Chapter 187
Serena
I closed the screen with lightning speed, sliding the copying device up my sleeve as I turned to face him. Ryan Blake stood in the doorway, his custom Tom Ford suit failing to disguise the dissipation in his once-handsome face. His eyes—so like his father's—were slightly bloodshot.
"Ryan," I said coolly, falling back on years of practiced deception. "I didn't expect you back so early. Drinking lunch again?"
His mouth tightened. "Don't deflect. What are you doing in my father's private office? Searching for blackmail material? Another trust fund for your bastard son?"
I straightened my spine, injecting ice into my voice. "Michael asked me to review some Whitaker acquisition files while he's at his investment meeting. Not that I owe you any explanation."
Ryan stalked closer, the smell of expensive scotch on his breath. He placed a hand on my shoulder, his fingers digging in just enough to hurt. "How quickly you moved from my bed to my father's. Tell me, Serena, was that always the plan? Screw the son to get to the father?"
I shrugged his hand away, my skin crawling beneath my blouse. "Don't flatter yourself, Ryan. Our relationship was a business arrangement, nothing more." I allowed my gaze to drop pointedly to his groin. "Besides, I hear you've been having some... performance issues lately. Your new girlfriend must be so disappointed."
The barb struck with surgical precision. Ryan's face turned ashen, then flushed with ugly rage.
"How the fuck would you know about—" he sputtered, genuine shock replacing his practiced arrogance. "Who told you that?"
I manufactured a pitying smile, silently thanking Harper for this particular piece of intelligence. "Oh, darling. All of Los Angeles knows. Women talk, especially about disappointments in the bedroom."
His eyes narrowed to slits. "You fucking bitch!" The words exploded from him, echoing off the wood-paneled walls. "Get out! Get out of this office and get out of this house!"
The commotion brought rapid footsteps down the hallway. Michael Blake appeared in the doorway, immaculately dressed as always, not a silver hair out of place. His expression shifted from concern to irritation as he assessed the situation.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his voice dangerously soft.
Ryan jabbed a finger in my direction, his hand visibly shaking. "How long have you been fucking her? After I brought her into our lives? After I invested two years with her? Was it all some sick joke between you two?"
Blake's cold gaze flicked between us, calculating as always. Then his lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes.
"Five years," he said casually, straightening his cufflinks. "It started before you ever met her. Why do you think I introduced you two at the charity gala? I needed someone to keep an eye on your... excesses." His smile widened. "Have you looked closely at Henry lately? Notice how he has my eyes, my chin? Nothing of you in him at all?"
Ryan staggered back as if physically struck. "What are you saying?"
"Henry is mine, boy. You are not the only heir. Never were." Blake's voice was almost gentle, which somehow made the cruelty worse. "Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to behind my back. My fortune isn’t necessarily yours."
I stood frozen, my mind racing. This wasn't part of the plan. Blake had just thrown me under the bus to manage his son—a son whose heart he was casually ripping out. The flash of devastation on Ryan's face was quickly replaced by something darker, more dangerous.
"You've both been playing me," Ryan said, his voice eerily calm now. "For years." Without another word, he turned and stormed out, shoving past his father with enough force to make the older man step back.
Blake straightened his already immaculate tie, seemingly unperturbed by the storm he'd just unleashed. "Dramatic as always," he remarked. "He'll go drink himself into a stupor, then come crawling back with apologies. He always does."
I forced myself to breathe normally, though my heart was racing. "That was... unexpected."
Blake waved a dismissive hand. "A necessary correction. Ryan needs to remember his place." His eyes hardened as they focused on me. "Now, have you found anything useful on Harper Sinclair? Time is running short."
I nodded, swallowing my disgust. "I'm following several leads. Her attachment to those children might be our best leverage point."
"Good." Blake's expression softened into something that might have passed for kindness on anyone else. On him, it just looked calculated. "I need results soon, Serena. Very soon."
As he left the study, closing the door behind him, I released a shaky breath. The game had suddenly become infinitely more dangerous. Not only was Blake my enemy, but now Ryan was a wildcard—hurt, humiliated, and likely seeking revenge.
---
I waited thirty minutes after Blake left before returning to the safe, meticulously photographing every document with the specialized camera hidden in my watch. The evidence was damning—wire transfers to the mysterious Tristan, explicit murder instructions, and the original document outlining the plan to sabotage Wyatt Sinclair's car.
Once everything was finished, I quickly messaged Harper: [Evidence secured. Meeting location compromised. New rendezvous: The Edison, back room, 30 minutes.]
I carefully returned the documents exactly as I'd found them and slipped out of the study. The house felt unnaturally quiet—Blake had given most of the staff the evening off, ostensibly for a private dinner, another stroke of luck in our planning.
I made my way toward the side exit, moving silently through the dimly lit hallway. The massive portrait of Blake that dominated the foyer seemed to watch me accusingly as I passed beneath it.
Outside, the evening air felt cool against my flushed skin. Relief washed over me as I spotted my Audi in the private section of the parking area. Just a few more steps to safety, to Henry, to a future free from Blake's shadow.
"Going somewhere so late, Serena?"