Chapter 38 - The Rival’s Shadow
Chapter 38 - The Rival’s Shadow
Serena stared at the message until the letters blurred. Her hand trembled so badly she nearly dropped the phone.
You deserve better than his lies. Meet me before it’s too late.
Nathaniel Crane’s initials glared back like a poison signature.
Her first instinct was to delete it, pretend she hadn’t seen it, pretend it didn’t stir the questions already tearing her apart. But she didn’t. Her thumb hovered above the screen, her pulse pounding, her breath unsteady.
“Serena?”
She jumped. Damian’s voice, closer than she expected. She quickly locked the phone and slid it onto the table.
“Yeah?” she asked too quickly, her tone brittle.
Damian narrowed his eyes but didn’t press. He was exhausted—lines carved into his face, shoulders weighed down by the scandal. His voice was low, steady, almost too calm. “The board meeting’s in an hour. Lydia wants you there.”
Serena nodded, her heart racing for reasons he couldn’t see.
\---
The boardroom was a battlefield.
Serena sat beside Damian, the weight of stares pressing down on her. She heard whispers—gold digger… liability… scandal—but she kept her chin high.
Nathaniel Crane wasn’t there in person, but his presence was everywhere. A leak in the Financial Herald revealed insider claims about Wolfe Enterprises’ instability, and his company’s stock was soaring.
When Damian rose to speak, his voice carried authority, but Serena sensed the strain. “This company was built on more than rumors. We will not be undermined by fabricated stories or jealous rivals.”
But beneath the polished steel of his tone, she caught something else: desperation.
When the meeting ended, reporters swarmed outside. Cameras flashed, questions flew. Serena’s chest tightened as microphones pressed closer.
“Mrs. Wolfe, did you marry for money?”
“Serena, are you leaving Damian now that the truth is out?”
She froze. Damian pulled her close, shielding her with his body, but the sting of the words lingered.
Later, in the car, she kept her gaze fixed on the city rushing past the tinted glass. Damian reached for her hand, but she pulled away subtly, folding her arms across her chest.
He noticed. His jaw tightened, though he said nothing.
\---
That night, Serena sat awake, Nathaniel’s message replaying in her mind. Her phone buzzed again. Another text.
You can keep pretending Damian is the man you want him to be. But lies don’t build love, Serena. Meet me tomorrow. Midnight. The Glasshouse Rooftop.
She swallowed hard. The Glasshouse—a luxury rooftop bar infamous for secrecy and power deals.
She typed a reply: Stop texting me.
Then deleted it.
Instead, she stared at the glowing screen until finally, she turned it face down and shoved it away. But her chest still burned with the weight of temptation and confusion.
\---
Meanwhile, across the city, Nathaniel Crane leaned back in a leather chair, a glass of wine in his hand. He smirked at the message he’d sent, the bait cast into turbulent waters.
“She won’t resist,” he murmured.
His assistant, a sharp-eyed woman named Celine, arched a brow. “She’s not like the others.”
Nathaniel’s grin widened. “No. That’s what makes her perfect. Damian thinks she’s his anchor. I’ll make her his undoing.”
\---
The next day, Damian tried again. Over breakfast, he spoke quietly, carefully, like a man walking through a minefield.
“I know I’ve hurt you. I can’t take that back. But Serena, I need you to believe me when I say—everything I feel for you now is real.”
She looked at him then, really looked, and saw the rawness in his eyes. For a moment, her heart ached with longing. But the fracture inside her still gaped wide.
“I want to believe you,” she whispered. “But every time I try, I remember how it started. And it kills me, Damian.”
His hand reached across the table, fingers brushing hers. “Then let me prove it to you.”
Her throat tightened. She pulled her hand back gently. “Some wounds don’t heal with promises.”
\---
That evening, as Damian buried himself in strategy meetings, Serena found herself wandering the city streets, her hood pulled low, sunglasses hiding her face.
The night air was cool, the hum of New York alive around her. She didn’t plan her steps. But somehow, when she looked up, she was standing across from the Glasshouse Rooftop entrance.
Her pulse thundered. She hadn’t meant to come. Or had she?
She could leave. She should leave.
But her feet betrayed her, carrying her forward, up the elevator, until the doors slid open to the glitter of glass and lights above the city.
Nathaniel Crane was waiting.
Tall, magnetic, his smile smooth as silk. He rose from a private table near the edge, where the skyline stretched endlessly.
“Serena,” he greeted, as if they were old friends. “I knew you’d come.”
Her breath caught. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Maybe,” he said softly, stepping closer. “Or maybe this is exactly where you’re meant to be.”
He held out a glass of champagne, his eyes locking on hers with unnerving intensity.
Serena hesitated, torn between disgust, fear… and the dangerous flicker of curiosity.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out. A message from Damian.
Where are you?
Her heart twisted.
She looked up—and Nathaniel was watching her, that predator’s smile curling as if he already knew the war raging inside her.
“Choose carefully, Serena,” he murmured. “One man built his empire on lies. I can give you the truth.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
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