Serena's triumphant smile faded the moment Henry Blake's hand slapped across her cheek.
It was sudden, brutal—and sadly, not surprising.
She touched her flushed skin, her mind blank from shock.
Henry's voice thundered in the grand foyer: "Get a divorce. Now!"
Serena blinked, stunned. "Why?"
His icy glare stopped all trace of humor. He hissed, enunciating each word: "I said—divorce him. Immediately."
Serena inwardly thought about how perceptive Damien had been—he'd predicted this.
If she'd merely said, "I have a boyfriend," Henry would've forced the relationship apart. Just like he had back then.
But she'd come prepared.
Feigning innocence, she said softly, "I thought you'd be happy for me… he and I are planning a simple ceremony. I even invited some of your—"
"Invited my friends?" Henry exploded.
Serena nodded, her voice gentle. "Yes—the Garcias, the Wangs, the Reynolds. Just a small gathering. I wanted you to be proud."
Henry's face twisted, rage overtaking him. "You ungrateful child—trying to humiliate me!?"
He grabbed a decorative golf club from a nearby rack and began swinging.
Serena tried to protect herself, but the blows came hard, ripping her blouse and leaving dark bruises across her arms.
Yvonne Blake, alarmed, burst forward: "Stop! Dad, if you don't cut this out, you'll kill her!"
Shaken by Yvonne's cry, Serena backed toward the door. She fled—not out of fear for herself, but to spare the rest of the household from her father's wrath.
Camille, watching from the stairwell, smirked. Serena exited the house battered, but Camille followed with venom in her voice: "You back from nowhere, forced a marriage, sent invitations—what a pathetic scam. Uncle didn't go far enough—it should've killed you."
Back at Serena's apartment, she found Damien Cross sitting in silence. His silent fury was worse than Henry's attack.
Serena slowed as she entered. Damien rose immediately: "Who did this to you?"
Serena covered her bruised arm instinctively, shrugging. "I stumbled down the front step… fell."
Damien didn't question it. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. "Grab your first-aid kit."
She shook her head. "I don't have one."
Ignoring her, he headed out and returned moments later with supplies.
"Lay face down," he ordered gently.
"No," she whispered. "I can manage."
He peeled her shirt off quietly. "Relax. I've seen worse."
Serena stiffened as the cold antiseptic wiped across her back. She closed her eyes, stifling the ache.
Damien worked silently, his breathing even, expression unnervingly calm.
When he finished, he quietly said, "I won't let anyone hurt you again."
Her heart caught—but she didn't dare believe it yet.
Later, Serena dozed off on the bed.
Damien left and made a call: "Find out what really happened to her today."
A moment later, Ethan replied, "Understood."
Damien's voice softened, almost regretful: "Also—check her design firm records."
Ethan hesitated, then said, "There may have been a setup."
Damien was silent, processing the implications.
When he returned, he found Serena awake, drawn to the scent of food. In the kitchenette, Damien had prepared a modest dinner.
She ate silently, surprised by the warmth of the home-cooked meal.
Finally, she said gently, "You're an excellent cook. I'm glad I married well."
Damien tilted his head. "I won't hold back if anyone crosses you."
She nodded, exhausted but relieved. "My father's blatant now—I told him we're married. I'm ready to help you with your family if needed."
Damien's eyes were distant. "I appreciate that."
After eating, Serena expected Damien to leave.
Instead, he stayed.
She cleared her throat: "Don't you have work tomorrow?"
He stood, gaze unreadable. "You forgot something."
She frowned. "What?"
His voice dropped to a whisper: "Tonight is our wedding night."
Serena froze, warmth flooding her cheeks. "We only did this for mutual protection…"
He stepped closer. "You told your father we're married. What if he wants proof? What if he investigates?"
Her heart pounded—suddenly, the marriage wasn't just paperwork. It was a pact they had to live.