Chapter 104

Serena’s POV
I thought the Holly situation was finally settling down, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. The moment I stepped back into my studio, it was like walking into a storm that refused to die.
“Ms. Quinn! Is it true you drove that poor girl to suicide?” A reporter shoved a microphone in my face as I tried to enter the building.
“Did you know about her mental illness all along?” Another one called out.
I ducked my head and pushed past them, my heart hammering against my ribs. Even with Mr. Will’s statement clearing me, some people had already decided I was guilty. The studio phone rang constantly with threatening calls. Our social media was still bombarded with hate comments, though fewer than before.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Maya muttered, deleting another batch of vicious comments. “These people don’t even know Holly or you.”
I nodded wearily, one hand instinctively moving to protect my belly. The stress wasn’t good for the baby, but what could I do?
Things went from bad to worse three days later. I was working late, alone in the studio after everyone had left. The soft click of the door made me look up, expecting the cleaning lady.
“Hello?” I called out, receiving only silence in return.
The lights suddenly flickered and went out. In the darkness, I heard soft, dragging footsteps approaching my office. My heart leaped into my throat.
“Who’s there?” I grabbed my phone, turning on the flashlight.
The beam caught a horrifying sight – a figure dressed in white, with long matted hair covering its face, blood dripping from its hands. It let out an ungodly wail that sent ice through my veins.
“You killed me, Serena… Now you’ll join me
I screamed, stumbling backward. My legs hit my desk chair and I went down hard, my phone clattering away. The figure advanced, moaning eerily. In the dim emergency lights, I could see it reaching toward me with bloody fingers.
“Help! Somebody help!” I scrambled backward, my vision blurring with tears of terror.
Just as the figure lunged at me, the studio doors burst open. Ryan charged in with his security team, flipping on the main lights. The “ghost” froze, then tried to flee, but two security guards tackled her to the ground.
It was a young woman, probably hired by someone who wanted to terrorize me. Under the harsh lights, her cheap Halloween makeup looked pathetic rather than frightening.
Ryan was at my side instantly, his face a mask of fury and concern. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”
I couldn’t answer, just trembled violently as shock set in. My hands instinctively covered my belly.
“The baby I whispered, feeling a sharp cramp.
Ryan’s expression turned deadly. He barked orders at his security team to handle the intruder, then swept me into his arms.
“I’m taking you to the hospital. Now.”
I didn’t argue. The cramping was getting worse, and fear for my baby overshadowed everything else.
After a thorough examination, the doctor assured us the baby was fine, but warned that my stress levels were dangerously high.
“You need rest and a safe environment,” she insisted. “This kind of emotional trauma could lead to serious complications if it continues.”
Ryan didn’t even let me go back to my apartment. His car drove straight to the Blackwood mansion – my former home.
“This isn’t necessary,” I protested weakly as he carried me from the car. “I can stay with Maya or—”
“No arguments,” Ryan cut me off, his voice leaving no room for discussion. “No one will get past my security here.”
As we entered the grand foyer, memories flooded back – not all of them pleasant. This place had once been my prison as much as my home.
“Madam, you’ve finally returned!” The elderly butler hurried forward, his face wreathed in genuine smiles. It was touching to see how happy he was.
“Please don’t call me that,” I said gently. “I’m just… staying temporarily.”
Ryan didn’t comment, but I caught the tightening of his jaw. He instructed the kitchen to prepare some light, nutritious food, then guided me upstairs, his hand firm against my lower back.
“Why are you taking me upstairs? I can stay in one of the guest rooms downstairs,” I protested, my heart racing for a different reason now. The master bedroom held too many memories – both sweet and bitter.
“The guest rooms aren’t comfortable enough. The master suite was decorated by you, remember? If you don’t want to share, I’ll take one of the guest rooms instead.”
He opened the door to reveal our old bedroom, exactly as I’d left it. Nothing had changed – the pale blue walls, the cream bedspread, the reading nook by the window. It was like stepping into a time capsule.
Ryan took my hand, leading me toward the walk-in closet. “Look. These are all for you.”
My eyes widened as I took in rack after rack of new clothes – designer dresses, casual wear, shoes, handbags – all in my size and favorite styles. All recent collections, purchased after our divorce.
“Do you like them?” he asked softly, watching my face.
I snorted, trying to hide how touched I actually felt. “Fancy gifts won’t work on me, Ryan.”
His lips quirked into a half-smile. “Then what will? Tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”
My gaze drifted to the rocking chair on the balcony – the one where I’d once caught Sophie lounging, acting like she owned the place. The memory still stung.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, turning away. “I’d still prefer the guest room downstairs. This place… I’m not comfortable here.”
Ryan looked confused but didn’t argue. With my emotional state still fragile, he wasn’t willing to push.
The next few nights were a strange dance. I’d retreat to the guest room, and Ryan would find excuses to linger in the adjacent sitting room. He’d bring me tea, ask about work, or just sit quietly nearby, pretending to read reports.
“You don’t have to babysit me,” I finally told him on the third night, after he’d knocked on my door with yet another herbal tea concoction “for the baby.”
“I’m not,” he said innocently. “I just sleep better knowing you’re safe.”
When I firmly closed the door in his face, he finally took the hint.
After a week, the Holly situation had finally died down enough that I felt safe returning to my apartment. I packed my things while Ryan was at work, leaving only a brief note of thanks.
“Madam, are you really leaving?” The butler looked genuinely disappointed as he helped carry my small suitcase to the waiting car. “When will you and Master Ryan remarry?”
I touched my growing belly gently, feeling a flutter of movement within. “We’ll see,” I said softly.
The path ahead was still complicated. Ryan and I had made some progress, but we were far from resolving our past. For now, my focus needed to be on my baby and my business.
As the car pulled away from the mansion, I caught a glimpse of Ryan’s car turning into the driveway. I sank lower in my seat, not ready for another confrontation.
One step at a time, I told myself. One day at a time.