Chapter 52

Serena’s POV
The invitation arrived just as I was leaving the studio for the day. Simon Graves, Ryan’s ever-efficient assistant, stood waiting with the elegantly embossed envelope.
“Miss Quinn, please consider attending,” he said with practiced politeness.
I didn’t even bother looking at it before handing it back. “Please tell Ryan that Blackwood affairs no longer concern me. I’d rather not waste my evening in that toxic environment.”
Simon shifted uncomfortably. “The gala is to welcome Mr. Kane Blackwood back from abroad. Many influential people will attend. Mr. Blackwood specifically mentioned that representatives from the jewelry association board will be present—an excellent opportunity for your studio.”
I stopped mid-stride. “The jewelry board?”
“Yes. Mr. Blackwood said you’re welcome to bring your partners as well—as many as you’d like.”
Now it made sense. Ryan knew exactly what bait would work. We desperately needed those contacts for our materials sourcing.
Damn him for being so calculating.
“Fine. I’ll be there,” I replied, accepting the invitation with reluctant fingers.
Back at the studio, I found Maya finalizing arrangements with a supplier on the phone while Julian reviewed our quarterly projections nearby, his black-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose as he concentrated.
“I need backup,” I announced, dropping into my chair. “Ryan’s throwing another power play gala, and unfortunately, Dreamland needs to make an appearance.”
Maya hung up and swiveled toward me, her gray eyes narrowing. “That man just can’t leave you alone, can he?”
“It’s a business move,” I insisted, though we both knew it wasn’t quite that simple. “The jewelry association board members will be there. We need their connections for the upcoming collection launch.”
Julian closed his folder. “I’ll accompany you. It would be good to assess the competition anyway.”
“Count me in too,” Maya declared. “I’ve been dying to see what these Blackwood events are really like. Plus, Celeste could use the exposure to potential clients.”
Celeste, who had been silently working in the corner, looked up with wide eyes. “Me? At a Blackwood gala?”
“Absolutely you,” I confirmed. “Your latest designs deserve to be seen by industry insiders.”
The gala was ostensibly to welcome Kane Blackwood after his overseas business trip, but anyone with half a brain could see it for what it really was – a calculated move in the ongoing power struggle within the Blackwood empire.
I’d been around long enough to recognize the signs of corporate warfare dressed up as champagne and caviar.
That evening, I deliberately chose an understated black gown – elegant enough to meet the dress code but not flashy enough to draw attention. My days of trying to impress the Blackwood circle were long behind me.
“You look stunning even when you’re trying not to,” Maya commented, herself resplendent in emerald green.
The Blackwood mansion was lit up like a Christmas tree when we arrived, luxury cars lining the circular driveway.
I took a steadying breath before stepping out of our car, memories flooding back of the many times I’d entered this house – first as a nervous bride, then as a determined wife trying to earn her husband’s love, and finally as a woman walking away from a marriage that had been dead from the start.
Inside, the ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and wealth. Maya immediately began working the room, charming jewelry buyers and industry veterans with her natural confidence. Celeste followed, wide-eyed but handling herself admirably for someone at her first major industry event.
Julian stayed close to me, his presence reassuring. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly as we accepted champagne from a passing waiter.
“I’m fine,” I lied, scanning the room for Ryan. “Just ready to make the necessary connections and leave.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed as he studied my face. “You don’t need to be here, you know. Dreamland is successful enough to stand on its own merits. We don’t need Blackwood’s approval or connections.”
“This isn’t about approval,” I insisted, though his concern touched me. “It’s about strategic business decisions.”
“Is it?” Julian pressed, unusually direct. “Then why don’t you simply refuse when he keeps showing up at our studio?”
I raised an eyebrow, suddenly realizing Julian was acting strangely tonight.
“Why are you so concerned about my ex-husband all of a sudden?”
Julian nearly choked on his champagne, taking a moment to recover.
“I’m not concerned about him! I’m concerned about you! You were so devoted before the divorce, always giving without receiving. Now that he’s showing you a little attention, I’m worried you’ll fall back into old patterns.”
“Who said anything about falling back?” I frowned. I was focused on growing my business, not rekindling old flames.
“Then why dress so distinctively tonight? Aren’t you trying to catch your ex’s attention?”
I blinked, glancing around. Only then did it hit me—I was one of the few women wearing black in a sea of glittering silks and sequins.
I let out a short, awkward laugh. “I just thought black would be understated. I didn’t realize it would make me stand out.”
Julian’s whole demeanor shifted, the tension easing from his features as if my words had reassured him.
“Serena, just remember everything that happened. Don’t let that man fool you twice.”
I murmured my agreement, though the sudden protectiveness in his tone felt strange. Normally it was Maya playing the role of my moral compass, not Julian.
When did he sign up for the “overprotective friend” club?
We joked about a few other things, carefully avoiding any further mention of Ryan. Just as we were enjoying ourselves, the room’s energy shifted.
Ryan entered, pushing Kane’s wheelchair. Beside them walked Evelyn Blackwood, Ryan’s grandmother, her silver hair elegantly coiffed, her posture rigid with old money pride.
Ryan only made a show of pushing the wheelchair for a moment before passing the duty to an assistant.
His face was as coldly handsome as ever, features set in that impenetrable mask I knew so well.
The crowd surged forward to greet the Blackwood family, eager to curry favor. I instinctively stepped deeper into the corner, trying to make myself invisible.
The last thing I wanted was to keep playing the doting couple in front of Evelyn Blackwood.
“I need a moment,” I murmured to Julian, slipping away toward the lounge set aside for guests.
The quiet there was a welcome contrast to the buzzing ballroom.
I pushed open the door, seeking a few minutes of peace—only to find myself face to face with Ivy Hart.
She was perched on the edge of a velvet settee, clutching a champagne flute in one hand.
Her knuckles were white around the stem, and when she lifted her head to see me standing there, she froze.
The glass trembled in her grip, eyes widening in what looked like genuine shock.
Why would she look so startled to see me?