Where Hatred Ends

Chapter 3

Sera

There are exactly three kinds of people I can't stand.

Liars.

Cowards.

And Lucien Devereux.

The first two are self-explanatory.

The third is a category all on his own.

The mirrored elevator doors reflected a woman who looked perfectly composed—chin lifted, shoulders squared, expression unreadable. Years of being a Valencia had taught me how to wear confidence like a second skin, even on days when I wanted nothing more than to disappear behind a locked door and ignore the world.

Unfortunately, the death grip I had on my proposal folder betrayed me.

Beside me, Isabelle glanced down at my hand before looking back up with an amused smile.

"You know," she said, nudging my elbow lightly, "if you squeeze that any harder, Devereux Holdings is going to charge us for damaged property."

I loosened my grip with a sigh.

"I didn't realize you were watching."

"I've been watching since Lucien smiled at you in the meeting."

"I was trying very hard to pretend he didn't exist."

"Really?" Her brows lifted. "Because from where I was sitting, you looked personally offended by the fact that he was breathing."

"I was."

She laughed, shaking her head.

"I've known you for almost fifteen years, Sera, and somehow that man still brings out the most dramatic version of you."

"I am not dramatic."

She gave me a look.

"...Don't."

"I'm not saying anything."

"You don't have to. Your face already did."

The elevator doors slid open before I could think of a proper comeback.

The lobby buzzed with the quiet efficiency of a corporate empire. Employees hurried past in tailored suits, conversations blending with the soft chiming of elevators and the rhythmic tapping of heels against polished marble. Everything about Devereux Holdings screamed power without ever needing to say it aloud.

I hated that I admired it.

Almost as much as I hated the man responsible for building it.

The thought barely crossed my mind before we stepped outside and were greeted by the unmistakable sound of camera shutters.

Flashes exploded in every direction.

"Miss Valencia!"

"Miss Valencia, is the partnership official?"

"What can you tell us about today's meeting?"

My security detail instinctively moved closer, creating enough space for Isabelle and me to reach the waiting car, but one question cut through the noise.

"Is it true you and Mr. Devereux still can't stand each other?"

I paused just long enough for the reporters to lean forward in anticipation.

It would've been easy to roll my eyes.

Easier still to tell them the truth.

Instead, I offered the same diplomatic smile I'd spent years perfecting.

"Professional disagreements are healthy," I said evenly. "If two people agree on everything, one of them probably isn't paying attention."

A few reporters chuckled while the others scribbled down every word as though I'd revealed a state secret.

I slipped into the back seat before anyone could ask another question.

The moment the door closed, the outside world disappeared.

I rested my head against the leather seat and exhaled slowly.

"I give that answer twenty minutes before someone twists it into a headline."

Isabelle was already scrolling through her phone.

"You've got more faith in the media than I do."

I glanced sideways.

"They've already posted something, haven't they?"

She turned her screen toward me without a word.

There it was.

A photograph taken through the conference room window had captured the exact moment Lucien looked in my direction. His expression carried the faintest trace of amusement, while I looked ready to challenge his entire bloodline.

The headline read:

Business Rivals Reunite After Gala Incident. Is There More Than Meets the Eye?

I stared at it for a long moment before letting out a disbelieving laugh.

"They're unbelievable."

"They're journalists."

"They're novelists pretending to be journalists."

"They're making a fortune doing it."

"Off fiction."

Isabelle locked her phone and smiled.

"You have to admit, though... the picture does have a certain chemistry."

I turned to her so slowly that she immediately raised both hands in surrender.

"I said the picture," she corrected. "Not the people in it."

"There is no chemistry."

"Mhm."

"There isn't."

"Whatever helps you sleep."

I looked out the window before she could continue.

The city drifted past in blurred streaks of glass and concrete, but my thoughts stubbornly refused to move on.

Instead, they wandered back to the meeting.

To Lucien.

He'd noticed the bruise hidden beneath my makeup almost immediately.

He'd noticed the way I favored my left shoulder.

He'd looked at me with that infuriatingly calm expression before asking if I was all right, as though we weren't two people who argued every time we occupied the same room.

What annoyed me wasn't that he'd asked.

It was that he'd noticed.

I had spent years making sure people saw exactly what I wanted them to see.

Lucien had looked past all of it in less than five minutes.

I didn't know whether to be irritated...

Or unsettled.

——

The familiar wrought-iron gates of the Valencia estate came into view just as the sun began its slow descent, bathing the sprawling gardens in streaks of gold and amber. Normally, the sight was enough to ease the tension coiled between my shoulders. Home had always been the one place where the outside world couldn't reach me.

Lately, I wasn't so sure.

The car had barely rolled to a stop when Amelia appeared at the front entrance. She was usually the picture of composure, greeting everyone with the same warm smile she'd worn for as long as I could remember.

Today, that smile looked forced.

"Welcome home, Miss," she greeted as I stepped out of the car. "Your father is waiting for you in the library."

I sighed, slipping my handbag higher onto my shoulder.

"I was hoping to hide in my room for at least ten minutes."

"I'm afraid he said it couldn't wait."

"Of course he did."

A faint smile tugged at her lips, though it disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

I frowned.

Something about her felt... off.

Before I could ask, she stepped aside, allowing me to enter the house.

The estate was as immaculate as ever. Fresh lilies decorated the foyer, sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, and every piece of furniture sat exactly where it had for years. Growing up in this house meant growing up in perfection. Every painting hung perfectly straight. Every cushion belonged at a precise angle.

Nothing was ever out of place.

Except, lately, me.

By the time I reached the library, I'd already composed myself.

Father stood near the fireplace instead of behind his desk, a leather-bound book resting unopened in one hand. He looked up as I entered, studying me with the same unreadable expression he'd perfected long before I was born.

"How did the meeting go?"

"Productively," I answered, setting my folder on a nearby table. "Neither company walked away offended enough to cancel the partnership, so I'd call that a success."

His mouth twitched, though I wasn't sure it qualified as a smile.

"And Lucien?"

There it was.

I folded my arms.

"What about him?"

"You've managed to answer every part of my question except the one I asked."

I let out a quiet breath, already regretting walking into this room.

"He was... exactly as I remembered."

"Which means?"

"Insufferably confident."

"And?"

I narrowed my eyes.

"Why are you so interested in him all of a sudden?"

"I'm interested in the partnership."

"No." I shook my head. "You're interested in my opinion of him."

He didn't deny it.

Instead, he crossed the room and poured himself a cup of tea before offering me one. I declined with a small shake of my head.

"You've underestimated him for years," Father said calmly. "I wanted to know whether today changed your mind."

His words lingered longer than I expected.

Had it?

I thought back to the meeting.

Lucien had challenged almost every proposal I made, but never carelessly. Every disagreement had been backed by numbers, research, and an infuriating amount of confidence. Worse, he'd listened when I argued back. He hadn't dismissed my ideas simply because we were competitors.

He'd respected them.

That realization irritated me far more than it should have.

"...He's competent," I admitted at last.

Father remained silent.

I sighed.

"Fine. He's more than competent."

"There it is."

"There what is?"

"The truth."

I rolled my eyes.

"Don't look so pleased."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"The fact that he's capable doesn't mean you'll suddenly become friends."

"I'd rather negotiate with a cactus."

He actually smiled this time.

"A cactus doesn't negotiate."

"It would probably be less stubborn."

Before he could answer, a sharp knock echoed through the room.

Amelia stepped inside carrying a silver tray, though it wasn't the tray that caught my attention.

It was her face.

She'd gone pale.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir," she said carefully, "but this was delivered to the estate a little while ago."

She lowered the tray onto the coffee table between us.

A matte-black box rested neatly at its center.

No company logo.

No courier label.

No return address.

The room fell strangely quiet.

Father's expression changed almost instantly.

"Who brought it?"

"The guards don't know," Amelia admitted. "It was found just outside the front gate during the shift change."

A chill crept slowly down my spine.

Someone had entered the estate grounds without anyone noticing.

That alone was unsettling.

The fact that they'd left something behind...

That was worse.

Father stepped forward.

"Don't touch it."

I wasn't planning to.

Not anymore.

An ivory envelope rested neatly on top of the box, my name written across it in elegant handwriting.

Miss Seraphina Valencia.

Something about the handwriting stirred an uneasy sense of familiarity, though I couldn't place why.

I reached for the envelope before I could stop myself.

"Seraphina."

Father's voice carried a warning.

"I'll be careful."

The paper felt surprisingly expensive beneath my fingertips.

Inside was a single black card.

Nothing else.

Just six words embossed in silver.

You should have let them take you.

For a heartbeat, I simply stared.

The words refused to make sense.

Then they did.

The blood drained from my face.

The room seemed to tilt ever so slightly as memories of the gala crashed into me all at once.

Father gently took the card from my hand. As his eyes scanned the message, every trace of warmth disappeared from his face.

"Lock down the estate," he ordered, his voice sharp enough to make Amelia flinch. "No one enters or leaves until security clears the grounds. Then contact the police."

"Yes, sir."

She hurried from the room.

Neither of us spoke.

Neither of us looked away from the box.

"I'll open it," Father said quietly.

"You don't know what's inside."

"Exactly."

"I should."

"No."

His answer came without hesitation.

"If this is a threat, then it's directed at my daughter. That makes it my responsibility."

For the first time in a long time, I didn't argue.

He carefully lifted the lid.

Nestled against black velvet was a single sapphire earring.

I felt my stomach drop.

It was unmistakably mine.

The matching piece to the one I'd lost while fighting for my life in that service corridor.

Someone had picked it up.

Kept it.

Waited.

And then delivered it to my home.

Not because they wanted to return it...

But because they wanted me to know they had been there.

They had watched.

And if they could leave something inside one of the most heavily guarded estates in the country...

Then nowhere was truly safe.