The night he came back

The courtroom was colder than she expected. Not the air it was the way no one would meet her eyes. Not Damian. Not his mother. Not even his sister, who once swore Serena was the sister she never had. Her trembling hands were clenched in her lap as the judge read the final words that ended four years of marriage like they were nothing more than a transaction. “Divorce finalized. Miss Vale, Mr. Wolfe you are both now legally separated.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. Miss Vale. The sound of it stripped her of everything she used to be. A wife. A daughter-in-law. A part of a family she had loved more than her own. Damian stood without hesitation. Cold. Sharp. His expensive suit tailored to perfection, just like the rehearsed look of indifference on his face. As if the woman sitting across from him wasn’t the same one he used to pull into his arms at 2 a.m. just to hear her heartbeat. "Let’s go," his mother snapped at him, her eyes darting toward Serena like she was dirt beneath her designer heels. "Come, Damian. You've wasted enough of your life on her," she added harshly. Serena didn’t flinch. She couldn’t afford to not in front of them. “She cheated,” his sister whispered to a friend as they passed by. “She got caught and still played the victim.” Lie. All lies. Planted by Vanessa, her supposed best friend. A web of photos, fake messages, and enough manipulation to make even Damian’s sharp instincts fail him. Only one person hadn’t looked at her like she was guilty. "Serena," a voice said behind her gently. She turned. Elias Wolfe. Damian’s younger brother. His jaw was tight with anger not at her, but at the rest of them. “I believe you,” he said simply. “I always have.” Her eyes burned. Elias had been the only one who’d questioned the sudden betrayal story. The only one who’d defended her even when Damian refused to listen. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You didn’t do this,” he said, voice low. “He did. And one day he’ll realize what he threw away.” But that day wasn’t today. Because Damian walked past her without a glance. No apology. No goodbye. Only a paper trail of shattered vows and deafening silence. As the courtroom emptied, Serena stood alone in the echo of a life she no longer had. And she vowed right then, with her heart in ruins that she would never let a man break her like that again. Serena didn’t remember driving home. Her hands stayed locked at ten and two, eyes fixed on the road, though the world blurred at the edges. The courthouse, the Wolfe family’s cruel stares, the judge’s cold voice it all replayed like broken glass in her mind. The moment the front door shut behind her, she collapsed onto the floor. No more pretending. No more holding it in. A sob escaped, sharp and guttural. She pressed her hand to her mouth as her shoulders shook, the weight of everything crashing down. Her marriage. Her name. Her place in a family that had become hers. Gone in a few cold signatures. She had begged him to believe her. “Damian, you know me. You know I would never. But he didn’t listen. He never did, not after Vanessa’s poison seeped in. Serena crawled toward the couch, still in the outfit she wore to court. Her dress felt like a joke now elegant, modest, cream-colored hopeful. She tore off her heels and flung them across the room. One hit the wall with a dull thud, the other landed awkwardly against the coffee table. She stared at it, chest heaving. Was it possible to physically feel your heart break? Because hers had. And no one believed her. Not his mother. Not his sister. God, even his father had said, “We warned him you were never really one of us.” That sentence had sliced deeper than any knife. All except Elias. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Elias had stood by her, even as Damian turned cold. He had spoken up when no one else did, and he’d stayed silent when it mattered never pushing, never pressuring. Just there. She would text him later. Not now. She couldn’t speak to anyone. Not yet. Instead, she pulled herself up, staggered toward the cabinet in the kitchen, and opened a bottle of red wine. No glass. She took a long, bitter sip and leaned against the counter, letting the warmth numb her tongue and her thoughts. She had loved Damian Wolfe with her whole heart. But he didn’t just walk away. He abandoned her in a burning house and handed Vanessa the match. The knock came around 8 p.m. Serena didn’t answer it. She hadn’t moved from the couch in over an hour. It knocked again sharper. She sighed, dragging herself up and toward the door, ready to tell off whoever it was. Maybe a delivery? She didn’t order anything. She certainly hadn’t invited anyone. The door swung open before she reached it. Only one person would dare do that. “Jesus, Serena.” Maya, her best friend since college, stepped inside like she owned the place. Glittery eyeshadow, tight black jeans, leather jacket wild, bold, unapologetic. “You didn’t answer my texts. You’re not allowed to ghost me on D-Day,” Maya said, hands on her hips. “I brought vodka, pad thai, and a playlist called ‘Men Are Trash Volume Six.’” Serena managed a weak smile. “I’m fine.” “Liar.” Maya dropped her bag of food and walked straight to her. “You’re wearing a cardigan. That’s emotional distress clothing.” Serena snorted. “It’s comfortable.” “It’s also depression beige,” Maya said, pulling her into a hug. “Come on. You signed the divorce. That asshole and his evil mom and the stepsisters from hell are officially out of your life. You should be celebrating.” “I lost everything.” “No, babe,” Maya said gently. “You lost him. And that’s not the same thing.” Serena’s throat tightened. She looked away, but Maya caught her face in both hands. “You were not the one who failed,” she said. “He believed a lie because it was easier than trusting you. That is not your fault.” Serena nodded slowly. “I keep thinking he’ll realize it. One day.” “Maybe he will,” Maya said. “But by then, you’ll be too far gone to care.” Later that night, after the food and wine and two episodes of some terrible reality dating show, Maya stood up and clapped her hands. “That’s it. We’re going out.” “What?” “You heard me. Hairbrush, eyeliner, a dress that makes you feel like sin wrapped in silk. We’re going out, and you’re going to remember that you’re still alive.” Serena shook her head. “I’m not ready. I look like I’ve cried for a week.” “You have cried for a week. And tonight, you stop. You don’t need to hook up. You don’t need to dance. But I swear to God, you are leaving this apartment with me or I’m burning every pair of sweatpants you own.” Serena stared at her for a long second. Then I laughed. And thirty minutes later, she stood in front of her mirror, zipping up a black dress she hadn’t worn in over a year. Tight. Low-cut. Nothing like what she used to wear with Damian. She added a bold red lipstick she hadn’t touched in ages. “Damn,” Maya said from the doorway. “If he saw you like this now. “I don’t want him to,” Serena said quietly. “Good. Because there are a hundred better men out there. One of them might just be at Crimson Lounge tonight.” They arrived just before midnight. Crimson Lounge was upscale, luxurious, pulsing with low bass and dim golden lights. Not Maya’s usual scene, she preferred wild, sweaty clubs but Serena didn’t want chaos. She wanted noise without pain. She wanted to feel anonymous in her skin again. And for a moment, she did. The music swept over her, and for the first time in weeks, the ache in her chest lessened. Not gone. But dull enough to breathe. Maya disappeared to the bar, promising drinks. Serena stood near the back wall, clutching her purse and trying not to stare too hard at the beautiful people surrounding her. Then she felt it. A presence. Heat prickled across her skin like instinct. Someone was watching her. She turned and her breath caught. He stood near the bar, tall and devastatingly composed in a charcoal suit that fit like a second skin. Dark hair, sharp features, an expression that was unreadable and intense. His gaze locked with hers like a tether. Not a smile. Not a smirk. But interest. Commanding, electric interest. He started walking toward her. Serena’s pulse stuttered. She should look away. She didn’t. He stopped a few feet from her, eyes flicking over her like a slow, measured assessment. “You don’t belong here,” he said, voice smooth and deep. Serena raised a brow. “Excuse me?” “I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he said, one corner of his mouth curving barely. “Just you don’t look like someone who needs a room full of strangers to feel desired.” She blinked. “That’s a bold assumption.” “It’s the truth.” He tilted his head slightly. “But you’re here anyway. So, who hurt you?” Serena laughed caught off guard. “Wow. Do you say that to all the women you meet in bars?” “Only the ones who look like they’re trying not to cry through their lipstick.” Her mouth parted, but no words came. He extended a hand. “I’m Aiden.” She hesitated. Then, slowly, placed her hand in his. “Serena.” He didn’t let go right away. And God help her, she didn’t want him to.