Chapter 13

Serena’s POV
“To Serena, our creative genius who’s finally back where she belongs!” Maya raised her glass, her eyes sparkling with genuine happiness.
Everyone at the table cheered, clinking glasses as we celebrated my return to Dreamland Studio.
The small restaurant buzzed with our laughter and excited chatter about upcoming projects.
For the first time in months, I felt truly light, surrounded by people who valued me for my talent rather than my last name.
“You should’ve seen the clients’ faces when they realized you were back,” Celeste gushed, her normally reserved demeanor animated by a few glasses of wine.
“They practically begged for your personal touch on their commissions!”
I smiled, warmth spreading through my chest. “I’ve missed this—missed all of you,” I admitted, looking around at my team.
“These designs have been living in my head for too long. It’s time they saw the light of day.”
The evening continued with food, drinks, and endless discussions about our new collection.
By the time we finished, night had fallen completely, casting the city in a soft glow of streetlights and neon signs.
Maya and I stumbled out of the restaurant, arms linked and still giggling about some inside joke when I spotted him—Simon, Ryan’s ever-loyal assistant, standing rigidly beside a sleek black car across the street.
“Oh hell no,” Maya muttered under her breath, instantly sobering. “Want me to tell him to fuck off?”
I squeezed her arm. “It’s fine. Let me handle this.”
Simon approached us with measured steps, his expression professionally blank as always. “Ms. Quinn, I apologize for the interruption to your evening.”
“What does he want now, Simon?” I asked directly, not bothering with pleasantries. The cool night air suddenly felt insufficient against the heat rising in my cheeks.
“Mr. Blackwood asked me to deliver these to you.” He held out a large envelope and a small box.
“The deed to the downtown penthouse has been transferred to your name, along with some funds he believes you’re entitled to.”
I stared at the items without reaching for them. “I don’t want anything from him.”
“Take it, Serena,” Maya interrupted, snatching the envelope from Simon’s hand.
She peeked inside and whistled low. “This is definitely what you deserve after everything he put you through.”
“Maya—”
“Mr. Blackwood was quite insistent,” Simon added, his voice betraying a hint of discomfort. “He wanted to ensure your financial stability wasn’t compromised by your… situation.”
I laughed bitterly. “My situation? You mean my divorce from a man who never acknowledged my existence unless it was convenient? Tell Ryan he can keep his guilt money.”
Maya grabbed my arm, pulling me slightly aside. “Are you crazy?” she whispered fiercely.
“This is a downtown penthouse we’re talking about! Do you know how much that’s worth? Take the damn money and property. It’s the least he owes you!”
Simon stood awkwardly, pretending not to hear our heated exchange.
“Please inform Mr. Blackwood,” Maya called over my shoulder, “that Serena accepts these items as the bare minimum compensation for her time and emotional labor. Also, tell him to stop bothering her. The divorce is final. She’s moved on.”
Simon nodded stiffly. “I’ll relay your message, Ms. Carter.” Then he returned to the waiting car.
I watched the sleek vehicle pull away, a complicated knot of emotions twisting in my stomach.
“I really don’t want his money, Maya,” I said quietly as we walked toward her car.
“Listen to me,” she said, her tone gentler now. “That man put you through hell. You spent years of your life trying to be perfect for someone who couldn’t be bothered to look at you twice. This isn’t guilt money—it’s what you rightfully earned.”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “It feels like I’m still letting him control me somehow.”
“No, sweetie. Taking what you deserve isn’t letting him control you—it’s using his resources to build your own empire.”
A mischievous grin spread across her face. “Besides, just imagine how amazing it’ll be when your brand outshines his company, and you did it partly with his own money.”
That made me laugh, really laugh. “When you put it that way
“Exactly! Now, when can we start moving you in?”
The rest of the drive was filled with excited plans about furniture and decor for the new place.
For the first time since the divorce, I allowed myself to feel genuinely hopeful about the future.
Two weeks later, I was fully settled into the penthouse.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offered breathtaking views of the city skyline, and I’d transformed the spare bedroom into a design studio filled with natural light.
Despite my initial reluctance, I had to admit it made working much more efficient.
I invested a significant portion of Ryan’s “compensation” into Dreamland Studio’s expansion.
The designs I’d kept hidden away for years—ideas I’d been too insecure to share while married to Ryan—were now being developed into a comprehensive jewelry collection.
My vision was taking shape, piece by exquisite piece.
Our studio’s official social media account posted daily updates, steadily building hype for the brand launch.
The strategy was spot-on—just enough mystery to hook people without giving the whole game away.
Meanwhile, Ivy was practically gloating around town, selling her stolen designs for increasingly outrageous prices. Her confidence grew with each transaction, completely oblivious to the trap slowly closing around her.
“We’re still short on funding for the production phase,” Maya noted one evening as we reviewed our business plan.
“Even with Ryan’s money, launching a jewelry brand requires serious capital.”
I smiled, closing my laptop with a decisive click. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”
“That’s your ’I’m about to destroy someone’ smile,” Maya observed, raising an eyebrow. “What are you cooking up?”
“Remember all those designs Ivy stole?” I leaned forward, my voice dropping conspiratorially. “It’s time we use her theft to our advantage.”
“You’re going to expose her?” Maya’s eyes widened with delight.
“WhisperStream and I have everything prepared. The timing has to be perfect.”
I felt a surge of satisfaction as I outlined the plan. “Ivy thinks she’s won, that she’s untouchable. But she’s about to become the most valuable asset in launching our brand.”
Maya raised her wine glass in a toast. “To turning thieves into unwitting investors.”
I clinked my glass against hers, savoring the sweet anticipation of justice. “She’ll never see it coming.”