The Langford estate was a world away from the glittering chaos of Paris nightlife. Tucked behind high stone walls and iron gates, it carried the weight of history—ivy crawling over centuries-old façades, polished marble steps worn smooth by generations of Langfords.
Serena stepped out of the limousine, the cool night air brushing her cheeks. Her heels clicked against the stone as she approached the grand double doors. Light spilled through the windows, warm and inviting, but her instincts warned her to brace for impact.
The butler opened the door before she reached for the handle. "Miss Langford," he said with a respectful bow. "Your father is waiting in the study. Mr. Blackwood is with him."
Serena's fingers tightened on the strap of her clutch. "Is he now?"
The butler's face betrayed nothing. "Yes, Miss."
Inside, the familiar scent of aged oak and leather greeted her. Family portraits lined the hall, each face a silent reminder of the legacy she carried. She crossed the parquet floor with measured steps, refusing to let irritation—or curiosity—show.
When she reached the study, she didn't bother to knock.
Damien was there, leaning casually against the edge of her father's massive mahogany desk, jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened just enough to look intentional. Her father, Charles Langford, sat in his leather armchair, hands steepled beneath his chin.
"Serena," Charles said, his tone a blend of warmth and businesslike gravity. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
Her eyes flicked to Damien. "I wasn't aware this was a… joint meeting."
Damien's smile was polite, almost innocent. "I didn't want to miss the opportunity to discuss something… mutually beneficial."
She arched a brow. "I doubt we define 'beneficial' the same way."
Charles raised a hand, cutting off the verbal sparring. "Enough. This isn't about your rivalry—at least, not directly."
Her father's voice was calm, but it had that undercurrent she'd learned never to ignore. "The board has been expressing concern," he said, "about the competition between Langford Hotels and Blackwood Resorts. The market is tightening, investment opportunities are being swallowed before they reach us, and—"
"—and you think we should form some kind of alliance," Serena finished for him, suspicion sharpening her gaze.
"Not just an alliance," Charles said. "A merger. A binding agreement that would keep both empires secure for decades."
Damien's gaze met hers across the room, and for the first time that night, there was no smirk—only a quiet certainty.
Her father's next words landed like a stone in her stomach.
"A marriage alliance, Serena. Between you… and Damien."
The silence stretched. Serena blinked once, then let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You can't be serious."
Charles didn't waver. "Entirely serious. It's the cleanest solution to a growing threat. Together, you'd be unstoppable. Apart…" He let the word hang.
Damien spoke then, his voice low. "I'm not here to play games, Serena. This could work."
She turned to him, her tone icy. "You don't know the first thing about me."
"On the contrary," he said softly, "I think I know enough to realize we'd make a dangerous team."
----
The moment they stepped out of the study, Serena headed straight for the terrace, needing air that didn't taste like manipulation. The moonlight spilled silver over the manicured gardens, but she barely noticed it.
Behind her, she heard the measured tread of Damien's footsteps. Of course he followed.
"You didn't have to say yes to any of this," she said, spinning on her heel before he could speak. "If you'd refused, it would've been over before it started."
Damien slipped his hands into his pockets, completely unruffled. "I didn't say yes. I said it could work."
"Which is just vague enough for my father to treat it like agreement." Her voice was sharp, but beneath it was the pulse of frustration she couldn't quite smother.
His eyes held hers, dark and unreadable. "You think I want to be chained to you?"
"Considering the way you're always circling me at public events, I wouldn't rule it out."
That earned the faintest smirk. "Circling is not the same as chasing, Serena. Don't flatter yourself."
She took a step closer, letting her heels bring her nearly level with him. "Then why not kill the idea right there in the study?"
"Because," he said quietly, "I never kill an idea before I know who it really serves."
Something in his tone made her pause. This wasn't the cocky Damien who enjoyed stealing her thunder in front of the press. This was the strategist—the man who had clawed his way to the top of the hospitality world by seeing three moves ahead of everyone else.
She crossed her arms. "And who exactly do you think this marriage would serve? My father? Your shareholders? The gossip columns?"
His gaze didn't waver. "Maybe all of them. Maybe neither. But if the board is even whispering about this, it means something bigger is coming. And if that something is bad enough, you're going to need me."
Her laugh was short and humorless. "I don't need anyone, least of all you."
"Keep telling yourself that," he said, his voice almost amused.
Before she could retort, the butler's voice called from inside: "Miss Langford, your car is ready."
She turned to leave, but Damien's parting words followed her into the night.
"Two weeks, Serena. That's how long we have before the board decides. And when they do… they won't care what either of us wants."