not lying,” Layla murmurs, squeezing my shoulder. “But that’s not the point. The point is your career. Your reputation. Everything you’ve worked for. You didn’t do this. So you shouldn’t go down for it.”
My phone buzzes.
Victoria Chase:
Serena, I heard about what happened at Luminous. My offer still stands. In fact, given the circumstances, I'm prepared to improve it substantially. Call me.
I show them the text. Everyone explodes at once.
"The audacity!" Layla shrieks.
"Save that,” Bennett says. “Don't respond."
"I'll respond," Audrey mutters. "With a virus that destroys her entire digital existence."
Another text.
Luminous HR:
Ms. Morgan, This is a courtesy text to remind you that your administrative leave includes a non-contact order with all Luminous employees. Any attempt to reach out to team members will be considered interference with an ongoing investigation.
"They're isolating you," Bennett says, reading over my shoulder. "Classic legal tactic. Can't build a defense if you can't investigate."
"Which is why you need Caleb," Layla says gently. "He won't be bound by their restrictions."
I drain my wine glass. Refill it. Drain it again.
They're right. All of them. I need the best lawyer in Chicago, and unfortunately, that's the man I've been running from for six months. The man whose witty texts I still read at 2 AM when I can’t sleep.
The man who made me believe, just for a night, that I could be something other than the perfectly curated image I sell for a living.
My throat tightens. Bennett is right. Layla is right. Even Audrey, with her threats of neurotoxins, is right. Pride is a luxury I can no longer afford. My career, my name—they’re worth more than my embarrassment.
"Fine," I whisper. "I'll call him."
"Actually," Bennett says, already pulling out his phone, "let me text him first. Professional courtesy."
"Bennett, don't?—"
He's already typing. Ten seconds later, his phone buzzes. His eyebrows shoot up.
"What?" I demand.
"He says he can see you tomorrow morning. Eight AM sharp. His office." Bennett looks up.
"You texted him literally fifteen seconds ago," Layla points out, waggling her eyebrows.
“Don’t start,” I warn and she mimes zipping her lips.
Bennett’s cell buzzes with another text. "He also says to tell you to bring everything you have. Documents, emails, timestamps. Everything."
"Everything," I echo, my voice barely a whisper.
My 'everything' is currently sitting in a sad cardboard box on the passenger seat of my car.
My entire professional life, reduced to a few personal trinkets, a framed photo, and a wilted desk plant.
The humiliation washes over me again, and I bury my face in my hands. "God. I can't do this."
"Yes, you can," Audrey says firmly. "You're going to walk into his office tomorrow morning looking absolutely devastating—I'm talking power suit, killer heels, the whole kit and kaboodle. You're going to be professional, composed, and completely unbothered by your history."
"And if he brings it up?"
"He won't," Bennett says with surprising certainty. "Not during business hours. Caleb's too professional for that."
"After business hours, though..." Layla trails off suggestively.
"There won't be an after business hours. This is strictly professional. I won’t be going down that road again."
They all exchange another look.
"Stop doing that!"
"We're not doing anything," Audrey says innocently.
"You're all thinking something."
"Just that tomorrow morning, you're going to walk into the office of the man you've been avoiding for six months," Layla says.
"You're going to ask for his help. And he's going to give it. Without question. Without hesitation. Because whatever you think about yourself, whatever reason you had for running, Caleb Kingsley is a good man, and he’ll fight for you. "
The truth of it sits heavy in the room.
"I need more wine," I announce.
"You need to go home and get ready for tomorrow," Audrey says. "Power suit, remember? Full face of makeup. All the armor."
"Right. Armor." I stand on shaky legs. "I can do this. It's just a legal consultation. It’ll be fine. We’ll be…professional."
"Absolutely," Layla agrees, not even trying to hide her smile. "Totally professional."