“My husband’s had two glasses of wine, and he’s already starting to sound like a villain from a bad TV show.”
Adrian smiles without taking his eyes off Seraphina.
“Audits teach you to distrust everyone.”
“Then you must be exhausted,” Seraphina replies, managing a faint smile.
“Not as exhausted as people with something important to hide.”
For a moment, the air seems to vanish from the dining room. Elliot continues eating calmly, relaxed, interpreting it all as a simple intellectual exchange between professionals. But Seraphina feels panic clawing at her. She knows Adrian Beckett well: he’s one of those men who enjoys analyzing reactions, studying silences, and detecting the tiniest cracks before delivering the final blow.
Seraphina forces herself to pick up the wine bottle and refill the glasses. Her hands are trembling. Not much, but enough for the wine to spill over the rim of Adrian’s glass.
He immediately looks up at her, far too attentive.
“Is everything okay?” he asks with feigned concern.
“Of course,” she replies without missing a beat. “It’s just been a long week.”
Adrian nods slowly, swirling the wine between his long fingers.
“Long weeks tend to make smart people dangerous.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Elliot interjects with a laugh. “He’s been obsessed with finding hidden risks everywhere for months.”
“Because there always are,” Adrian states calmly. “Large structures don’t collapse because of visible flaws. They collapse because of tiny cracks that suddenly widen.”
The words strike Seraphina like a threat meant exclusively for her. She grips her glass tightly, maintaining a neutral expression while her mind races. She doesn’t know whetherAdrian truly suspects something or whether it’s all happening inside her own head. And perhaps that uncertainty is the most terrifying part of all.
Before, everything was simpler. Nerissa existed in separate compartments: hotel rooms, conferences, late-night phone calls. Places where everyday reality couldn’t intrude. Now her name echoes around the family dinner table, in Elliot’s financial discussions, in audit reports. Right at the heart of the perfect life they’ve built.
And she begins to realize something truly terrifying:
She no longer has control over any of it.
Dinner continues amid polite conversation and measured smiles, but she barely hears any of it. She catches only scattered fragments while fear pulses beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. Adrian pouring more wine. Elliot speaking passionately about multimillion-dollar contracts. Claire discussing details of a charity exhibition. Everything seems normal, almost idyllic.
And yet Seraphina feels as though she’s sitting in the middle of a minefield, holding her breath, waiting for the exact moment someone decides to step on the trigger that will blow everything apart.
Chapter 6
The executive floor’s boardroom has always struck Nerissa as a space designed to intimidate. Not only because of its imposing size or the understated luxury of its finishes—the dark oak of the long table, the screens embedded in the glass walls, or the panoramic view of Manchester—but because of the emotional atmosphere that permeates every corner. The room seems calculated to reduce people to mere numbers, contracts, and strategic decisions. Mistakes cost millions, and emotions simply have no place there.
That’s why it’s almost ironic that the moment she walks through the door, Nerissa Ashcombe feels her heart pounding against her ribs, as if her own body has decided to betray her at the worst possible moment.
The meeting hasn’t started yet. Executives, lawyers, and board members are chatting in small groups scattered around the room while assistants hand out coffee and various documents. The air smells of expensive perfume and that distinct corporate tension—thick and almost electric.
And right in the middle of it all is Seraphina Chapman.
Seated to Helena Whitmore’s right, she reviews a set of documents with a perfectly neutral expression. Her makeup conceals the dark circles beneath her eyes, but not completely. Nerissa senses the exhaustion in the excessive stiffness of hershoulders and in the meticulous, almost obsessive way she runs her finger across the paper.
Nerissa remembers with painful clarity the last look Seraphina gave her before saying goodbye in the parking lot. And yet, there she is. Perfect. Untouchable. As if she hadn’t spent the last few days kissing another woman behind closed doors only to return home and sleep beside her husband. The contradiction fills Nerissa with a deep, almost physical weariness, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can endure it.
“Dr. Ashcombe,” Helena Whitmore greets her.
The president of the healthcare group stands at the head of the table with that icy elegance that turns any conversation into a negotiation. Nerissa nods slightly and walks toward the seat assigned to her at the far end of the table, conscious of every step she takes.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Helena adds.
