Chapter 3

The next morning, I arrived at my Manhattan studio.

The lock had been violently pried open. The interior was completely trashed.

My haute couture design sketches were ripped to shreds, scattered across the floor like snow. Expensive sewing machines were smashed to pieces. And sprayed across the pristine white walls in glaring red paint were the words: SLUT. HOMEWRECKER.

The sketches I had spent three grueling months preparing for Paris Fashion Week were completely destroyed.

I stood in the doorway, listening to the whispers of industry peers gathering in the hallway.

"Did you hear? Serena finally signed the papers."

"Lucas is top-tier elite. If their marriage got to this point, it has to be Serena's fault."

A sickening wave of déjà vu washed over me.

This was the exact PR narrative they had spun in my past life. To protect Ivy, Lucas’s crisis management team had seeded rumors everywhere, painting me as a mentally unstable, erratic woman, shifting the entire blame for the divorce onto my shoulders.

In my past life, I had tried to tear down that lie. I had stormed into the Sterling Group boardroom, screaming the ugly truth in front of everyone.

And the result? Everyone decided I was insane.

Lucas brought in his private doctors, filed the legal paperwork, and had me committed. The diagnostic report read: Paranoid psychosis, prone to violent outbursts. Involuntary psychiatric hold recommended.

And the man who signed that paper was my husband.

Shaking off the suffocating memory, I stepped forward to face the whispering crowd.

"You're calling me a slut," I said, my voice cutting through the chatter like a scalpel. "So name him. Who's the lover?"

The crowd fell dead silent. They exchanged awkward glances, stammering, unable to produce a single name.

Right then, Ivy appeared at the end of the hallway. She strolled toward me, a mask of pure innocence plastered on her face.

"Serena," she murmured, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Only you know what you do behind closed doors."

I stared back at her, my expression completely blank.

"There's only one actual homewrecker in this hallway, Ivy. Want to guess who?"

Ivy’s face drained of color. The crowd around us went completely still, eyes wide with shock.

Moments later, Lucas arrived with two bodyguards. He immediately stepped in front of Ivy, shielding her as he scowled at me.

"You signed the papers, Serena. Back off."

"So the vandalism? The red paint? That's your PR team at work?" I demanded.

He neither confirmed nor denied it. He just delivered a cold, flat warning. "You're crossing a line."

"I'm crossing a line?" I took a step forward, locking eyes with Ivy. "I paid your Ivy League tuition. I handed you a career. I let you live in my home. And you repay me by spreading your legs for my husband?"

Ivy bit her lip, and tears instantly welled in her eyes. She played the victim flawlessly.

I shifted my gaze to Lucas, enunciating every word with razor-sharp clarity.

"You use the most despicable tactics against me, yet you parade around playing the noble gentleman. You make me sick."

Lucas’s eyes turned glacial. But he maintained his pristine composure, his tone dripping with the condescension of a man holding all the power.

"You're hysterical, Serena. Walk away before you do something you can't undo."

That was Lucas. Always perfectly polished, looking down at the world from his pedestal of wealth.

I straightened my spine, my voice unwavering. "You want to see me go too far, Lucas? Keep watching. I'll show you what irreversible actually looks like."

I had come back to save myself, but also to demand justice. I would never let them humiliate me again.

I turned and walked away. Behind me, I could hear Ivy’s soft sobs and Lucas’s low, comforting murmurs.

"Don't cry. It's bad for the baby. My lawyers will handle everything."

I picked up my pace. I didn't look back.