Three years ago, she betrayed me. I fired her, let the world tear her apart.
And I took her back.
Now she’s sent one report to them, another to me, and colluded with Marchand? My empire, my heart, both are teetering on the edge of her betrayal.
“Seraphina.” The word is a knife edge, bleeding through the silence. “Want to explain yourself?”
Her face drains of color, cheeks pale as ash, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Her lips tremble, parting as if to speak, but no sound comes at first. “Xavier, I—” Her voice cracks, and the sound twists the knife in my gut.
“A recruiter for our biggest fucking competitor in this deal reached out and you didn’t think to mention it?”
She goes even paler. “It’s not… No.”
“You didn’t receive the email that you’re holding?”
“Yes. I mean…” She trails off miserably. “Yes. But the answer? I didn’t send that.”
Walt and Reynolds look at each other and nod.
More than anything, I want to believe her, want to grab her, bury my face in her hair, drown in her vanilla scent. But the emails are undeniable, and the report bears her signature.
“I didn’t do any of this.” Her voice is barely a whisper, breaking on each syllable. She steps toward me, then stops, her body trembling as if she’s fighting to hold herself upright. “The report I sent was the same one I gave you. Someone changed it. Xavier, you know me.” Her eyes lock on mine, cornflower blue swimming with tears, pleading, but the evidence screams louder, Walt’s warning a drumbeat in my skull. “You have to believe me.”
Walt folds his arms, his scoff cutting the air. “Evidence speaks for itself.”
Reynolds adjusts his tie. “She’s been playing you, sir. Getting revenge on you for what you did to her back in the day.”
“No!” Her breath hitches, a choked sob she swallows hard. Her face is a portrait of devastation—pale, shattered, lips quivering as she fights for words.
“I sent the truth.” Each word is a plea. “The Lockhart deal is a disaster for Blackwell. For you. Please, Xavier. You have to believe me. I would never betray you.” For a moment, her hand hovers in the air, as if she wants to reach for me.
Then she drops it, her shoulders slumping like I’ve struck her. A tear escapes, catching the light, and my chest fractures, guilt warring with rage.
I want to roar, to shake her. Marchand is circling, the board meeting looms like a bomb, and she’s the fuse.
A sob breaks free from her throat, raw and jagged, slicing through me. “I can’t—” Her voice chokes off, and one of her heels catches as she turns, bolting for the door, her silhouette blurring through the glass.
My office door clicks shut, like a bullet ricochet. In her wake is the sweet scent of innocence.
Through the glass, I watch her grab her purse from the bottom drawer, and she hurries out of the reception area.
Suddenly the office is a tomb, silence suffocating.
Walt clears his throat, his voice grating. “I’m glad you came to your senses. Saved you from looking like a fool in front of the board. We’ll get the deal done tonight.”
Reynolds moves to collect his folder, but I slap my hand down on top of it and shake my head.
They leave, their footsteps fading, but the printouts remain, the words a silent accusation.
My coffee’s cold, the mug heavy in my hand, the skyline mocking me through the glass. I trusted her, let her into my bed, my heart, my empire. Memories flood—her fierce gaze unraveling Lockhart’s lies, her soft sighs in the dark, her promise to fight for me.
But the report she sent them, the emails, the texts—they scream betrayal. Her pale face, her trembling lips, her broken voice flash in my mind, a plea I can’t unhear.
I turn my back.
I trusted her, let her in where no one else could reach.
The city skyline mocks me through the glass, indifferent as I stand alone, my heart a ruin, betrayal a cold, lethal weapon.
