Chapter 13
Wesley Hawthorne turned around, his eyes landing on Serena Whitmore’s pale smile.
The hospital room was so quiet, the soft drip of her IV echoed in the air.
“You’re an idiot,” he said suddenly.
Serena blinked, startled.
What?”
“I said,” Wesley repeated, each word cutting like a blade, “you’re an idiot.
Her eyes widened. For the first time in days, color crept back into her cheeks. “Wesley Hawthorne, your “What, you don’t know how to fight back when someone’s draining your blood? You just let people walk all over laugh and tapped the needle mark on her arm with his long fingers. “If that’s not stupid, then what is?” Serena’s, hand trembled with fury. She opened her mouth to argue, but he didn’t give her the chance.
you?”
“Lie down.” His hand pressed firmly to her shoulder, guiding her back onto the pillow with quiet force. “Rest.” The heat of his palm seeped through the thin hospital gown, and for a brief second, her skin remembered it. Serena turned her head to look at him, catching a flicker of something in his eyes–something stormy and unreadable. “This,” he said, grabbing his suit jacket, “I’ll take care of.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click, but her heart gave a hard, startled thump.
He let out a cold.
At the top–floor office of the Hawthorne Group, Wesley slammed a stack of documents onto his desk
“Is it confirmed?”
His assistant, Ryan Lin, adjusted his glasses. “Julian Blackwell pulled strings last month to obtain AB–negative blood from Mercy General under the pretense of a ‘medical emergency.‘ The timeline matches the needle mark on Ms. Whitmore’s arm.‘
Wesley’s expression went cold.
“There’s more,” Ryan added. “Miles Carrington, Grayson Hale, and Declan Price have been in frequent contact with the stable manager. Surveillance caught their people tampering with the horse feed just before Ms. Whitmore’s fall.”
The pen in Wesley’s hand snapped in two.
Before he could respond, his phone buzzed.
ATMZ headline flashed across the screen:
SHOCKER: Whitmore Heiress Seduces Hawthorne Heir to Get Revenge on Ex!
Attached was a heavily edited photo of him and Serena at the gala, doctored to make it look like they were gazing at each other longingly.
Wesley let out a bitter laugh and called his PR team.
“Three things,” he said.
“One, tue every outlet ruting this crap
“Two, schedule a press conference.”
“And three-“he paused, eyes narrowing as he looked out the window, voice like frost-“leak the dirt I had you dig up.” That afternoon, the East Coast elite exploded.
Realch
At the press conference, Wesley stood tall in a perfectly tailored suit as flashes went off around him.
Reporters shouted over one another: “Mr. Hawthorne, is it true that Ms. Whitmore is using you to get back at Mr. Blackwell-?”
“She’s my fiancée,” Wesley cut in, calm but commanding. “And she’s not anyone’s scapegoat.”
The room erupted.
Minutes later, the Hawthorne Group’s official account dropped a bombshell:
A forged Cambridge degree under Evangeline Hart’s name, bank records showing her siphoning funds from the Whitmore estate, and audio of her badmouthing Julian behind his back.
Public opinion flipped overnight.
Serena, propped up in her hospital bed, scrolled through the avalanche of posts, a faint smile curling at her lips.
The door swung open.
Wesley strode in, dropping a thick file into her lap.
“What,” he said, raising an eyebrow, tone dripping with mockery, “you just take being screwed over in silence now? Since when did the Whitmore heiress become such a pushover?”
Serena flipped the file open. Inside were explicit photos of Evangeline and her ex, proof of massive gambling debts, and more.
She looked up, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Is this you teaching me how to get even, Mr. Hawthorne?”
He looked down at her, smirking. “You gonna learn or not?”
Serena grinned. She grabbed her phone and anonymously uploaded the most damning tiles to every major platform.
Within the hour, #EvangelineHartOut was trending nationwide.
In the Blackwell Group boardroom, Julian hurled his tablet to the floor, shattering it.
“That bitch Serena!” he shouted, eyes bloodshot. “She’s framing Evie!!!
Miles Carrington frowned as he scrolled through the posts. “These don’t look fake…”
“Shut up!” Julian grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward. “It’s Serena and Wesley–they’re behind this!”
Declan Price spoke up. “Word is, Wesley’s looking to acquire land out west.”
The room fell quiet.
Then Grayson Hale adjusted his glasses, a cold gleam catching on the lenses. “If they want to play dirty,” he said, “we’ll play dirtier.” That night, the Blackwells, Carringtons, Hales, and Prices all announced they were cutting tles with the Hawthorne Group. Rumors flew some said the families were working with banks to freeze Hawthorne assets
Serena heard the news while Wesley was still in his study, mid–video call.
She walked in with a cup of coffee and caught the tail end of his instructions: “Sell our European bonds. Pull the money back. I don’t care what it costs.”
The screen went dark. Silence settled over the room.
She placed the coffee on his desk. “Need the Whitmores to step in?”
Wesley looked up at her, eyes sharp. “How exactly are you planning to help?”
Reelsh
“I’ve got three mining sites under my name,” she said quietly. “I can liquidate them anytime.”
He paused. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
“Serena,” he said, low and amused, “do you even know what that means?”
