THE BILLIONAIRE’S FAVORITE ENEMY

The first time Serena Ashford saw Damian Blackwell in three years, he was standing beneath a chandelier worth more than the house where she had grown up, announcing that he was about to buy the last piece of her mother’s life. The ballroom applauded. Serena did not. She stood near the back wall in a borrowed black dress, one hand wrapped around a glass she had not tasted. Across the room, photographers crowded around Damian as he smiled with the practiced ease of a man who had never needed to ask permission for anything. On the enormous screen behind him, the silver name of his company gleamed above the logo of Vale Maison, the fashion house her mother had built from a single rented studio. By morning, Vale Maison would belong to him. By morning, the last evidence that Evelyn Ashford had ever been more than a scandal would be buried beneath a new corporate identity. Serena had spent three years learning the difference between patience and surrender. Tonight, she intended to make certain Damian Blackwell learned it too. “An extraordinary recovery,” a woman beside her murmured. “Everyone said Vale Maison was beyond saving.” “Everyone was wrong about a great many things,” Serena replied. The woman gave her a puzzled look and drifted away. Onstage, Damian thanked the board, the investors, and the employees who had endured the company’s collapse. He did not mention Evelyn. He did not mention the accusations of fraud that had destroyed her reputation. He did not mention that his own company had purchased Vale Maison’s debt for a fraction of its value. Serena’s fingers tightened around the glass. Then Damian’s gaze moved across the ballroom and found her. The smile on his face did not disappear. It changed. A fraction of a second was all it took, but she saw the recognition settle behind his eyes. He knew exactly who she was. Good. Serena set down her untouched drink and crossed the room. Conversations softened as people noticed her approach. She ignored them. When she reached the stage, Damian handed his microphone to the event host and stepped down to meet her. “Serena Ashford,” he said quietly. “I wondered when you would come.” “You bought my mother’s company. It seemed rude not to congratulate you.” “Is that what this is?” “No.” She glanced at the waiting cameras. “But it’s what they’ll think.” His expression remained composed. “You should be careful. People here enjoy a spectacle, especially when it involves the Ashford name.” “Then let’s give them one.” She stepped closer, close enough to see the faint tension at the corner of his jaw. He smelled of cedar and something clean and expensive. She hated that she noticed. “I want you to announce our engagement,” she said. For the first time that evening, Damian looked genuinely surprised. “Our what?” “Engagement. Yours and mine. Publicly. Tonight.” A nearby investor stopped pretending not to listen. Damian’s eyes searched her face. “You’ve come to my acquisition gala and asked me to marry you?” “Not marry. Get engaged. There’s a difference, and I’m sure a man who negotiates contracts for a living appreciates precision.” “Why would I agree?” “Because the board wants a stable public image for the merger. Because you’ve spent months telling investors that Vale Maison’s legacy matters. And because a partnership with the daughter of its founder would make a beautiful story.” “You think I care about a beautiful story?” “I think you care about controlling the story.” For a moment, neither spoke. The room seemed to shrink around them. Damian lowered his voice. “Does your mother still believe I betrayed her?” The question landed harder than Serena expected. Her mother had been dead for two years, but grief had not made her memory gentler. Serena lifted her chin. “My mother believed in evidence. That’s more than I can say for the people who condemned her.” “Then you should know I never said she was guilty.” “You said nothing at all.” Something flickered in his eyes. Regret, perhaps. Serena refused to give it a name. “Why me?” he asked. “You could ruin me more easily than you could marry me.” “Maybe I intend to do both.” A strange, almost humorless smile touched his mouth. “At least you’re honest about the danger.” “I’m not offering honesty. I’m offering an arrangement.” Damian glanced toward the cameras, then back at her. “If I say yes, there will be conditions.” “Of course.” “And you will discover that I am not the villain you’ve rehearsed in your head.” Serena leaned in, smiling for the cameras now. “Don’t worry, Mr. Blackwell. I’m very good at discovering what people are hiding.” He held out his arm. The cameras surged forward. As Serena placed her hand on his sleeve, Damian bent toward her ear and murmured, “Then you should start with the one thing your mother never told you.” Her smile nearly broke. “What thing?” He straightened before she could ask again. The photographers caught them together, his hand at her back, her fingers resting on his arm—as if they were two people beginning a love story. Serena knew better. She had just entered the enemy’s house.