Chapter 10 Chapter 10
Dominic's POV
The sun spilled gently through the blinds, casting long, golden bars across the king-sized bed. I blinked slowly at the ceiling, willing myself to stay in the cocoon of quiet just a little longer. Serena’s perfume, jasmine with a trace of vanilla curled into my nostrils, familiar now, soft and predictable. Her head rested against my chest, her hand draped across my waist. Light, delicate. Like she always was.
For a moment, everything was still.
Peaceful, even. Then, I heard a buzz.
A violent vibration tore through the silence, rattling the nightstand beside me. My phone lit up like a flare.
I stretched out an arm, careful not to disturb Serena, and swiped the screen to life.
And just like that, my peace shattered.
“#QueenOfTech” was trending.
My breath caught. My thumb trembled slightly as I opened the app. And there she was.
The photo nearly knocked the wind out of me. She was walking out of the summit, that high ponytail sleek and commanding. Her pantsuit clung to her curves in a way that demanded respect more than admiration, though there was plenty of that too. The smile on her face wasn’t wide, but it was enough. Calm, composed and untouchable.
“Tech savy Ex-wife just silenced a room full of billionaires,” the caption read.
I sat up before I realized I was moving.
Another headline, more hashtags:
“Tech’s newest darling.”
“The scorned woman is now a queen.”
“Confident women are slowly dominating male-driven industries.”
Serena stirred beside me. “Mm, what is it?” Her voice was a sleepy whisper, laced with concern.
“Nothing,” I muttered.
A lie.
I was already deep in the whirlwind, scrolling article after article, each one cutting sharper than the last. The world wasn’t just celebrating her, they were mocking me. Laughing behind their screens, whispering in sleek boardrooms and luxury lounges. The man who let her go. The fool… The idiot who thought she needed him to rise.
My jaw locked. I could practically hear their voices.
How do you let a woman like that slip through your fingers?
She didn’t just move on. She ascended.
And now? Now she was the storm.
I could still remember her laughter… God, that laugh.
How she used to stay up late sketching ideas on napkins and talking about tech as if it were art, as if it were personal. I remembered how her eyes lit up when something clicked, how she’d run to me in the middle of the night, barefoot and buzzing with discovery but all that while, I ignored her, downplayed her capability.
I flipped the phone face-down.
No. That life was done. I have Serena now… Simple, sweet Serena. Our life is beautiful… She's respectful and not doing too much. No fire. No war.
But then again…
Why had she come back?
Why now, when everything was finally going right for me?
A sick thought crept in.
She’s making a play. This wasn’t just about her project or her software. No, this was deliberate. Maybe she wanted me to see her… wanted me to feel small.
Well.
Two could play that game.
If it was attention she wanted, I’d give her mine. If she wanted power, I’d show her who still held the reins. I’d charm her, play into that nostalgia she pretended to have grown out of. I knew her words, I knew how she laughed when she was nervous, and how she tilted her head when something stirred her interest.
I could make her fall again.
Not because I missed her. Not really.
Okay. Maybe a little, don't judge me.
But this wasn’t about love. This was about leverage. She’d left me when I thought I had control, humiliated me even. And now, she was basking in the glory of my fall as if it were fuel.
I stood, walked toward the en-suite, and splashed cold water on my face.
Behind me, I heard soft steps. Serena’s arms circled around me from behind, her silk robe brushing against my back. “You’ve been quiet since you woke up,” she murmured, voice muffled by my shoulder.
“I’m just thinking,” I said flatly, catching her eyes in the mirror. “Numbers and projections.”
She looked worried. “You’ve been working so hard lately. Are you okay?”
I hesitated. She didn’t deserve this. But she’d never understand. She lived in the world I built, but she didn’t know the war beneath it.
“Yeah,” I lied. “I’m fine.”
She kissed my back and left and I gripped the edge of the sink.
Liana crept back into my mind. I could see her now… not just the woman in the trending photo, but the one who used to sit cross-legged on my floor with coffee-stained blueprints and a mind that could outmaneuver five execs in a single sentence.
She hadn’t just come back to the industry.
She’d come back to my world.
And I wasn’t about to let her take it without a fight.
……….
The office was quiet. Too quiet.
I sat behind my glass desk, blinds drawn to keep the sunlight out. It irritated me now—too cheerful for my mood.
Financial statements filled my screen, but my eyes kept drifting to the open tab beside them. Liana Rivera’s latest venture. A massive partnership with a German tech conglomerate. It was brilliant. Unshakable. Risky. Exactly the kind of move I would’ve made… once.
I clicked through press releases, headlines, side articles.
I needed more. I needed access.
A knock.
Russel entered, a manila folder in hand. “You asked for her recent investors, sir.”
I took the file, barely glancing. “I want more than a list, Russel. I want patterns. I want to know where she eats, who she meets, where she flies off to on weekends. I want her donors, allies, enemies. And I want it now.”
He blinked. “Yes, sir. I’ll get on it.”
I didn’t even look up. My fingers were already typing again.
If I could predict her moves, I could control them. I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers.
“Make her fall for you again.” I whispered to myself.
I could already see the path. The rekindled flirtation, a few accidental encounters. A gala here, a dinner there. Familiarity could be a drug, and I would dose her slowly.
She would lower her guard.
I would smile and weave my way in.
She’d believe it. And when she was at her highest…
I would end it all.
Steal her partnerships. Ruin her contracts. Discredit her in the same glossy magazines that are singing her praises now.
I smiled. Revenge wasn’t rage. It was a craft. Precision. A slow symphony of collapse.