Serena’s POV
When we got back to the estate, Nico didn’t even glance at me.
He walked Natalie straight inside like she was already registered in the house ledger—his hand steady on her back, his voice low as he called for the chef. Something about broth, something about cravings, something about her being “weak.”
Like the Vescari estate had suddenly become a clinic for her comfort.
I stood near the entrance with my suitcase still in hand, watching it all like I was a guest who had overstayed in a place I never owned.
As Nico came back down the stairs, he paused for half a second when he saw me heading toward the guest wing.
Then he spoke to the staff instead of me.
“Add two more dishes,” he said. “Serena’s favorites. Set a third place.”
I stopped walking.
Slowly.
For a second, I almost laughed.
So that was it. That was his version of fixing things.
Not an apology. Not a conversation. Just… food.
Like I was a capo who could be paid off with a seat at the table.
I didn’t answer. I just kept walking.
---
The guest room was cold when I stepped in.
Not the air—the estate was always perfectly controlled—but the feeling.
Empty.
Like the walls had already forgotten me.
I shut the door, dropped my suitcase, and knelt to unzip it.
I already knew what I was going to do next. Leave quietly. No scene. No warning.
But the moment I opened it—
My hands stopped.
Everything inside was destroyed.
My clothes were cut cleanly. Not ripped. Not torn.
Cut.
Deliberate. Precise. Like someone had used a blade instead of anger.
A message from someone who knew how to hurt without leaving noise.
My throat tightened.
Then I saw it.
My passport. My IDs. My documents.
Untouched.
Left carefully in the lining like a signature.
A warning.
Not a mistake.
Natalie.
Of course.
I exhaled slowly. No shock anymore. Just fatigue settling deeper into my bones.
I started packing what was left. Fast. Mechanical. No hesitation.
That was when the door opened.
No knock.
No permission.
I didn’t turn around.
“Natalie,” I said flatly.
She stepped in like she owned the corridor outside too. One hand held a small black vial—medical-grade, sealed. Syndicate clinic type.
Her eyes scanned the room before landing on me.
Then she smiled.
“Still here,” she said.
I stood.
She tilted her head. “After everything, you’re still trying to stay close to him. That’s kind of pathetic, Serena.”
I didn’t respond.
She walked around the room slowly, like she was inspecting seized property after a raid.
“Oh,” she said casually. “Your grandmother passed, right?”
My fingers went cold.
She watched my face carefully when she said it. Like she wanted confirmation of impact.
“You were begging him to go,” she continued. “Kneeling, crying. Very dramatic.”
My jaw tightened.
Natalie lifted her phone.
Tapped once.
Turned the screen toward me.
Nico.
Kissing her.
Captured in high resolution under the Syndicate’s own private security feed.
“This was the same day,” she said lightly.
My breathing caught.
I remembered that day.
I remembered the hospital calls. The urgency. The way I couldn’t even think straight.
And I remembered Nico’s voice.
I’m busy.
Busy wasn’t a meeting.
Busy was her.
Something in me went very still.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just… irreversible.
Natalie leaned back against the desk, watching me like she was enjoying the quiet collapse.
“You really weren’t important,” she said softly.
Silence stretched.
Then I laughed.
Once.
Low.
Sharp.
“You think this is power?” I said.
Her smile tightened slightly.
I stepped closer.
“You didn’t take anything from me,” I continued, voice steadying with every word. “You just exposed him.”
Natalie’s eyes flickered.
I tilted my head.
“You’re not his queen,” I said. “You’re just the distraction he hasn’t gotten bored of yet.”
That landed.
Her smile cracked at the edges.
“And one day,” I added quietly, “he’s going to realize you were never worth the blood he’s wasting on you.”
For the first time—
Natalie didn’t look amused.
