Chapter 22
Seraphina Chapman has been sitting at the end of the long glass table in the main boardroom for exactly twelve minutes when she realizes that the meeting has nothing to do with a simple contingency assessment. It is a full-blown execution.
She senses it in the evasive glances of the board members, who barely hold her gaze for more than two seconds.
She notices it in the tense silence of the general counsel, whose face remains impassive, and above all in the gray folder placed in front of Adrian Beckett, as if it were a scalpel ready to cut open her chest without giving her the option of anesthesia.
At first, no one mentions the scandal that continues to fill newspapers and dominate the news cycle.
They prefer to talk about financial stability and the stock market fluctuations expected in the wake of the media leak.
The corporate language falls across the table with a cold, monstrous detachment, as if the published photographs did not belong to real lives but to a faulty graph that must be corrected before the markets open.
Seraphina keeps her back straight, her hands clasped on the glass, and her face serene.
She doesn’t tremble. She spent the entire night training herself not to.
She feels the weight of every gaze like a silent accusation, but she forces herself to breathe calmly.
She thinks that if she shows the slightest crack, they will magnify it until it destroys her.
Adrian finally speaks with that unbearable calm that always characterizes him. He wears an impeccable dark blue suit and a carefully studied, almost theatrical expression of gravity.
“The board’s priority is to contain the impact on the merger and ensure the confidence of external investors,” he states as he slides a document toward the center of the table. “Of course, we all deeply regret the personal situation you are going through, Seraphina.”
The word “personal” turns her stomach. Because nothing he has done has been accidental or private. Everything has been calculated.
Seraphina looks down at the document. The black letters on the white paper seem to dance for a moment: TEMPORARY SUSPENSION OF EXECUTIVE DUTIES. She hears the beating of her own heart pounding inside her head, louder than any voice in the room.
Adrian continues in the same tone:
“The measure is purely preventive. The board believes that a temporary withdrawal will facilitate the stabilization of the financial operation while we analyze the media impact of the incident.”
“Son of a bitch.” How dare he call it an incident? How can he be so nonchalant, sitting right in front of her after what he’s done? How can he pretend that what happened was a mere accident and not the result of him lighting the fuse with his own hands?
Seraphina slowly raises her eyes and looks him straight in the face.
He holds her gaze with the poisonous calm of someone who knows he’s already won the game.
At that very moment, she realizes something far worse than the loss of her career: there was never any real intention to negotiate.
The blackmail was only the prelude. Adrian needed to destroy her publicly to take absolute control of the investment fund and remove her from the deal before she could react. And now, it’s crystal clear to her.
“We need your corporate access credentials immediately,” the general counsel interjects with obvious discomfort, clearing his throat slightly. “Also, all the documentation you’ve worked on and financial authorization over the accounts linked to the merger.”
The silence that follows is devastating.
For years, that room was her territory, her undisputed kingdom.
She led international deals from that very table, closed multimillion-dollar acquisitions, and saved operations that others had written off as lost. Every screen, every report, and every strategic decision bore her mark.
And now they’re cutting her off from her own creation as if she were a threat that must be eradicated as quickly as possible.
Adrian folds his hands on the table and adopts an almost paternal tone.
“We understand that this moment may be emotionally difficult for you.”
Seraphina feels an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh in his face, but she restrains herself.
She doesn’t intend to give him a single reaction he could use against her later.
She opens the folder and reads the entire document, line by line, without haste.
The clauses are clearly worded, within a legal framework that now makes her sick.
Because every single one of those words is perfectly designed to bury her alive.
She picks up the fountain pen beside the folder, and soon the ink flows across the paper as she signs her name.
Adrian flashes a faint, barely perceptible but triumphant smile.
“We appreciate your cooperation, Seraphina,” he murmurs.
She carefully sets the pen down on the table and looks up.
“Are you done already?” she asks, without a trace of emotion.
The question throws him off for half a second. He’d expected tears, anger, perhaps a dramatic scene. But Seraphina has been broken inside for too many hours to offer him that spectacle.
The general counsel clears his throat again.
“The IT team will deactivate your access as soon as we leave here.”
She nods, removes her executive ID badge from around her neck, and places it on the glass.
The small plastic rectangle makes a ridiculously faint sound, but to her it feels as though she has just torn out a vital organ.
Then she hands over everything they’ve asked for, and her symbols of power disappear in a matter of seconds, piled up in front of Adrian Beckett like war trophies.
When she stands up, no one tries to stop her. They no longer need anything else from her.
Rain is pounding Manchester when the taxi drops her off in front of the hotel entrance.
Seraphina remains inside the vehicle for a few moments, watching the revolving doors and the steady flow of strangers with suitcases.
No one knows who she is. For the first time in many years, she is invisible.
The thought should bring her relief, but it only opens an unbearable void inside her.
She gets out of the car carrying only her purse and a small suitcase she packed in a hurry that very morning, while Elliot went out of his way to avoid running into her in the hallways of the house and her children endured their own personal hell at their grandparents’ home.
“They’re going to hate me for the rest of their lives,” she thinks, just as the receptionist gives her a professional, neutral smile.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Chapman.”
The surname pierces her chest. She signs the register and heads toward the elevator to go up to room 814.
As she inserts the key card and hears the electronic beep of the door, she feels a strange twinge.
She sets her suitcase down next to the bed and walks slowly to the large window.
Manchester stretches out before her like a weary landscape of concrete and dim lights.
Seraphina Chapman crosses her arms and, for the first time since the meeting, feels the true weight of her fall.
She no longer has an office. Or a home. Or control.
Or a clear future. Just that room in a nondescript hotel in a city she has spent years trying to conquer.
She presses her forehead against the cold glass and closes her eyes.
She thinks of Elliot, of her children, of one last desperate kiss in the parking garage.
And then the memory of Nerissa tears her apart inside.
Because, even after everything, she remains the only place where Seraphina’s body recognizes something resembling the truth.
*
Meanwhile, it takes Nerissa less than ten minutes to reach Daphne’s apartment.
The rain has soaked through her coat, and she still carries the rage of everything that has happened in the last few hours clinging to her skin like a second layer of sweat.
Her body feels exhausted, but her mind is fueled by violent surges of adrenaline and humiliation.
When Daphne opens the door, the warmth from inside hits her immediately. For a second, Nerissa feels the physical urge to collapse right there on the threshold, and she has no idea why she doesn’t.
Daphne watches her for a moment before stepping closer.
“My God…” she whispers with concern, touching her arm.
That simple touch nearly shatters what little composure she has left.
Nerissa steps inside without saying a word.
The apartment is immaculate, arranged with the elegance she had always admired in Daphne.
Everything exudes stability, security, and control.
Exactly the opposite of what she is feeling right now.
Daphne closes the door and leads her into the living room.
“Please, sit down. I’ll make you something,” she says gently.
Nerissa shakes her head.
“I don’t need coffee. What I need is for someone to tell me there’s still something left standing after all this.”
“Yeah… I think that’s normal.”
Nerissa closes her eyes for a moment. In her mind, she relives the headlines, the photographs, her life turned into public fodder.
“They’ve suspended me,” she murmurs.
“I know that too,” Daphne replies.
The woman lowers her hand, and then something small but revealing happens. Daphne takes half a step back, creating an almost imperceptible but cautious distance. And Nerissa notices it instantly. So much so that the living room seems to cool by several degrees.
Daphne heads to the open kitchen and returns with two cups of coffee.
“You can stay here tonight if you want,” she offers as she sets a cup on the table in front of the sofa. “You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”
Nerissa stares at her.
“But?” she asks, because she knows there’s a but.
Daphne sighs.
“I need… you to understand one thing. Being the auditor for the clinic merger comes at a price, and to make matters worse, the situation has become much bigger than it seemed this morning.”
Corporate speak again.
“I want to help you,” Daphne continues cautiously, “but outwardly, we need to keep our distance. I don’t want things to get worse.”
Nerissa stands still, processing what she has just heard.
“Distance?” she repeats. “You told me there would be no dark corners with you, Daphne.”
“And I still believe that,” Daphne replies, holding her gaze. “But this situation also requires some… stability. I can’t jeopardize my job or my reputation over this.”
Because of this. Not because of you. Because of this.
Nerissa looks away toward the window.
“I’ve suddenly realized something terrible,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “Not even Seraphina could overcome her own fear. And you can’t break through the cold logic of numbers.”
Daphne approaches again.
“I’m not abandoning you. I’m just asking for time until the storm passes.”
“But there’s always a condition, isn’t there? As long as it doesn’t hurt the business. As long as the market allows it. As long as the scandal doesn’t splash onto you. Do you think I’m proud of this?”
“No, I know you’re not. But right now, this is what we have,” Daphne replies coolly.
Nerissa nods, and with that, she leaves the coffee, Daphne, and that damn apartment behind. But before she goes, she turns and looks her in the eyes.
“Now I understand why I never managed to truly love you.”