CHAPTER 7: CHAPTER 7 CRIMSON CONFRONTATION

Serena’s POV

The crisp morning air felt different against my skin as I stepped out of the taxi in front of the imposing Blackwood mansion.

Today I was Serena Blackwood—soon to be just Serena again—here to finalize what should have been done long ago.

I’d chosen my outfit deliberately: a crimson dress that hugged my curves without being provocative, paired with black stilettos that added three inches to my height.

My hair cascaded down my back in soft waves, and I’d applied just enough makeup to enhance my features without appearing overdone.

This wasn’t about seduction. This was about power.

The security guard at the gate recognized me immediately.

His eyes widened slightly at my appearance—I was so different from the meek woman who had left the mansion just days ago.

"Mrs.Blackwood," he nodded, pressing the button to open the gates.

"Not for much longer," I replied with a smile that held no warmth.

The path to the front door seemed shorter than I remembered.

Perhaps because this time, I wasn’t dragging my feet, dreading another cold encounter with my husband. Today, I was striding purposefully, eager to end this charade of a marriage.

Martha, the housekeeper, opened the door before I could knock. Her expression cycled rapidly through surprise, curiosity, and something that looked suspiciously like satisfaction.

"Mrs.Blackwood," she greeted, stepping aside. "Mr.Blackwood is in his study."

"Thank you, Martha," I replied, stepping into the grand foyer.

The familiar scent of the house—sandalwood, leather, and Ryan’s distinct pine and amber cologne—hit me with unexpected force.

For three years, this had been my prison, decorated to look like a palace.

I made my way to Ryan’s study, my heels clicking against the marble floor. When I reached the heavy oak door, I didn’t bother knocking—a small but deliberate act of defiance.

Ryan was seated behind his massive desk, his attention focused on some document before him.

He didn’t look up immediately, assuming it was a staff member who had entered.

"I said no interruptions—" he began, then stopped abruptly when he caught my eyes.

His gray-blue eyes widening slightly at the sight of me.

"Serena." My name sounded different on his lips today—uncertain, almost cautious.

"Ryan." I kept my voice neutral as I closed the door behind me.

He stood slowly, his tall frame unfolding like a predator preparing to pounce.

The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the strong forearms I had once admired so much.

His tie was loosened, and his normally perfectly coiffed brown hair was slightly disheveled, as if he’d been running his hands through it in frustration.

"You came back," he said, his voice a low rumble that once made my knees weak. "Finally realized your place?"

"Not in the way you’re thinking," I replied, maintaining eye contact. "I’m here to get my things and to make sure you’ve signed the divorce papers."

His jaw tightened, a flicker of something—surprise? anger?—passing through his eyes. "Serena, this is ridiculous. There has to be a limit to your tantrums."

"I’m not throwing a tantrum. I mean every word." I cut him off, lifting an eyebrow with calm defiance.

"I’m just tired. Tired of wondering, every time you look at me, if you’re really seeing me—or just seeing her through me.

I’m tired of pretending to enjoy every restaurant you take me to, knowing they were all her favorites, not mine.

I’m tired of smiling at the jewelry you give me, when every piece reflects her taste, not who I am.

And I’m especially tired of pretending not to notice how you always close your eyes when we make love—as if you need to shut out reality to picture someone else."

"That’s enough," he growled, his Boss authority seeping into his voice.

I laughed, the sound hollow even to my own ears. "That doesn’t work on me anymore, Ryan. I’m not your submissive little wife who jumps at your command."

His eyes narrowed as he studied me, really seeing me perhaps for the first time since we’d met. "What happened to you?"

"I woke up," I replied simply. "I stopped living in a fantasy where someday you might actually love me for who I am rather than who I remind you of."

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "This isn’t you talking. This is Maya, or that friend of yours—"

"Don’t you dare," I hissed, taking a step toward him. "Don’t you dare suggest that I can’t think for myself. That I need other people to tell me when I’m being mistreated."

"Mistreated?" His voice rose slightly. "I gave you everything—this house, financial security, my name—"

"Everything except what actually mattered," I cut in. "Your time. Your attention. Your respect. Your love." The last word felt bitter on my tongue.

"Love has nothing to do with it," Ryan snapped. "We’re married. That’s supposed to be enough."

"It’s not enough for me," I replied, my voice calm but resolute.

I want a husband who loves me—a wife who’s with me because he chooses me, not because I’m someone’s replacement.

He stiffened, but said nothing.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the folded divorce papers, placing them on the table between us.

"I’ve already signed," I said evenly. "All that’s left is your signature."

Ryan stared at the papers but made no move to take them. "I’m not signing anything."

"Why not? You clearly don’t want me as your wife."

"You don’t get to decide what I want," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"And you don’t get to decide whether I stay in this marriage," I countered. "I’m leaving you, Ryan. With or without your signature."

Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of uncertainty, perhaps even fear, quickly masked by anger. "You think it’s that simple? Walking away from your husband?"

"Nothing about this is simple," I admitted. "But it’s necessary."

Our standoff was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Before either of us could respond, it opened to reveal Martha.

"I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr.Blackwood, but Ms. Hart is here to see you. She says it’s urgent."

Ryan’s jaw tightened. "Tell her I’m busy."

But it was too late. Ivy Hart swept into the room like she owned it, her golden waves bouncing with each deliberate step. She wore a designer suit that hugged her petite frame, and her amber eyes widened in mock surprise when she saw me.

"Oh! Serena, I didn’t expect to see you here." Her voice dripped with false sweetness. "Am I interrupting something between you two?"

I turned to face her fully, noticing how her gaze flickered briefly to my crimson dress before returning to my face.

"Ivy," I acknowledged coolly. "What an unexpected surprise. I was just discussing divorce proceedings with Ryan."

Her expression shifted minutely—a flash of calculation before she composed herself again. "Divorce? Oh, that’s terrible!" She turned to Ryan, placing a hand on his arm. "Ryan, surely there’s another way to resolve whatever disagreement you’re having."

Ryan stiffened but didn’t remove her hand. "This doesn’t concern you, Ivy."

"Of course it does," she replied smoothly. "You’re not just any Boss—you’re the leader of the Blackwood family. Your personal life affects all of us, especially those of us who care about you." Her emphasis on the word "care" was subtle but unmistakable.

I couldn’t help but laugh. "Remarkable performance, Ivy. Really. The concerned family member act is very convincing."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don’t know what you mean."

"You’re being dramatic, Serena," Ivy continued with feigned concern. "Everyone knows Ryan honored you by choosing you as his wife, despite your... background. Many women would be grateful for an opportunity like that."

Her words ignited the fire already burning inside me. I stepped forward, my patience completely exhausted.

"An opportunity? To be a glorified servant in my own home? To be compared daily to a ghost?" I spat, letting my fury show at last.

"Would you like that ’opportunity,’ Ivy? I’m sure you would, considering you’ve been eyeing my husband from day one. It’s pathetic how you’re pretending to respect Sophie’s memory while clearly trying to take her place!"

Ryan looked between us, confusion evident in his expression. "What are you talking about?!"

"Don’t act innocent!" I laughed bitterly. "You enjoy having Ivy around too much, Ryan. "

"Who knows if you’re really mourning Sophie or just using her memory as an excuse to keep her sister close? The two of you have quite the arrangement."

Ryan’s face darkened with rage at my words."What nonsense are you spouting?"

"Fine. Think whatever you want," I said, glancing at my watch with obvious impatience. "Can we make a decision about the divorce now? I’m on a tight schedule and don’t have all day to waste."

"Enough!" Ryan slammed his fist on the desk, his voice thundering through the room.

"Serena, you want a divorce so badly? Fine! I’ll give you exactly what you want!"