Serena’s POV

Just smiling my way through this circus, that was my whole plan. Just keep the mask in place, keep the panic on a short leash.

I watched Mr. Alvin come gliding over, wearing that host-smile made for business cards.

“Mrs. Lancaster, Mr. Lancaster! Wonderful to see you here tonight.”

“Mr. Alvin, truly, you outdid yourself. The atmosphere’s... incredible.” The lie felt cold on my tongue. Meanwhile my mind was running a mental obstacle course, mapping exits and counting possible detours if I needed out, fast.

He leaned closer, voice full of importance. “You’re far too kind. But honestly, tonight belongs to our investors. I cannot thank Mr. Lancaster and Mr. Blackwood enough for their support.”

Mr. Blackwood. Just hearing his name was enough to hit me like a punch to the solar plexus. The smile on my lips started feeling fragile, brittle—like if I breathed wrong, it’d crack.

God, please—let him be late tonight. Give me five more minutes to build some armor.

So when my eyes swept the room—I couldn’t spot Ryan’s monster-tall frame anywhere. I exhaled, just a little. Relief, thin and shaky, pooled in my chest.

Alvin wandered off, shaking hands and chasing richer prey. As he drifted, Cedric and I ended up seated at a table dressed to kill in ivory silk, already mobbed. London’s fashion elite swarmed like locusts, all dying for a peek at the mysterious Mrs. Lancaster, the nobody who’d somehow become tonight’s headline.

I flipped on autopilot. Smile. Nod. Pretend you own the room, Serena. But my brain? It ran riot.

I felt it first before I saw it—the energy in the room shifted. Like somebody just changed the station from harmless pop to a classic thriller. People froze. Heads turned. Voices stalled mid-sentence, trailing off while they followed something—or someone— at the door.

No. Not now. Not yet.

And there he was, Ryan, stalking into the room in a white suit that made every other man here look like background noise. In seconds, the place just... stilled. Champagne flutes paused midair, and every set of eyes locked on him.

And trailing behind, in click-clack stilettos, Sophie Anderson. Because this night wasn’t complicated enough.

Cedric leaned into my bubble, voice low and pointed. “That’s Sophie Anderson. She’s technically married, except her husband’s never in this country. She runs their London empire.”

I tried to focus, I really did. “So she’s got the business and the image. How very... typical.”

He caught the sarcasm in my voice and shot me a look bordering on smug. “Serena, you want my advice? Tonight’s about the collection. Stay clear of drama. Please.”

“Trust me, I’m only here for business,” I said, dragging in a sharp breath and doing my best not to glance at Ryan as he carved through the crowd.

But then our eyes locked—and for one second, the noise and the crowd and the whole spinning world just... stopped. His gaze pinned me.

Before I could even blink, Ryan started moving in my direction, cutting through the glitterati like a wolf among designer sheep. Sophie chased after him, sharp eyes flicking from me to Ryan and back, her smile freezing around the edges.

The room muttered and hummed.

“Oh my God—isn’t that Blackwood’s missing wife?”

“That’s the third daughter from Quinn’s family—the one who vanished!”

“She’s using another name—what else has she lied about?”

I barely managed to keep smiling, even while the whispers swirled like storm clouds. Every step Ryan took, my new life started crumbling. I could feel it, like standing in a glass house with the first stone already thrown.

And then Sophie got there first. She wedged herself against Ryan’s side, laying on the sugar with a trowel. “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Lancaster and Mr. Lancaster. What a surprise.”

I locked my smile in place, playing the game back. “Not really, Mrs. Anderson. You’re here as a major sponsor, I helped organize the event. Would’ve been far stranger if we hadn’t crossed paths, don’t you think?”

I could see her recall that time she tried stealing Sally from my team. No way was I letting her rewrite that history.

She dropped her gaze to my shoes, lips twisting. “Congratulations on Elegant Realm getting such a prime slot. The pressure must be...unbelievable.”

She leaned in, voice syrupy and dangerous. “Hope you’re not too stressed. It’d be a shame if something... went wrong.”

So that’s how we’re playing it tonight? Fine. Bring it, ice queen.

Before I could scorch her with a comeback, Cedric jumped in—his voice hard, maybe even a little savage. “I’m sure you’ve got more than enough on your plate, Mrs. Anderson. Serena’s managing just fine.”

Sophie’s eyes glittered, but she retreated. There were cameras everywhere—she knew better.

But Ryan? He hadn’t said a single word yet. He just stared at me, like trying to solve a puzzle no one had any business solving. The way he looked at me made every inch of my skin burn.

Why is he even looking at me like that? What does he think he’s seeing?

Cedric must’ve noticed, too. He dropped the Mr. Nice Guy act, his tone clipped. “Never thought I’d see you at one of these, Blackwood. You used to avoid parties like a plague.”

Ryan toyed with his glass, not even bothering to hide the disdain on his face. When he finally spoke, it was in that low, dangerous tone that turned even casual words into loaded guns.

“You remember wrong.”

He cut his eyes to Cedric, voice cold enough to frost the champagne. “We’re not friends, Lancaster. Barely even acquaintances. Don’t talk to me like we’re some kind of old pals.”

Whoa. If I hadn’t already been tense, that would’ve done it. Whatever bad blood ran between them, it ran deep.

Cedric went stiff, but forced himself not to show it. “If you say so. Serena, maybe we should—”

“Serena?” Ryan’s voice cracked like a bullwhip. The smile he gave Cedric belonged on a predator, not a man.

“How creative. Cedric, when did you get so good at lying? Honest question. Because you’ve definitely improved since the last time we talked.”

Great. Now he was looking at me again. And I felt it—my heart, jackhammering like I’d run a marathon in heels.

“And as for you,” he said, gaze boring into me, “how much do you really know about the man whose arm you’re holding onto? Because I’ve got stories about Cedric Lancaster that would make your jaw drop.”

There it is. Open war, right here in front of London’s most judgmental champagne set.

He moved closer, voice low and taunting. “What do you say, Serena? Let’s get a drink—just you and me. I have a feeling you’re dying to hear what I really think.”

And I—damn it, I wanted answers. But not here, not now, not like this.

Everyone watched us like circling sharks, dying for some public meltdown. For a half-second, I thought about bolting—but if I ran now, they’d eat me alive.

So I squared my shoulders, matched Ryan’s stare, and let my smile cut as sharp as his voice. “Save your stories, Ryan. I’m not that easy to impress.”

The room stopped, the tension pulsed, and I realized I had a choice: lose myself in the old drama or finally take the show back.

And tonight, for the first time, I found myself wanting to set the whole damn stage on fire.

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