CHAPTER 15: CHAPTER 15 THE FALL OF A FRAUD

Author’s POV

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" Ivy screamed, hurling her tablet across the luxurious penthouse suite. The device crashed against the wall, its screen shattering on impact - much like her reputation was doing online.

Just days ago, she’d been the "design genius" everyone talked about. Now? The internet buzzed with nothing but praise for someone called "Lady Lazuli" and her Dreamland jewelry collection.

Ivy scrolled frantically through the comments section of the latest design blog, her perfectly manicured nails trembling with rage.

"Ivy Hart is just another influencer pretending to be a designer. Anyone with eyes can see Lady Lazuli is the real deal!"

"Comparing Hart Jewelry to Dreamland? Are you kidding me? They’re not even in the same league!"

"Can Hart Jewelry stop trying to ride coattails? We haven’t forgotten about the plagiarism scandal! Even Celeste’s work was better than Ivy’s stolen designs."

"Exactly! If she couldn’t even compete with Celeste, how dare she compare herself to Lady Lazuli? It’s like comparing elementary math to advanced calculus - completely different levels!"

The comments continued in the same vein - unanimous, brutal, and devastatingly accurate. Ivy’s perfectly contoured face contorted with rage as she threw her phone aside.

"Six hundred thousand dollars gone AND my reputation in tatters?" she hissed through clenched teeth. "All in less than a week?"

Her assistant cowered by the door, clutching a stack of magazines featuring the mysterious Lady Lazuli’s designs on their covers. The young woman had already faced Ivy’s wrath three times that morning and was clearly terrified of triggering another explosion.

"Find out who this Lady Lazuli really is," Ivy snarled, pacing the room like a caged animal. "Get me everything - her real name, where she works, who funds her, her weaknesses. EVERYTHING! Anyone who dares challenge me is challenging the Blackwood family, and they’ll pay dearly for it."

The assistant nodded quickly, backing toward the door. "Yes, Miss Hart. Right away."

"And get me Ryan on the phone!"

"But Miss, after what happened last time you were—"

"Did I ask for your opinion?" Ivy shrieked, snatching a crystal paperweight from her desk and hurling it across the room.

The assistant ducked just in time, the heavy object shattering against the doorframe inches from her head.

"Just do what I told you!"

Left alone, Ivy dropped onto her designer sofa, snatching up her phone and scrolling through yet another article about Lady Lazuli.

Each glowing review felt like a slap to the face. Every side-by-side comparison only emphasized how flat and uninspired her own designs now looked in contrast.

Then her phone buzzed.

A message from Ryan’s assistant:

"Mr. Blackwood is in meetings all day and asks that you direct any design concerns through the proper channels."

Ryan was avoiding her?

The realization hit harder than she expected.

Ever since the day she’d been thrown out of his office, Ryan had grown increasingly cold. First, he stopped taking her calls. Then he stopped replying altogether.

No more intimate dinners. No more special treatment. Just cold, professional correspondence through assistants.

Ivy poured herself a generous glass of scotch, not caring that it was barely noon.

Her perfectly curated life was unraveling at an alarming rate, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, somewhere, Serena was laughing at her downfall.

"It has to be her," Ivy whispered, a dangerous gleam in her eye. "Lady Lazuli... Serena... they must be connected."

Ivy drained her glass and stared out at the city skyline.

She hadn’t clawed her way to the top just to be dethroned by some mysterious newcomer.

If Lady Lazuli thought she could destroy Ivy Hart’s career and walk away unscathed, she was about to learn just how dangerous an enemy Ivy could be.

"When I’m done with you," Ivy whispered to the empty room, "no one will even remember your name."

---

Serena’s POV

The moment I stepped out of Dreamland Studio, exhaustion weighing heavy on my shoulders, I spotted his car. That sleek black Mercedes I once knew so well, parked right in front of my building like he still had every right to be there. My heart skipped—not from excitement, but from irritation.

Ryan emerged from the driver’s seat, his eyes slowly traveling over my designer outfit with that judgmental look I’d grown to hate. The audacity of this man, showing up unannounced after everything.

"Where have you been? Why are you coming home so late?" His voice carried that familiar controlling tone, like I still answered to him.

I almost laughed. "That’s really none of your business anymore, is it?"

Without giving him the satisfaction of further engagement, I walked past his car, heading straight for my front door. The last thing I needed after finalizing details for our jewelry showcase was dealing with Ryan’s entitled attitude.

"Stop. You haven’t answered my question," he called after me.

Did he seriously expect me to obey? Like we weren’t divorced? Like he hadn’t thrown me away the moment something better came along? I kept walking, treating his words like the meaningless air they were.

"Serena! Are you even listening to me?"

His footsteps quickened behind me, and before I could reach my door, his hand clamped down on my arm—hard enough to hurt. I winced, looking down at where his fingers dug into my skin.

"Mr. Blackwood," I said coldly, using his formal title deliberately. "Is harassing me at night your new hobby? Sorry, but I’m exhausted and have zero interest in whatever drama you’re bringing. Let. Go."

I yanked my arm free, feeling a rush of satisfaction at his surprised expression. He wasn’t used to this version of me—the one who didn’t cower or apologize for existing.

"What do you want?" I finally asked, rubbing my arm where his grip had left red marks.

His expression hardened, that familiar cold mask sliding into place. "Grandmother wants to see you. She asked me to bring you for dinner."

I stood frozen, caught off guard. His grandmother had always been kind to me, one of the few people in Ryan’s family who had treated me with genuine warmth.

"So you want me to pretend we’re still married?" I couldn’t keep the incredulity from my voice. "That’s what you came here for?"

"It’s just one dinner," he said, his tone softening slightly. "It won’t take long. I’ll drive you there and bring you back afterward."

I stared at him, trying to process this bizarre request. After everything that had happened between us—the coldness, the dismissal, the divorce—he expected me to play happy wife for his grandmother’s benefit?

"Please," he added, the word sounding foreign coming from him. Ryan Blackwood rarely said "please" to anyone.

Against my better judgment, I found myself nodding. Not for Ryan—never for him again—but for his grandmother who had shown me kindness when the rest of his family had looked down on me.

"Fine," I agreed reluctantly. "But just dinner, and then you bring me straight back."

The drive to the Blackwood old estate was painfully silent. When we arrived at the grand entrance I once called home, Ryan’s arm slid around my waist as we walked toward the door.

I stiffened immediately. "What are you doing?"

"Grandmother doesn’t know about the divorce," he murmured close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "I haven’t found the right moment to tell her."

Of course he hadn’t. Ryan Blackwood, CEO of a global empire, suddenly couldn’t handle a simple conversation with his grandmother. More likely, he was avoiding her disappointment—or worse, her questions about why he’d failed at marriage.

I didn’t pull away, though every cell in my body wanted to. This charade wasn’t for him; it was for the elderly woman who had welcomed me into her home years ago.

The moment we entered, Ryan’s grandmother greeted us with warm enthusiasm that made my heart ache with guilt.

"My dears!" she exclaimed, embracing me first, then Ryan. "It’s been too long since you’ve visited together."

I forced a smile, accepting her embrace. "It’s wonderful to see you, Mrs. Blackwood."

"You look thin," she scolded, examining me with critical eyes. "Is my grandson not feeding you properly? Ryan, what have I told you about taking care of your wife?"

Ryan cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Serena’s been busy with her work, Grandmother."

"Work? What work?" She led us toward the dining room, her jeweled hand still holding mine. "I thought you were focusing on giving me great-grandchildren. That’s a full-time job, isn’t it?"

I nearly choked on air. The awkwardness was suffocating.

"Grandmother," Ryan smoothly intercepted, "why don’t we eat first? Things like children... they can’t be rushed."

Evelyn’s eyebrows shot up, surprised but not displeased. "Is that so? Well, I suppose a woman should have something to keep herself occupied. Just don’t let it distract you from what truly matters, dear."

There was no malice in her voice—but the old-fashioned way she spoke reminded me exactly why I’d felt so worthless in this family.

My career, my passion, my talent—just pretty embellishments, really.

What truly mattered was fulfilling my duty as the Blackwood wife—and producing heirs.

Ryan’s hand squeezed mine in warning as he noticed my expression darkening. I forced a smile instead, swallowing the retort that threatened to escape.

This would be a very long dinner indeed.