Serena Blake hadn't thought that far ahead.
If she told her adoptive father she was already married but still lived alone in her apartment downtown…
He'd never believe it.
Especially not Henry Blake. He'd sniff out a lie faster than a politician in a scandal.
Sooner or later, he'd come knocking, demanding answers. And then what?
She glanced at Damien, arms folded tightly. "So… you want to live here?"
He didn't even blink. "Yes."
Serena swept her gaze around the tiny one-bedroom walk-up. A crooked floor lamp. A kitchen the size of a shoebox. A couch that doubled as her laundry station. And just one bed.
One bed.
She wasn't an idiot. A man and woman playing house in such close quarters? It didn't take a genius to imagine where that road led.
Damien raised a brow at her silence, then said flatly, "Relax. I'm not about to jump a woman who's recovering from a concussion and looks like she hasn't eaten properly in weeks."
Serena bristled. "You already knocked me out once."
He let out a tired sigh and rubbed his temples. "That was an accident. I didn't know you'd pass out the second you tried to stand."
"And how do I know there won't be another 'accident'?" she shot back, stepping away from him.
Damien folded his arms, calm but insistent. "Fine. Tell your father we're living separately. Let him come snooping around, suspicious, wondering why his daughter's mysterious new husband lives God-knows-where. Let him investigate everything and maybe learn more than he bargained for."
Damn it. She didn't have a better plan.
Serena huffed, then pointed a warning finger. "Floor. You sleep on the floor. No funny business."
"Deal," he said without hesitation.
That night, Serena barely slept a wink. She kept one eye open and both ears tuned like a human radar system. But Damien stayed on the floor, arms behind his head, calm as stone.
Only after she heard his slow, even breathing did she finally drift off.
When she woke the next morning, the apartment was silent.
Damien was gone.
She yawned and noticed the breakfast he'd left on the table—eggs, toast, black coffee just the way she liked it. She sat down and stared at the plate for a while, unsure how to feel.
She'd been alone for so long… being looked after by anyone, even someone as infuriating as Damien, was unsettling.
After eating, Serena turned to job hunting. She submitted a few more resumes and opened the DesignSphere website—the go-to platform for creatives in New York.
Her heart dropped.
"Rising Talent Accused of Theft: Serena Blake Steals Work from Visionnaire Designs!"
Her name was plastered on the homepage.
She clicked the article, hands trembling. There it was—her photo, taken without consent, captioned with bold accusations. Apparently, the company had issued a public statement "forgiving" her due to "youthful ignorance" while warning the entire industry to steer clear of "frauds like Serena Blake."
The comment section was a mess. Designers demanded legal action. One even called her "the poster girl for career sabotage."
Serena closed the tab, hands clammy.
She knew this was Ava Hart's doing.
Ava—her former supervisor—was vicious behind her polished socialite mask. Not only had she stolen Serena's design, but now she'd bought sponsored placement on the homepage to humiliate her.
If Serena didn't clear this up fast, no agency in the state would hire her again.
Her phone rang, snapping her out of her spiral.
Unknown number.
She hesitated, then picked up. "Hello?"
"Serena! It's me!" A syrupy voice filled the line.
Only one person in the world sounded like that— Yvonne Blake, her adoptive sister.
Serena stiffened.
Yvonne continued without a breath, "I just wanted to say—I'm so sorry about yesterday. Dad shouldn't have yelled at you like that. He was just shocked about the sudden marriage."
Serena's tone was dry. "What do you want, Yvonne?"
Yvonne paused, then said sweetly, "We're hosting a brunch this afternoon. A lot of your old colleagues from Visionnaire will be there. Dad asked me to invite you."
Serena was about to refuse when Yvonne added gently, "Some of them were involved in the design theft fallout. This could be a chance to explain your side. I believe in you, Serena."
Despite everything, Yvonne had always been softer than the rest. Serena swallowed her pride.
"Fine," she muttered. "I'll come."
Later that day, Serena arrived at the venue alone. Yvonne had bailed last minute with some excuse about car trouble.
It didn't matter.
Serena adjusted her tailored navy-blue dress and stepped inside. The room buzzed with chatter, crystal flutes clinking, and industry egos colliding.
Her eyes scanned the space.
There—Ava Hart, laughing chatting cheerfully with a group..
And further down? That had to be Julian Monroe, the CEO of Monroe Studios—a man infamous for mixing business and pleasure.
Serena approached him with a calm smile. "Mr. Monroe."
He turned and looked her over. "Yes?"
"I've always admired your work," she said smoothly.
Julian raised an amused brow. "You a designer?"
She nodded, flashing a faint smile. "Serena Blake."
He tilted his head. "Wait... the Serena Blake? Ava's intern?"
"I thought Ava might've mentioned me," Serena replied.
Julian chuckled. "She did say she had someone talented under her wing. Never mentioned you were this charming."
Serena's tone sharpened. "Then maybe she also forgot to mention that I personally delivered that design draft to your office three weeks ago."
Julian's face twitched. "What?"
She pulled out her phone and hit play. A recording began to play—Ava's voice, unmistakable, boasting to someone on the phone:
"She's just an intern. Who'll believe her? Preston already agreed to back me up."
Julian's expression darkened.
Serena's eyes narrowed. "So unless Monroe Studios wants to be complicit in a public character assassination… I suggest someone fix this mess. Fast."
She hadn't expected the truth to fall into her lap this easily—but Julian's loose tongue, paired with Ava's arrogance, was about to backfire in the most delicious way.