Chapter 3

When I got home, the estate was in uproar.

Caterers canceling orders. Guests demanding answers. My mother nearly in tears over the scandal.

I ignored all of it.

I went straight to my room, locked the door, and spread out my old notebook on the bed. Page after page of scribbled notes, names, dates, everything I’d ever quietly observed and tucked away. Back then, it was a harmless obsession.

Now, it was ammunition.

As the afternoon sun faded, I circled three names. People in Ethan’s inner circle who hated him quietly. A supplier he blackmailed. A lawyer he underpaid. A mistress he kept in Singapore.

I smiled without humor.

Let them call me crazy. Let them gossip about shredded lace and wedding day breakdowns.

While they whispered, I’d burn the empire to the ground.

Lucien Feng didn’t do second meetings.

He didn’t repeat himself. He didn’t waste time. And he certainly didn’t let anyone into his private penthouse unless they were prepared to bleed for their ambition.

His assistant personally escorted me up the glass elevator that evening.

“This way, Miss Lin,” she said, tapping a keycard on the private panel. “Mr. Feng is expecting you.”

The elevator doors slid open to a view that stole my breath, not because of its opulence, though there was plenty of that. But because it sat atop the world like it owned the skyline.

Floor to ceiling windows offered an endless panorama of the city, glittering like stars had fallen and built a kingdom out of steel. Sleek furniture, clean lines, nothing unnecessary.

Lucien stood by the glass, a tumbler of dark whiskey in one hand, sleeves rolled up, collar open.

He didn’t turn around as I entered. Just said, “You’re early.”

“I didn’t think you liked people who wasted time.”

His mouth twitched into the faintest smile. “Good. Sit.”

I didn’t sit.

I placed a thick folder on the table between us.

“Everything I told you. Financial inconsistencies, forged invoices, overseas accounts in Lila’s name, all traced back to Zhao Corporation. Ethan’s been funnelling money through shell companies to buy out minor shareholders behind his board’s back.”

Lucien finally turned.

In person, he was sharper than any photograph suggested, high cheekbones, hard jaw, eyes like a blade dipped in ink. Handsome in the most dangerous way. You didn’t look at Lucien Feng. You measured him like a weapon and prayed it wasn’t aimed at you.

He opened the folder, flipped through a few pages, and whistled softly.

“Well, well. I thought you were bluffing.” He looked up. “Turns out, you're better than my analysts.”

“I was engaged to the man,” I said. “I knew what he was hiding before he ever realized it himself.”

He walked toward me slowly, deliberately. “And now you want revenge.”

I nodded once. “I want to watch everything he built collapse under him. I want him to lose the company, the money, the reputation. I want him to know what it feels like to be powerless.”

Lucien’s eyes glinted. “You’ll fit in just fine.”

He walked past me, poured a second glass of whiskey, and handed it over. I took it, but didn’t drink.

“So, tell me,” he said, leaning on the counter beside me. “Is this all about betrayal? Or is part of you still trying to get his attention?”

I turned to him slowly. “What part of ‘help me ruin his life’ sounds like I want his attention?”

He shrugged. “People are complicated. Sometimes revenge is just heartbreak in disguise.”

“Not this time.”

There was silence. Then he reached for my chin, too fast for me to dodge, and tilted my face toward his.

“What are you doing?” I said, eyes narrowing.

“Testing something.”

He leaned in.

His lips brushed mine, not a kiss, not really. More like a whisper of one. Just enough to freeze me in place, like a deer who suddenly knew the predator could strike at any second.

Then I pulled back, slapped his hand away, and stepped back like he burned.

“Don’t,” I said coldly. “I came here for war, not romance.”

Lucien laughed. Actually laughed. Deep and unapologetic.

“That’s good,” he said. “That’s very good.”

“What the hell was that?” I snapped.

“I had to be sure,” he replied, eyes dancing with amusement. “Some women use revenge as an excuse to fall back into bed with their mistakes, or worse, with someone new. I needed to know if you’d flinch.”

“I didn’t flinch. I rejected you.”

“Exactly.”

I set the glass down and stared at him, voice firm. “Let’s get something straight, Mr. Feng. I’m not here to seduce you or be seduced. I’m here to destroy Ethan Zhao. After that, I disappear. Got it?”

He raised his glass in a mock toast. “Crystal clear.”

But something shifted in the air between us.

As I left his penthouse half an hour later, my jaw set and heart steady, I told myself there was nothing between us. No pull. No spark. Nothing.

.............

The moment I stepped out of the town car Lucien had arranged, the air around the estate felt…off.

Too still. Too quiet.

The lights on the porch were on, and the scent of the gardenias my mother insisted on planting along the path drifted in the night air, but something was wrong.

The moment I stepped inside, I saw him.

Ethan.

He was standing in the middle of the grand foyer like he owned the house, suit jacket unbuttoned, tie loose, hair perfectly tousled in that effortless way he always maintained. But this wasn’t the charming, polished fiancé everyone knew. This Ethan had fury smoldering beneath his calm.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through stone.

I didn’t flinch. “Out.”

“Out?” He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Serena, it’s one in the morning. You disappear all day, you cancel our wedding, destroy a hundred thousand dollar dress, and now you stroll in like nothing happened?”

I brushed past him, pulling off my coat. “Oh, so now you care where I go?”

“Don’t twist this.”

I turned slowly to face him. “Twist what? The fact that I’ve finally stopped being your puppet? Or that I won’t marry a man whose love comes with fine print?”

He moved toward me quickly. “Tell me what’s going on. I deserve that much.”

I laughed, short and humorless. “Deserve? You don’t deserve anything from me.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, something flashed in his eyes. Not pain. Not regret. Control slipping, maybe. Fear.

“You were with someone,” he said suddenly. “Weren’t you?”

The question was like a punch thrown in the dark. I tilted my head. “Does it matter?”

“Who is it? Tell me.”