The morning sun had barely burned the fog off the Seine when Serena walked into the café, sunglasses shielding her eyes, jaw set like steel. She had picked the place deliberately—neutral territory, halfway between her penthouse and Blackwood's Paris headquarters.
Damien was already there, sitting at a corner table, sipping an espresso as though he had been expecting her all along.
"Langford," he said in greeting, eyes flicking over her in a slow, assessing glance. "I thought I wouldn't see you until the board meeting."
"You should be so lucky," Serena replied, sliding into the chair opposite him. "We have a problem."
Damien leaned back, clearly amused. "We? That's new."
She ignored the jab and pulled out her phone, dropping it on the table with the MarketPulse article pulled up. "This went live less than an hour after I left the estate last night."
He scanned it, one brow lifting slightly. "Not mine," he said flatly.
"I know," she admitted.
That caught him off guard. "Do you now?"
"I've confirmed the leak came from someone connected to Langford Hotels. Which means someone on my side wants this marriage—and the merger—to happen badly enough to risk the board finding out early."
Damien set his cup down slowly. "And you think telling me this will… what? Inspire me to help you?"
"It might," she said, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Because if they're willing to play dirty on my side, they'll do the same to you."
For a moment, he studied her as if weighing whether she was telling the truth—or if this was just another one of her elaborate traps. Then, he smiled faintly.
"Alright," he said. "I'll play. But if we're doing this, we do it my way."
Serena folded her arms. "Your way usually involves knives in people's backs."
Damien leaned forward, his voice low. "My way keeps me alive in rooms where everyone wants to see me bleed. You can keep playing defense if you want, Langford. Or you can admit we're in the same fight."
Her pulse ticked faster, though she kept her expression neutral. "Fine. But if you cross me—"
"I won't need to," he said with a ghost of a smile. "The person you're looking for will do it for me."
----
The name on the slip of paper stared up at her like it was scrawled in blood.
Elena Rousseau.
Her father's oldest adviser. Practically an aunt to Serena. She'd known Elena since she was a child—the woman had been there for birthdays, recitals, even the awkward teenage years when Serena had been more interested in winning debate tournaments than mingling at galas.
If Damien was right, then someone Serena had trusted for decades had just shoved her toward a wedding she didn't want and a merger she wasn't ready to accept.
She tucked the paper into her clutch, forcing her expression blank as she stood from the café table. "We'll see if your lead's worth my time."
Damien's voice followed her. "Just don't look too shocked when I turn out to be right."
---
Langford Headquarters, Paris.
The lobby was a cathedral of glass and chrome, sunlight spilling across polished floors as though the building itself was untouchable. Serena strode past the reception desk, heels clicking like a metronome. She'd told herself she was here on business as usual, but the tight coil in her stomach said otherwise.
Elena's office was on the twenty-fourth floor, tucked away from the more chaotic wings of the company. As Serena approached, she found the door slightly ajar, voices drifting out.
"…the timing is perfect," Elena was saying, her French accent still lilting after decades in the business world. "With the rumor already public, the board will have no choice but to act before someone else moves in."
A man's voice responded, muffled but urgent. "And Blackwood? What if he doesn't play along?"
"He will. Damien Blackwood never lets a profitable opportunity slip through his fingers."
Serena's pulse thundered in her ears. Every instinct screamed to barge in and demand answers, but she forced herself to step back into the shadow of the corridor, steadying her breathing.
Don't tip your hand. Not yet.
When the conversation ended and the man left—someone Serena didn't recognize—she waited until Elena's desk phone rang before pushing the door open.
"Serena!" Elena's face lit up in practiced warmth, her red silk scarf catching the sunlight. "What a surprise. I thought you'd be recovering from last night's festivities."
"I thought I'd stop by," Serena said smoothly, closing the door behind her. "It seems the markets had a busy evening."
Elena chuckled, reaching for her coffee cup. "News travels fast in our industry. And sometimes, it helps to let the markets test an idea before the board does."
"An idea like a merger?" Serena's tone was casual, but her eyes stayed fixed on Elena's.
The older woman's expression didn't flicker. "An idea like securing the future of Langford Hotels."
Serena sat across from her, crossing her legs. "You've always said the family legacy was built on patience. This feels… rushed."
"Opportunities don't wait for patience," Elena said. "They demand action. And, my dear, this merger could put you in a position no Langford heir has ever had—global dominance before you're thirty-five."
Or a cage I can't escape from, Serena thought.
She leaned forward just enough to seem engaged. "And Damien Blackwood? You think he's the key to that future?"
Elena's smile was the kind you could frame and hang on the boardroom wall—pleasant, confident, but utterly unreadable. "I think he's a tool, Serena. And tools are meant to be used."
For the next twenty minutes, Serena let Elena talk—about market timing, about securing allies on the board, about how to 'manage' Damien once the merger was underway. Not once did the woman admit to leaking the story, but the way she spoke made it clear she had been orchestrating events for weeks.
By the time Serena stood to leave, her decision was made. She wouldn't confront Elena yet—not until she knew exactly who else was involved.
---
Private Office, Serena's Penthouse.
She shut the door behind her and pulled out her phone, typing a quick message to Damien.
Serena: Your lead checks out. She's moving pieces behind both our backs.
Damien: And now you know what I meant about knives.
Serena: I'm not thanking you.
Damien: I'll settle for you not trying to stab me… for now.
Serena tossed the phone onto her desk and poured herself a glass of wine. She hated that Damien was right. She hated even more that she would have to work with him to keep the board from handing her life over to people like Elena.
She stared out over the glittering city. Somewhere out there, the story was still spreading, the stock still climbing. Every hour it did, her options shrank.
If she didn't act fast, the wedding her father had dreamed up would stop being a threat—and start becoming reality.