Chapter 262: My Ex Is Messing with Me Again!
Chapter 262: My Ex Is Messing with Me Again!
Seraphina's POV
The office air was thick with tension, heavy enough to choke on, as Olivia wrapped up her damning report. My gut churned with every word, but I kept my face a blank slate, hiding the storm inside.
"So, all three of our biggest suppliers are demanding a 30% price hike—right fucking now? And they’re threatening to cut us off if we don’t kiss their asses immediately?" I asked, tapping my pen hard against the leather portfolio, the sound sharp in the silence.
Olivia nodded, her usual poker face cracking with worry. "Yes, Ms. Calloway. They all blamed 'market fluctuations,' but when I pushed for details, they clammed up. Not a single shred of proof."
"How fucking convenient," I muttered, the puzzle snapping into place. This wasn’t some random bullshit. These were our oldest, most trusted partners, suddenly acting like we’d pissed in their coffee—all at the same damn time. "And they’re tied to our legacy projects, the cash cows keeping Ravencroft alive."
"Exactly," Olivia said, adjusting her glasses. "With the tech division bleeding money and needing another capital dump next month, the timing’s a goddamn nightmare."
I leaned back, my mind spinning through worst-case scenarios. Those legacy projects weren’t just profit—they were Ravencroft’s spine, funding our risky, future-focused ventures. Lose them, and we’d either have to ditch innovation or beg for outside cash, handing over control on a silver platter.
"This reeks of Dorian’s slimy fingerprints," I said, venom dripping from every word.
Olivia stayed professional, but the tiny nod she gave told me she was on the same page.
"Set up calls with each supplier’s CEO—none of this middleman crap," I ordered. "And dig up our contingency vendor files. I want full breakdowns on backup suppliers by tomorrow."
"That’s a tight-ass deadline—" she started.
"It has to be," I cut in, my voice like steel. "They’re trying to choke us out, Olivia. I’m not letting these bastards hold a goddamn knife to our throat."
As Olivia gathered her stuff to leave, my phone buzzed. Leander’s name flashed on the screen, a flicker of warmth cutting through the icy dread of the morning.
"I’ve got this," I told Olivia with a curt nod, dismissing her.
"Leander," I answered, exhaustion leaking into my tone despite myself.
"What’s wrong?" His voice was sharp with concern. Even over the phone, he could read me like a damn book.
I sighed, giving him the quick and dirty on the supplier shitshow. "It’s a coordinated hit. Someone’s yanking the strings."
"This isn’t just business pressure," he said, thoughtful. "It’s personal—aimed at you or Ravencroft’s foundation."
"No shit, Sherlock," I grumbled, rubbing my temple where a headache was clawing its way in.
"How can I help?" His simple offer damn near broke me. After years of Dorian’s manipulative “help” with strings attached, Leander’s no-bullshit support still hit me like a punch.
"The Kingsley supply chain has ties to—" he began.
"No," I snapped, sharper than I meant. "Thanks, but hell no. This is my fight."
"Sera—"
"I’ve got to do this myself, Leander. Please, just get it." I softened my voice. "Ravencroft is on me."
He went quiet for a beat. "I respect that. But you’re not alone anymore. Not every damn thing has to be a solo war."
His words hung in the air after we hung up. Not alone. Fuck, I wanted to believe that.
---
It was midnight when Leander pushed open my office door, a steaming mug in hand.
"Warm milk with honey," he said, setting it next to the fortress of reports I’d buried myself in.
I tried to smile, but my lips fucking trembled. The day had gone from shitty to apocalyptic. "Thanks."
He perched on my desk, eyeing the chaos—papers everywhere, my hair a mess, makeup slapped on between crisis calls. "Talk to me."
"It’s spreading like wildfire," I said, waving at the mess. "Three big investors bailed this afternoon. The European distributor’s ‘rethinking’ our deal. The bank’s suddenly ‘concerned’ about our loan extension." I let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, and the cherry on this shit sundae? Our stock’s tanking."
"One problem at a time," Leander said, calm as hell.
"Funny, right?" My voice was hollow. "I fought tooth and nail for Ravencroft, and now I’m watching it burn in my hands."
"It’s not burning," he countered, firm. "It’s under siege. Big fucking difference."
I grabbed the mug, letting its heat thaw my icy fingers. Silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken crap.
Then Leander dropped a bomb, his voice so low I almost missed it. "We might need to consider… bringing Dorian back."
The mug nearly slipped. "What the actual fuck?"
"Hear me out—"
"Have you lost your goddamn mind?" I slammed the mug down, the clack echoing. "Bring back the asshole who tried to steal my company? Who fucked around on me our entire marriage? Who let that bitch treat our daughter like garbage?" My voice climbed, rage fueling me.
"Sera—"
"No!" I shot to my feet, chest heaving. "This is Dorian’s doing! He’s the puppet master behind this clusterfuck, and you want to hand him the goddamn matches to finish the job?"
Leander grabbed my arms, firm but gentle. "I know exactly what a piece of shit Dorian is. That’s why this could work."
"Enlighten me, then," I spat, too pissed to hold back.
"He’s working in the shadows, pulling strings we can’t trace. But bring him in—"
"In where? My bed? My company? My fucking life?" I yanked free.
"—bring him where we can watch him," Leander pressed, steady. "Where his moves are out in the open. Where we control the game. It’s about exposing the enemy, Sera. Use his greed against him. Drive a wedge between him and Belladonna’s crew. Let them tear each other apart instead of us."
My fury wavered as his logic sank in. I paced, Dorian’s name like acid on my tongue. "You’re asking me to dance with the devil."
"I’m asking you to keep your enemies closer than your friends," he corrected. "I hate this too. But they’re winning, and we’re running out of fucking options."
I stared out at the city lights, each one a reminder of lives untouched by the betrayal I’d survived. Facing Dorian across a table again made me want to puke.
But what choice did I have? Ravencroft wasn’t just mine—it was security for thousands, Thorne’s legacy, my child’s future.
Leander didn’t push, just waited, a rock while I wrestled with the unthinkable.
Finally, I turned, emotions drained, leaving only cold resolve. "I trust you," I said quietly. "So we’ll play this your way. But if that bastard steps one toe out of line, I’ll bury him myself."