Where Hatred Ends

Chapter 1

Sera

I have always hated owing people.

It doesn't matter whether it's money, a favor, or something as simple as holding the door open for me. The moment someone does something that places me in their debt, I feel as though I've surrendered a piece of myself, and I refuse to give anyone that kind of power.

Which is precisely why I have spent the last three days trying… and failing to forget the infuriating smile Lucien Devereux wore after saving my life.

“You owe me one.”

Those four words have echoed in my head ever since I walked out of that service corridor.

Not because I was grateful.

Because he was right.

The realization is enough to ruin my morning before it has even begun.

I lower the porcelain teacup onto its matching saucer with a little more force than necessary, earning a curious glance from the housekeeper standing near the dining room entrance. She wisely says nothing. Everyone in the Valencia estate has mastered the art of pretending not to notice my moods.

Outside, the gardens are drenched in golden sunlight. The fountains sparkle beneath the clear sky, gardeners trim the hedges with meticulous precision, and somewhere in the distance I can hear birds singing as though the world is perfectly peaceful.

It is almost insulting.

How can everything look so calm when someone tried to kidnap me less than seventy-two hours ago?

The official explanation released to the media was laughable.

A minor disturbance during the annual Charity Gala.

No mention of masked men.

No mention of weapons.

No mention that one of the country's most prominent business heirs nearly disappeared without a trace.

Father made sure of that.

"Scandals weaken confidence," he had said during breakfast yesterday without bothering to look up from the financial section of the newspaper. "Confidence affects investments."

Apparently, my attempted abduction was less important than the stock market.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls me from my thoughts.

"Miss."

I glance up to find Amelia, one of the household staff, standing beside the dining table.

"Your father is waiting in his office."

Of course he is.

"When is he ever not?"

She offers an apologetic smile.

"I believe it's important."

"They always say that."

I rise from my chair anyway, smoothing the wrinkles from the cream-colored blouse tucked neatly into tailored black trousers. If there is one lesson my parents taught me from an early age, it's that appearances matter, even when the world feels like it's falling apart.

Especially then.

The hallway leading to Father's office is lined with portraits of generations of Valencias, each one wearing the same dignified expression as though smiling had been outlawed centuries ago. Sometimes I wonder if any of them were actually happy or if maintaining the family's reputation consumed every moment of their lives.

By the time I reach the double doors, I've already prepared myself for another lecture about responsibility.

I knock once before entering.

Father doesn't look up immediately. He continues signing a stack of documents spread across his mahogany desk while his secretary stands nearby, tablet in hand. Only after another signature does he finally acknowledge my presence.

"Sit."

No greeting.

No ‘how are you feeling?’

Just one word.

I take the seat opposite him.

"You wanted to see me."

"I've increased your security."

"I noticed."

"I've also assigned additional personnel to accompany you outside the estate."

"I noticed that too."

He finally raises his eyes to meet mine.

"This isn't a discussion, Seraphina."

"I wasn't arguing."

"You looked like you were about to."

"I was considering it."

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

"We still don't know who was responsible for the attack."

"No," I reply evenly. "But someone does."

"The authorities are investigating."

I almost laugh.

The authorities.

The same authorities who arrived after everything was already over.

The same authorities who somehow failed to recover a single useful piece of evidence despite the hotel's extensive surveillance system.

No.

Someone wanted this buried.

Someone powerful enough to make it disappear overnight.

Father leans back in his chair, folding his hands together.

"There is another matter."

I immediately dislike the way he says it.

"The Devereux Group has proposed a joint charity initiative with the Valencia Foundation."

I stare at him.

"...What?"

"It would improve public confidence after the gala incident."

"You're joking."

"I rarely joke."

"Out of every corporation in the country, you chose theirs?"

"It wasn't my choice."

My stomach sinks.

"The board recommended it."

"They're our competitors."

"They're also influential."

I let out a slow breath, pressing two fingers against my temple.

"So what exactly are you asking me to do?"

His answer comes without hesitation.

"You will represent the Valencia family during the negotiations."

I blink once.

"No."

"You weren't asked."

"I said no."

"You'll attend."

"I'm not spending weeks pretending to cooperate with Lucien Devereux."

Father's expression remains maddeningly calm.

"You will."

The silence stretches between us, heavy enough to suffocate.

He knows exactly why I'm resisting.

Because every meeting with Lucien turns into a battle of egos.

Because neither of us knows when to stop arguing.

Because if there's one person capable of ruining my day simply by existing, it's him.

Unfortunately...

The feeling is entirely mutual.

Father slides a folder across the desk.

"The first meeting is this afternoon."

I glance at the cover.

One name is printed beneath the company logo.

Lucien Devereux.

I close my eyes for exactly three seconds.

Then I stand.

"If I end up in prison," I say as I tuck the folder beneath my arm, "it'll be because I finally strangled him."

Father returns to his paperwork without missing a beat.

"Try not to do it before the contract is signed."

I leave his office wondering which would be more difficult.

Negotiating a multimillion-dollar partnership...

Or resisting the overwhelming urge to wipe that infuriating smirk off Lucien Devereux's face the moment I see him again.

Either way, one thing is certain.

This debt between us is far from settled.