Revenge of the Billionaire's Dead Fiance

Chapter 11

Scarlet

We stood there under the porch light, none of us speaking at first. The message from Dr. Jude burned in my head like a brand.

Ryan broke the silence, his voice low and tense. “If this is true, then how? How would Seraphina even know? How would she connect you to Katherina? And why drag Dr. Jude into this?”

Amanda crossed her arms, her face pale. “Yeah… Jude was just your surgeon, Scarlett. Nobody was supposed to know that. Not even Seraphina. You kept that buried. So what’s the link? How the hell does this all tie together?”

I shook my head, frustration knotting in my chest. “That’s the thing—I don’t know. Seraphina has no way of knowing he was my doctor. No way of knowing he was the one who… made me Scarlett. Unless…” I trailed off, biting my lip.

“Unless what?” Amanda pressed.

“Unless someone told her,” Ryan said, finishing for me. His eyes narrowed. “But who? And why now? Jude’s been quiet for years. Then suddenly he’s dead, and he leaves me this?” He tapped his phone, jaw tightening.

We all fell silent again. My pulse raced. I wanted an answer, but none of it added up.

Amanda finally sighed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t make sense. At all. We’re going in circles.”

I pulled my fingers through my hair, tugging a little, my mind racing. “But… if Seraphina really knew who I was, she wouldn’t play games. I know my sister. She can’t hide her emotions to save her life. If she’d realized I was Katherina all this time, she would’ve acted on impulse immediately. She wouldn’t be hovering around Lysander’s office, trying to make me lose my job. That’s just her jealousy talking, not suspicion.”

Ryan and Amanda glanced at each other, then back at me. Neither of them looked fully convinced, but they didn’t argue.

Amanda exhaled heavily. “So… maybe we let this go for now. We can’t jump to conclusions without proof.”

Ryan slipped his phone back into his pocket, though his eyes stayed sharp. “Fine. But one thing’s clear—Dr. Jude’s death wasn’t an accident. Whoever killed him wanted to erase something. And Seraphina? She’s the only one we can point to. If Jude sent me that message, it means they had some kind of confrontation. Which means she could be behind it.”

I looked between them, my chest heavy with the truth none of us wanted to say out loud.

Ryan’s voice dropped, steady but cold. “We need to do everything possible to make sure she’s held accountable. If Seraphina killed Jude, she’s not walking away from it.”

I caught myself whispering under my breath, almost too low for them to hear.

“I feel like… Dr. Jude had some connection to what happened to me five years ago. He must have. Maybe he and Seraphina were working together all along. Maybe he told her about my surgery. Maybe…” I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “Maybe he was trying to find me. I don’t know. But someday, I’ll find out. I’ll get the truth.”

Ryan gave me one last searching look, then turned toward his car. Amanda touched my shoulder gently before following me inside.

The night ended with Ryan driving off into the dark, his headlights fading down the street, while Amanda and I slipped back into the house, locking the door behind us.

Morning came too soon.

The alarm blared on my nightstand, dragging me from a restless sleep. My eyes felt gritty, my body heavy, like I hadn’t slept at all. Amanda was already up, her soft humming floating in from the kitchen.

I dragged myself out of bed, padding barefoot across the floor.

By the time I reached the office, I’d managed to paste on a smile, the kind that fooled strangers but never fooled me. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I made my way down the hall, balancing my bag on one shoulder and clutching a folder of paperwork in my arms.

I pushed open the door to Lysander’s office—and stopped dead.

There she was.

Seraphina.

She was sitting behind his desk like she owned the place, one leg crossed neatly over the other, her manicured fingers tapping lazily on the armrest.

I swallowed hard, then forced my voice steady. “Good morning, Ms. Seraphina.”

She glanced up at me, her lips curving into a slow smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Scarlett. Good, you’re here.” She leaned back in the chair, casual and commanding all at once. “Lysander’s not feeling well today. He’ll be off. Which means I’m taking charge.”

My stomach twisted. The words slipped out under my breath before I could stop them. How can I serve this devil of a sister? How can I work under her?

But I straightened quickly, hiding the flicker of panic in my eyes. “Understood,” I said softly.

Seraphina arched a brow. “Good. In that case, make me some coffee. And I want a full detail of today’s agenda. Meetings, calls, everything.”

My throat went dry. The urge to snap back—to tell her she wasn’t my boss, that Lysander hired me, not her—burned on my tongue. But fear of ruining my plans pressed the words back inside.

She caught the hesitation. Of course she did. Seraphina never missed a thing.

In one smooth movement, she stood, heels clicking as she closed the distance between us. She didn’t shout. She didn’t sneer. She didn’t have to. Her voice was sharp enough on its own.

“Scarlett,” she said, tilting her head, studying me. “Do you even know what your job is?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Your job,” she repeated, her tone crisp, professional—almost like a lecture. “As Lysander’s PA, your responsibility is to assist whoever is standing in his place when he’s unavailable. Today, that’s me. I am representing him, which means, technically, I am Lysander. And you will serve me the same way you’d serve him. That’s what professionalism looks like.”

Her words landed heavy, undeniable, like nails hammering into a coffin.

I forced a polite smile, though inside I was seething. “Of course, Ms. Seraphina. I’ll get your coffee.”

“Good girl,” she murmured, turning back toward the desk with a satisfied sway.

I clenched the folder tighter against my chest as I walked out of the office, my mind screaming what my lips couldn’t say.

By the time I returned to the office, the coffee in my hand smelled rich and strong. I took a steadying breath before pushing the door open.

Seraphina was still lounging behind Lysander’s desk, scrolling through her phone as though the entire company were her personal playground.

“Here you go, Ms.,” I said, setting the cup down in front of her.

But as I pulled my hand back, the cup tipped just slightly—too slightly. Dark liquid sloshed over the rim and splattered onto her pristine silk blouse.

Her sharp gasp cut through the room. She jerked up, looking down at the spreading stain across her chest.

“You—” Her voice cracked like a whip. She shot to her feet, eyes blazing. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I— I’m sorry,” I stammered, though I didn’t move to grab napkins or wipe it away.

Her fury was immediate, unfiltered. “That’s it. Pack your things. You’re done here. You no longer work in this office.”

The words struck like ice, but I forced myself to breathe, to stand straighter. “You can’t do that.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did you just say?”

“You’re not my boss,” I said, my voice trembling but firm. “You didn’t hire me, Lysander did. And unless he’s the one telling me I’m fired, you don’t have that right.”

Her lips curved into a venomous smile. “Then watch me.”

Before I could speak again, she pressed the intercom button on the desk, her voice sharp and cutting. “Security. Get up here. Now.”

The line went dead.

I didn’t move. I didn’t flinch. I just stood there, staring at her—this sister who thought she could control everything and everyone.

Her glare didn’t waver, not once.

And so I waited, silent, my hands curled into fists at my sides, my blood boiling beneath the surface.