The morning after felt quieter than it should have. As if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what Serena would do next.
And she didn't disappoint.
By noon, the scandal broke.
A video — grainy but damning — of Clara drunkenly arguing with an older man outside a gala from two years ago. The man was married. An investor. One Serena remembered from her previous life. One who had pulled his funding from Serena's father's company under suspicious pressure… shortly after becoming "close" to Clara.
The comments flooded in within minutes:
"Is that Clara Lee?"
"Wasn't that guy married?"
"I KNEW she wasn't as perfect as she acted."
Clara's name trended for all the wrong reasons.
And Serena? She watched it unfold from the peace of her boutique, sipping coffee as her phone buzzed with pings like a symphony of vengeance.
The walls of Clara's world were cracking. Public image mattered in their world — and Clara had always been obsessed with hers. But now the cracks were showing. And Serena was only getting started.
She walked into her private office, shutting the door behind her. On her laptop, the next piece of evidence was ready — screenshots of a private group chat where Clara made ruthless remarks about her "friends," mocking their insecurities, calling Evelyn a "desperate hanger-on."
That bomb, she'd save for later.
She needed Clara to feel every cut.
One at a time.
Clara, meanwhile, stood in her apartment surrounded by silence and shattered glass. The wine bottle she had thrown at the wall still dripped red onto the hardwood floor.
Her phone kept vibrating.
Aaron hadn't responded to any of her messages.
And her PR team was useless.
"This isn't supposed to happen," Clara muttered to herself. Her reflection in the mirror looked alien — wild eyes, smeared mascara, lips trembling with a fury that she couldn't contain.
She knew.
She knew it was Serena.
Only Serena knew about that night.
Only Serena had the nerve.
And yet, when she tried to make sense of it — why Serena was suddenly doing all this — she couldn't find the truth. She had no memory of ever wronging her cousin deeply. They were never that close, were they?
But the way Serena looked at her now — with quiet wrath — it scared her.
Because Clara had always been the master manipulator. Always the one who pulled strings. And now she was the puppet.
Later that afternoon, Evelyn showed up at Serena's door again.
She didn't bother knocking.
"I should've known it was you," she snapped, storming into the boutique office. "That video. The way it's timed, the captions, the fake anonymous account — it's all you, isn't it?"
Serena didn't look up from her screen. "And if it is?"
Evelyn slammed her palm against the desk. "You're destroying people, Serena!"
Serena finally raised her gaze. Her eyes were sharp, cold. "They destroyed me first."
"What do you mean? How—
Serena snapped. "I live with the ashes of that life every single day. You don't get to tell me what to do and when it's time to heal."
Evelyn shook her head. "This isn't healing. This is revenge. And it's eating you alive."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not," Evelyn whispered. "You're turning into someone I don't recognize."
Serena's mask slipped, just for a second. Her voice wavered. "Maybe that's the point."
There was silence. Then Evelyn, quieter: "What about Aaron?"
Serena looked away.
"I thought maybe you cared. But you're using him too, aren't you?"
Serena didn't answer.
Because deep down — she didn't know anymore.
He was supposed to be a pawn. Just a reminder to Clara of what she'd stolen.
But every time he looked at her like she mattered, every time he stood up for her —
Serena felt a flicker of something real. And she hated it. Because real meant vulnerability.
And vulnerability got you killed.
That night, Serena wandered through the botanical gardens alone.
It was late. No visitors. Just the gentle glow of fairy lights across the manicured hedges and flowering trees.
She walked among the roses and lilies like a ghost retracing a forgotten path.
Until she heard him.
"You dropped another piece."
Ellion stood under a tree blooming with white flowers, moonlight painting him silver and strange.
"I did."
He cocked his head. "And how do you feel?"
"Powerful," she said. Then added softly, "Empty."
Ellion stepped forward. "You're unraveling."
"I know."
"You're losing yourself."
"I want to," Serena whispered, voice cracking. "She was weak. She let them break her. She didn't fight back until it was too late. I don't want to be her anymore."
Ellion's expression was unreadable. Then he stepped closer and gently cupped her face in his hand.
"You think you have to kill who you were to become someone strong. But you've always been strong. Even in death."
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
He leaned in until their foreheads touched again. "You are not just vengeance. You are love, grief, rage, brilliance. You are chaos and purpose stitched together."
Serena's tears slid down silently.
And Ellion — this supernatural presence, this being tied to her fate — wiped them away with reverence.
"I am yours, Serena Cavanaugh. Not because of what you've done. But because of what you carry. And how beautifully you break."
She broke then.
Right there in the garden.
She fell into his arms like the world was finally too heavy. And he held her like she was the last light in a darkening universe.