CHAPTER 24: CHAPTER 24 REVENGE2

Serena’s POV

I woke up to my phone practically vibrating off the nightstand. Seventeen missed calls, over fifty text messages, and hundreds of notifications across all my social media accounts.

What the hell?

Groggily, I unlocked my phone, only to feel like I’d been punched in the stomach.

There I was, plastered across gossip sites and trending topics, photos of Julian and me at dinner manipulated to look intimate, scandalous. The headlines were brutal:

"HIGH SOCIETY SCANDAL: SERENA QUINN’S AFFAIR WITH BRITISH HEARTTHROB"

"EXCLUSIVE: HOW SERENA QUINN STOLE Julian Clarke FROM HOLLYWOOD"

"BLACKWOOD EX-WIFE CAUGHT WITH FAMOUS ACTOR—IS THIS WHY THEY DIVORCED?"

My hands shook as I scrolled through the vicious comments. People I’d never met were calling me a slut, a homewrecker, a gold-digger. Julian apparently was being labeled a predator and a cheat.

It took me approximately three seconds to figure out who was behind this.

"Ivy," I whispered, rage building inside me. This was her revenge for the restaurant confrontation. For trying to press charges against her.

My phone rang again. It was Maya.

"Are you seeing this shit?" she demanded without greeting.

"Yeah," I managed, my throat tight. "I’m seeing it."

"Julian just called me. He’s been trying to reach you. He’s already posted a statement denying everything."

I quickly found Julian’s post, feeling a rush of gratitude for his swift defense of my character. But the damage was already done. The comments under his statement were still vicious, many accusing him of lying to cover up our "affair."

"I need to call WhisperStream," I said, the social media specialist who’d helped me with online crises before.

Maya replied. "OK. But Serena... maybe you should lay low for a few days? At least until your concussion is fully healed."

I wanted to argue, to insist on going to the studio and facing this head-on. But the throbbing in my skull reminded me that I wasn’t at full strength yet.

"Fine," I conceded reluctantly. "But keep me updated on everything."

After hanging up with Maya, I spent the next hour working with WhisperStream to strategize our response.

Unlike Julian, I couldn’t just announce retirement from public life. Dreamland Studio was my livelihood, my passion, my redemption after my failed marriage. I refused to let Ivy take that from me too.

As I was drafting a careful statement with WhisperStream’s help, my phone rang again. It was Julian.

"Serena," he said when I answered, his British accent more pronounced with stress. "I’m so sorry about all this. I never wanted my past to affect you."

"This isn’t your fault," I insisted. "It’s Ivy’s. She’s retaliating because I tried to press charges."

Julian was quiet for a moment. "I’ve spoken with my team. We’ve issued takedown notices to the major sites, but..."

"But the internet is forever," I finished for him.

"Something like that, yes." He sighed heavily. "I’ve also made a decision. I can’t continue in the public eye after this.

The scrutiny, the invasion of privacy—I left acting to escape all that."

My heart sank. "So you’re leaving? Going back to England?" The thought of losing Julian’s friendship and support made my chest tighten painfully.

"Actually," he said slowly, "I was wondering if your offer still stands. To join Dreamland Studio officially? I’d rather keep designing, just... away from cameras and reporters."

Relief flooded through me. "Of course it still stands. Julian, you’re one of the most talented designers I know. Dreamland would be lucky to have you."

"It’s me who’s lucky," he said softly. "Not many would stand by someone whose past just created a PR nightmare."

I thought of Ryan, how quickly he’d abandoned me when things got difficult. How different Julian was, standing firm despite everything crashing down around us.

"We’ll weather this together," I promised him. "As friends and colleagues."

As I hung up, I placed a protective hand over my stomach, a gesture that was becoming instinctive. Another complication in my already complicated life. Between the scandal, the pregnancy decision, and rebuilding after my divorce, I felt like I was juggling flaming torches while walking a tightrope.

But strangely, I wasn’t as terrified as I should have been.

Maybe because for the first time in years, I was surrounded by people who actually had my back. Maya. Julian. Even WhisperStream.

Whatever Ivy threw at me next, I wouldn’t be facing it alone.

---

Ryan’s POV

I stood in the shadows across from the hospital entrance, watching as Serena walked out with Maya hovering protectively at her side.

She looked pale, fragile—so different from the fiery woman who’d confronted Ivy at the restaurant.

My fingers itched to reach for her, to help her into the waiting car, but I stayed where I was.

What right did I have to approach her now? After everything?

The memory of her lying unconscious on that restaurant floor still haunted me. The blood pooling beneath her head.

The way her body had looked so small, so broken. And worse—the knowledge that I had caused this.

I waited until her car pulled away before heading to my own. Simon was already waiting, his face carefully blank as he held the door open.

"How is she?" he asked cautiously.

"Walking. That’s something," I answered tersely, sliding into the backseat.

The drive back to Blackwood headquarters was silent.

I stared out the window, my mind replaying Serena’s parting words at the courthouse after our divorce.

"I’ll be fine without you." At the time, I’d dismissed it as bravado. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

When we reached the office, Simon cleared his throat. "Sir, there’s something you should see."

He handed me his tablet, open to a gossip site.

My stomach clenched as I saw Serena’s face plastered across the screen alongside some guy—the same one from the restaurant.

The headline screamed about an affair, complete with doctored photos making them look intimate.

"What the hell is this?" I growled, scrolling through the vicious article.

"It started circulating about an hour ago," Simon explained. "It’s everywhere now."

I felt a flash of something hot and dangerous in my chest. Jealousy? Possessiveness? Whatever it was, I pushed it aside. This wasn’t about me.

"Shut it down," I ordered. "All of it. Contact our lawyers, issue cease and desist letters to every publication running this garbage. And find out who started it."

Simon nodded, already making notes on his phone. "And if it’s... someone we know?"

"Especially if it’s someone we know," I said coldly. "No one gets to do this. Not even family."

Back in my office, I paced restlessly, unable to concentrate on work.

Serena’s words from the courthouse kept echoing in my head. What exactly had she meant by "being fine" without me? What was she doing now?

I realized with a jolt that I had no idea what her life looked like after our divorce.

I called Simon back in.

"I want everything you can find on what Serena has been doing professionally since the divorce," I said.

Simon’s eyebrow twitched slightly—the closest he ever came to showing surprise—but he nodded. "Right away, sir."

The next day, Simon placed a thick folder on my study. "Everything on Ms. Quinn’s current professional activities, as requested."

I flipped it open, and immediately felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

Dreamland Studio. Award-winning designs. The "Lazuli" collection that had taken the design world by storm last season.

"This can’t be right," I muttered, flipping through page after page of press clippings and industry accolades.

"It’s all verified, sir," Simon said quietly. "Ms. Quinn is the founder and creative director of Dreamland Studio. She also designs under the pseudonym ’Lazuli’."

I stared at the photos of exquisite jewelry pieces—elegant, innovative designs that somehow managed to look both timeless and completely fresh.

The Blackwood Group had actually tried to partner with this "Lazuli" designer last year, offering a substantial contract.

The designer had declined.

"She turned us down," I said, more to myself than to Simon. "She knew exactly who we were, and she turned us down."

"It appears so, sir."

I felt a complicated mix of emotions—shock, embarrassment, and oddly, pride.

For three years of marriage, I’d barely registered Serena’s presence in my life.

I’d never bothered to ask about her interests, her talents, her dreams. She’d been nothing more than a convenient arrangement to me.

And all that time, she’d been this—brilliant, creative, successful.

"Three years," I murmured, running my fingers over a photo of Serena at some design award ceremony, looking radiant and confident. "Three years and I never knew her at all."

Simon shifted uncomfortably. "If that will be all, sir..."

"Wait." I looked up at him, suddenly determined.

"Contact our jewelry division. I want all our supplier and distributor contacts sent to Dreamland Studio. The good ones—not the standard list."

Simon blinked, genuinely surprised now. "You want to give Ms. Quinn access to our exclusive supplier network?"

"Yes," I said firmly. "And make it anonymous. I don’t want her knowing it came from me."

After Simon left, I sat back in my chair, staring at Serena’s photo.

The mansion had felt empty since she left—not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.

I’d gotten used to her quiet presence, the faint scent of her perfume, the soft sound of her footsteps.

I wondered if she’d spent those three years waiting for something from me—some acknowledgment, some affection, some basic human decency.

The thought made me wince.

For the first time, I could see what I’d done to her. Or rather, what I hadn’t done. I hadn’t seen her. Hadn’t valued her. Hadn’t given her even a fraction of what she deserved.

And now she was thriving without me, just as she’d promised.

There was something bitter lodged in my throat, and no matter how hard I swallowed, it wouldn’t go away.

God. I was such a fucking bastard.

How did I not see it before?

How could I have looked her in the eye, day after day, and still let her slip through the cracks like that?