Chapter Twenty-eight
Serena
My head is spinning, my heart racing like it’s trying to escape my fucking chest.
Why does he have to look so good? Why is he the most attractive man I’ve ever met in my life?
I hope, God, I hope, he didn’t notice the jealousy burning in my eyes when I saw her next to him. The woman in the black dress, the one with legs for days and lips painted in the deepest red. The one who looked like she belonged at his side.
But how could I not react?
The way he looked in that black suit, like it was designed specifically for him.
The fabric hugging his broad shoulders, his powerful frame.
The way his dark curls fell slightly messy across his forehead, his fresh cut making him look even sharper.
And his scent. That intoxicating mix of mint and smoke, wrapped in something uniquely him.
Then there was his face.
Those cold, piercing blue eyes, always scanning, always calculating. The short beard that made him look even more devastatingly dangerous. His sharp jawline, his sculpted features, like he was carved by some cruel god meant to ruin me. And his lips.
The lips that were on me not very long ago.
I should hate him. I should. But whatever I feel for him isn’t just hate. And maybe it never was.
The way he held me tonight, like I belonged to him. Like the rest of the world didn’t matter. He didn’t care who was watching. Didn’t care about the brunette who was clearly seething in the corner. Didn’t care about the whispers, the camera flashes.
All that mattered was us.
And for a moment, I let myself believe it.
The way he danced with me, his body pressed against mine, his fingers tracing lazy circles against my back, his voice low in my ear, it all felt too natural. Like we were an actual couple. Like he wasn’t the worst possible person for me.
But, of course, my father had to ruin it.
The moment his voice cut through the air, Lorenzo stiffened slightly, his grip tightening around my waist before letting me go.
And just like that, the moment was over.
I followed my father, but every step I took away from Lorenzo felt wrong.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I follow my father down the dimly lit hallway.
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps walking, his strides confident, controlled, cold.
He stops in front of a door and pushes it open, stepping inside. He doesn’t even glance back at me, just waits, expecting me to follow.
And when I do, my stomach sinks.
My mother is already there.
Of course she is.
I feel the tension coil in my chest, squeezing around my ribs. The air in the room feels suffocating, thick with something unspoken. The last time one of my parents was unpleased with my actions, I ended up with a bruise on my cheek.
I take a step forward, cautiously. “Is everything okay?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
My father’s eyes are unreadable, his expression carved from stone. “I’m not sure what your mother told you about my arrangement with Archibald,” he begins, his voice eerily calm, “but to make it clear, you are going to marry Ian.”
My breath catches in my throat. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
What the hell is happening?
“To that point,” he continues, voice still devoid of emotion, “would you like to explain what the hell just happened out there?”
I blink at him, confused. “I don’t understand. What happened?”
He narrows his eyes at me, his jaw tightening. “Taking those pictures with John and Ian was a statement. A clear message to the world that they will be our family soon. That they should expect an alliance between the Attorney General and the Chief of the FBI.”
His words feel suffocating, like iron chains wrapping around my throat.
“Please enlighten me, Serena,” he says, voice sharp now. “Why do you think we did those photos? Why do you think we asked them to join us? So you could spend the night dancing with Moretti and ignoring your future husband?”
I freeze.
Lorenzo.
This is about Lorenzo.
I swallow hard, my body betraying me by trembling under my father’s cold stare. Say something, Serena. Say anything.
But I can’t.
My mother shifts in her chair, and when I turn to look at her, she’s smirking.
Like she knew this was coming. Like she’s been waiting for this moment, relishing it.
The room suddenly feels smaller, the walls closing in on me.
The air is too thick, too hot.
I need to breathe.
“Answer me!” my father shouts, the force of his voice slamming into me like a physical blow.
I flinch.
I fucking flinch.
And my mother just smirks wider.
I inhale sharply, trying to steady myself. I can’t let them see me break. Not now. Not here.
I lift my chin and force my voice to remain calm, even though my entire body is shaking.
“First of all,” I begin, staring directly at my father, “being asked for a dance by the man who organized this very event and owns the freaking building should be a good thing, right? Diplomatic stuff and all that?” I arch a brow. “Or does that only apply when it suits you?”
“Language,” his expression remains unreadable, but I see the way his jaw clenches. I push forward.
“Secondly, why are you so obsessed with this marriage arrangement? You know my opinion about this. You know I respect you, father, but I will never, never, marry someone who isn’t my choice.”
My pulse is racing, and I feel my breathing quicken, but I don’t stop.
“And since we’re being so freaking honest tonight,” I add coldly, shifting my glare toward my mother, “she slapped me, by the way.”
That gets his attention.
His eyes snap to my mother, his expression darkening.
“What if I just went out there, in front of all those paparazzi, wiped off my makeup, and showed them the gift she gave me?” I tilt my head mockingly. “Wouldn’t that reflect perfectly on our family?”
Silence.
My mother’s smirk is gone.
I can see her entire body stiffen, her fingers trembling slightly as she grips the chair beside her. She knows she just lost control of the situation.
But my father, he doesn’t look at me. He looks at her.
His gaze sharpens, his expression shifting from unreadable to something almost… lethal.
“Thomas…” My mother’s voice comes out barely above a whisper, a desperate plea.
He steps toward her. She slowly rises from her chair, her eyes flicking between him and me, her breath uneven.
“Did you slap my daughter?” His voice is dangerously low, lifting her chin with his fingers.
Tears fill her eyes instantly. “I—I didn’t want to!” she rushes out. “I apologized! It was the first time!” She turns to me, her face desperate. “We’re fine now, aren’t we, honey?”
I don’t answer.
I don’t blink.
I don’t even look at her.
She knows the answer.
My father slowly exhales, but his grip tightens just slightly before he releases her. He doesn’t say anything else, but the tension between them is suffocating. I almost want to laugh. He won’t do anything about it. He loves what this family represents too much.
But I don’t have the energy to care anymore.
I just want to leave.
“Can I go now?” I ask, turning my attention back to him.
He finally looks at me, then at his watch, like we just wasted his precious time.
Without a word, he reaches into his pocket and tosses something onto the table.
An envelope.
I hesitate before picking it up, and the moment my eyes scan the first few lines, my stomach drops.
My fingers tighten around the paper, my breathing uneven as I look back at him, my vision blurring with unshed tears.
He just stares at me blankly, unfazed.
“I want this signed by next month,” he says flatly, like it’s nothing, like he just handed me another set of business documents.
Like it’s not my entire life he’s throwing away.
Then, without another word, he takes my mother’s arm and leads her out of the room, leaving me standing there, empty.
Marriage contract.
I push my tears to the back of my mind. Not here. Not now. I can’t afford another breakdown, not in the middle of this party, not when everyone’s watching. I shove the envelope into my bag like it burns to touch, like if I don’t look at it, it doesn’t exist.
The reception is still packed, people chatting, drinking, laughing. The music hums in the background, but all I hear is the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I need a drink. I need to switch off. I need to not feel.
But as soon as I step inside, my body stiffens.
He’s still here.
Lorenzo.
He’s standing there, whiskey glass in hand, surrounded by men in expensive suits talking about money, power, business, things I should care nothing about.
But the second his eyes land on me, the conversation around him ceases to exist. His gaze lingers, piercing through me like he sees something no one else does.
I look away. I can’t do this tonight. It hurts too much. It’s too much.
I weave through the crowd, avoiding him at all costs. I don’t have the strength to play his twisted little game right now.
Sienna spots me first, abandoning whoever she was talking to and walking straight toward me.
“Where have you been?” she asks, her sharp green eyes scanning me like she can read the thoughts swirling inside my head.
I try to answer, but my throat is tight, my emotions clawing their way up. If I say anything, I know I’ll break down right here, in front of everyone.
She notices the tears in my eyes instantly. Of course she does.
I glance around. My family is nowhere to be seen. Figures. They left me here. No doubt to make another appearance at some important event where they can continue their perfect political charade.
I swallow hard, forcing out the only word I can manage.
“Around.” My voice cracks, betraying me.
Sienna frowns. “Serena, what happened?”
I shake my head, gripping my clutch so tightly my knuckles turn white. Not now. Please, not now.
Then I see it. The glassy look in her eyes. The way her lips press together like she’s been holding something in all night. And that’s when I realize, I’m not the only one who’s had a shitty evening.
“What happened to you?” I ask, needing desperately to focus on something other than my own life spiraling out of control.
She exhales shakily. Her voice is quieter than usual.
“Knox.”
I feel my stomach drop.
I nod, letting her continue.
“You know our relationship, our open relationship,” she says bitterly, wiping at the corner of her eye before the tears can fall.
I do. She’s told me before, how they agreed to give each other space, how she never fully understood what that meant.
“I got a text from an unknown number,” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “With a video.”
I don’t ask. I already know.
Her hands clench into fists. “When I clicked on it, it was Knox. With two girls. Not one, two.”
My heart breaks for her.
She sniffs, tilting her head up like she’s trying to hold it together, but I can see how close she is to crumbling.
“I tried to call him. No answer. I texted him, asked where he was, and he ignored me. So I told him I was done. That I was breaking up with him.” Her lips tremble, but she steels herself. “And do you know what he said?”
I shake my head.
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “He asked why.”
“What?” I whisper.
“He told me it wasn’t cheating because we agreed to an open relationship.” She clenches her jaw. “Because we agreed.”
Silence settles between us, heavy and suffocating.
I reach for her hand, squeezing it tight. She doesn’t say anything, just holds on like she needs something to ground her.
She swallows thickly, her gaze distant. Like she wants to say more but doesn’t know how.
I don’t push.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, pulling Sienna into a hug.
She holds onto me tightly, her body trembling slightly from the weight of everything she’s just told me.
We both had an awful night, hell, an awful freaking week.
And the alcohol isn’t doing either of us any favors.
My head is spinning, my emotions all over the place, and I know hers are too.
“Let’s make that spa day a weekend,” I say, pulling back and giving her a soft smile. “I think we both need it.”
She nods, forcing a small smile, but her eyes are still glassy. She’s barely holding it together, just like me.
“Let’s get out of here,” she sighs, rubbing her temples. “It’s late, and I can’t stand being in this place a second longer.”
I couldn’t agree more.
“I’ll drive,” I offer quickly. Lie. I can barely see straight from the drinks, the crying, the shock of being handed a damn marriage contract, and worst of all, the lingering heat from him.
From his hands on my body, the way he held me like I belonged to him, the way he looked at me like I was his world and his prey at the same time.
I shove the thought away.
Sienna gives me a skeptical look but nods. “Fine. But if you crash my car, I’ll haunt you in the afterlife.”
We walk towards the parking lot, both of us too drained to even make conversation. But as we approach Sienna’s car, my steps falter.
Someone’s sitting on the hood, arms crossed, exuding pure dominance.
Not just anyone.
No, not Lorenzo. But someone close to him.
I freeze. My stomach tightens with unease, but not fear. I’ve seen this man before. I don’t know his name, but I know who he is.
He was there that day.
The one who walked into the room like a fucking ghost and shut off the cameras. The one who freed Lorenzo from his cuffs like it was nothing. The one with the cold, unreadable expression that sent shivers down my spine.
And now, here he is, perched on Sienna’s car like he owns it.
He’s as tall as Lorenzo, maybe even taller. Built like a soldier, a warrior, a man who could kill with his bare hands and not blink twice about it. But unlike Lorenzo, he has no tattoos marking his skin. He’s clean, sharp, like a blade that’s never dulled.
His hair is black, neatly cut, his face impossibly sharp, all angles and edges. And those eyes, those gray eyes, are cold, calculating.
But he’s not looking at me.
He’s looking at Sienna.