Chapter 11
Serena Whitmore’s engagement to Wesley Hawthorne detonated like a bomb in East Coast high society, sending shockwaves through the elite circles. The Blackwells, Carringtons, Hales, and Prices scrambled to dig into Wesley’s past, desperate to uncover why the Whitmores would suddenly align themselves with a longtime adversary.
Corporate spies and private investigators worked around the clock, but Wesley’s background was a fortress–airtight and impenetrable. All they uncovered were whispers: a discreet yet vast empire based in Switzerland, deep affiliations with European conglomerates, and rumors of ties to shadowy, untouchable forces.
“How the hell does he have this kind of power?” Julian Blackwell slammed the report onto his desk, his eyes dark with fury. “He was the spoiled brat Serena used to bully as a kid–how did this happen?”
Miles Carrington leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “Maybe… we never really knew him at all ”
Evangeline Hart simmered with rage. She hadn’t clawed her way into Julian’s inner circle just to watch Serena come out on top again. She’d wanted tears, disgrace, humiliation–not that same smug, untouchable composure. Swallowing her anger, Evie took a slow breath and made a call.
The next day, Serena stepped into her usual private club–only to stop cold at the sound of breathy, suggestive whispers echoing down the hall.
“Julian… not here…” Evie’s voice trembled, syrupy sweet with practiced seduction.
Serena’s eyes flicked up. Julian had Evie pressed against the wall, one hand tugging at her collar as he kissed her with reckless hunger. Evie glanced sideways, spotting Serena–and smiled, victorious. She raised her voice just enough to carry.
“If Serena saw us like this… she’d be devastated..”
Julian laughed coldly. “When she chose Wesley, did she care about breaking my heart?”
Serena stood still, unreadable. In her past life, this would’ve gutted her. Now? It was just pathetic.
She turned to leave, but at the end of the hallway, she collided with a wall of muscle.
Wesley Hawthorne.
He was standing there, silent, his gaze locked on hers–dark, unreadable, unflinching.
“Enjoying the show? His voice was low, edged with frost,
Serena arched a brow. “Are you following me now?”
Wesley didn’t answer. His eyes slid past her to the couple down the hall. Evie, spotting him, tossed a smug look their way. Her red lips moved silently: Loser.
Serena laughed once, sharp and dry, and turned to walk away.
But Wesley caught her wrist.
“This is it?” he asked softly. “This is all you’ve got?”
Before she could speak, he snatched a bottle of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray and stalked toward Evie.
The entire battle poured over her, soaking her pristine white dress in deep crimson. She shrieked and stumbled back. “Wesley! Are you
Wine streamed down her hair, ruining her flawless makeup. She looked like a drowned rat.
Julian’s face twisted with fury. “Wesley, you–how dare you
Wesley didn’t even glance at them. He turned, seized Serena’s hand, and pulled her down the hallway. Evie’s shrieks and curses echoed
behind them as his grip tightened–firm enough to leave faint red marks on Serena’s skin.
A black Maybach tore into the night.
Inside, the tension was suffocating.
Serena looked over at Wesley, his hand clenched around the steering wheel, jaw rigid.
“You mad?” she asked casually.
He didn’t respond, but the car accelerated.
Serena smiled faintly. “Because I went to see Julian?”
Screech
The tires screamed as Wesley slammed the brakes and pulled over. He turned to her, his eyes darker than night,
“Serena,” he said slowly, “I’m going to ask you one more time; why did you choose me?”
His voice was steady, but she could hear the rage tightly coiled beneath.
“If it was just to piss off Julian,” he added, bitterly, “then congrats–you nailed it. But don’t use me as your pawn.
Serena held his gaze. Then, gently, she reached out and touched his cheek. Wesley froze, the storm in his eyes faltering. “Wesley.” Her fingertips brushed his brow. “Are you jealous?”
Silence thickened the air between them.
A heartbeat later, Wesley grabbed her wrist and pinned her back against the seat.
“Don’t play with fire,” he warned, voice low and rough.
His breath was warm against her skin, tinged with red wine and something sharper–danger.
Serena tilted her head, a spark of amusement dancing in her eyes.
“And what if I said I want to?”
