CHAPTER 32: CHAPTER 32 LET’S GET REMARRIED

Serena’s POV

I watch Ryan’s eyes widen slightly at my threat. Good. Let him be surprised. I’m not the doormat he married anymore.

When he doesn’t make another move, I force a smile back onto my face and walk toward another group of potential clients.

Throughout the evening, I notice him lurking in the corner, drinking steadily.

I instinctively reach for my phone, almost texting him to stop—his stomach can’t handle that much alcohol. Then I catch myself.

We’re divorced. If he wants to drink himself sick, that’s his problem now. I deliberately turn my back and focus on the investors in front of me.

By the time the gala ends and I’ve seen off the last guest, he’s nowhere in sight. I assume he’s finally gone home.

The venue is only a short walk from my apartment. Rather than call a car, I decide to enjoy the night air and clear my head.

My feet are killing me after hours in heels, but I came prepared. I swap my stilettos for the flats I stashed in my clutch and feel instantly revitalized.

Taking a deep breath of cool evening air, I make a mental note to call Maya later to share tonight’s success.

We received no fewer than seven serious partnership offers. The thought makes me smile. I’ve already forgotten Ryan’s unwelcome appearance.

As I walk, I hear footsteps behind me. My neighborhood is generally safe, but instinct makes me quicken my pace. My apartment building is just ahead.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabs my wrist. The grip is firm, and the unmistakable smell of alcohol hits me. For a terrifying moment, I think I’m being attacked by some drunk stranger.

"Serena, it’s me."

That voice. My fear immediately transforms into anger as I recognize Ryan. I yank my arm away forcefully.

"What the hell? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

His eyes are unfocused, his normally perfect appearance disheveled.

His cheeks are flushed from alcohol. I’ve never seen Ryan Blackwood drunk before—he’s always prided himself on his control.

"Serena, do you hate me that much?" His words slur slightly.

I frown and turn away, walking faster toward my building. He follows, somehow managing to outpace me despite his intoxicated state. He blocks my path again.

"Why are you running from me? Are you afraid?"

"Ryan, you’re drunk. Call Simon to take you home."

"I’m not going home!" he shouts, his voice carrying a childish stubbornness I’ve never heard from him before.

"Then what do you want? Why are you acting crazy?"

My disgust seems to anger him further. His eyes narrow as he sways slightly.

"You can smile at every other man in that room, but you look at me like I’m dirt. Didn’t you used to beg me to come home every night?"

"Enough! That’s ancient history!"

I push past him, furious at the reminder of how pathetic I’d once been. I don’t care if he gets home safely—he’s a grown man. Let him figure it out.

Back in my apartment, I finally relax. The familiar surroundings calm me as I shower off the evening’s tension and change into comfortable pajamas.

While blow-drying my hair, I hear shouting from outside. Someone is calling my name, each repetition louder than the last. I open my window and look down.

Ryan is standing in the street below, still there, still drunk, and now yelling my name like a madman.

Neighbors are poking their heads out, threatening to call the police for disturbing the peace.

Ryan ignores them completely, focused only on getting my attention. I bite my lip in frustration and head downstairs. This has gone far enough.

"Ryan! Stop it! Go home!" I hiss as I approach him.

"Serena... Serena, let’s talk," he slurs, stumbling toward me.

Before I can step back, his head drops heavily onto my shoulder. The unexpected weight nearly knocks me off balance.

"Ryan? Hey! Are you still conscious?"

He mumbles something incoherent against my neck, his breath hot on my skin. The sensation sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

I swear under my breath.

Where is Simon when you need him? Ryan’s assistant usually shadows him everywhere, prepared for any situation. Of course tonight he’s nowhere to be found.

By the time I manage to drag Ryan’s deadweight into my apartment, I’m breathing heavily from the exertion. I deposit him on my sofa where he slumps back, eyes closed, still mumbling.

"Serena... Serena..."

I look down at him, a bitter smile tugging at my lips.

How ironic that my name only crosses his lips when he’s too drunk to know what he’s saying. Anyone watching might mistake this for genuine affection.

What a joke.

Despite my thoughts, I find myself preparing honey water for him—an old remedy for drunkenness. I guide the cup to his lips, supporting his head as he drinks.

The warm liquid seems to help. His eyes become more focused, the haze of alcohol beginning to lift. I sit across from him, arms crossed, watching him coldly.

"Mr. Blackwood, what exactly was the purpose of your performance tonight?"

He doesn’t answer immediately, and I don’t push. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words.

Ryan rubs his forehead, wincing slightly as reality returns to him. The realization of his behavior seems to dawn gradually on his face.

"Serena, did you... help me up here?" His voice is raspy, uncertain.

"Who else? You were making such a scene downstairs. If you’d continued much longer, the police would have been called."

I pause, an unexpected burst of dark humor rising in me. "Can you imagine the headlines? ’Blackwood CEO’s Drunken Meltdown: Heartbreak or Stock Market Crash?’"

The quip falls flat. Ryan doesn’t smile. Instead, he looks directly at me, his gaze suddenly clear despite the alcohol still in his system.

"We need to talk."

"So talk. I’m listening." I push my half-dry hair back from my face, my expression deliberately neutral.

He takes a deep breath, his shoulders squaring as if preparing for battle or a crucial business presentation.

"Let’s get remarried."