The call came just past midnight.
Not on Damon's encrypted line. Not on Serena's burner. But on the old landline in the villa library—the one no one ever used, not since the place had become more memory than home.
Damon picked it up with a tight jaw, expecting silence.
But instead, a voice that hadn't touched his ears in a decade bled through the static.
"Still answering your ghosts in the middle of the night, Cross?"
The name came before the memory.
Calder Wolfe.
The man who once stood beside Damon in boardrooms when they were still too young to be taken seriously—but too dangerous to ignore.
The man who helped him build the foundation of what would become the Cross Empire.
The man who vanished one night with six million dollars, a trail of betrayals, and Serena's name scrawled across a file marked contingency.
Damon's grip on the phone tightened, knuckles white.
"I thought you were dead."
Calder chuckled. "Not dead. Just patient."
"What do you want?"
"I want a meeting," Calder said, voice smooth like a blade unsheathed. "And I want her there. The girl you broke your rules for."
Damon's breath hissed. "You don't say her name."
"I didn't," Calder said. "But I will, if she doesn't show. To the press. To the board. To the men your empire depends on forgetting their own sins."
Silence.
Then Calder added: "Tell Serena the past wants a word. Tomorrow. 9 p.m. Monaco pier. Come alone… or I start talking."
Click.
---
Serena found Damon in the library minutes later, his hands braced on the edge of the desk, his jaw locked, the light from the fireplace painting gold over the anger tightening his muscles.
"Who was it?" she asked softly.
He didn't turn. "A mistake I once trusted."
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms lightly around his waist from behind.
"Tell me."
He turned then. Slowly.
"His name is Calder Wolfe. He knows things about me, about my company… about you."
Serena blinked. "Me?"
"From before. From when your father tried to sabotage the Paris deal. Your name was in the contingency files. He had access to everything. And now he's resurfaced."
"What does he want?"
Damon's voice was like ice in velvet.
"You."
---
The Next Night – Monaco Pier
The wind was colder than it should've been for summer. The sea slapped against the docked boats in rhythmic protest, and the moon cast long, cruel shadows across the walkway.
Serena wore a trench coat cinched tightly at her waist, boots clicking softly against the planks as she stepped beside Damon. His hand found hers without a word, their fingers clasping with more pressure than usual. Not romantic.
Protective.
A black car waited at the end of the pier.
And from it emerged the ghost.
Calder Wolfe looked unchanged—same manicured scruff, same sharp suit that tried too hard to look effortless. But his eyes… they were colder. Hungrier. Like a man who'd tasted power and spent ten years trying to get a second bite.
He smiled when he saw them.
"Well, well. You brought her."
Serena didn't flinch.
She stepped forward. "What do you want from me?"
"Ah," he mused. "Straight to the point. I always liked that about you. Your father lacked your fire."
"Don't talk about him."
"Oh, but darling," Calder purred, "your father was the reason Damon and I broke ground on the empire. His betrayal? It was just the kindling."
Damon spoke finally. "You've made your dramatic return. You've stirred the ghosts. Now say what you came to say."
Calder's smile faded.
"I want in."
Serena blinked. "In?"
"Back in. Back at the table. You're expanding to South Korea, Japan, and Zurich. I want a stake in Zurich. And I want a favor."
Damon laughed once. Cold.
"You steal from me. You vanish for a decade. And you crawl back demanding access?"
"I have files, Cross. Things your board never knew about your offshore deals. About her—"
Damon lunged.
In a breath, he had Calder by the collar, slamming him against the side of the car. Serena moved fast, her hand on Damon's arm, grounding him.
"Let him talk," she whispered. "We need to hear it."
Calder smiled—blood in his teeth.
"That's it, isn't it?" he gasped. "She's not just your secret. She's your weakness."
Damon dropped him.
"You'll never touch her."
"But I already did," Calder hissed. "Years ago. Through your own files. She's tied to every move you've made since Paris. Your empire is soaked in her name whether she knows it or not."
Serena paled.
"You've made your threat," Damon said. "Now listen to mine."
Calder tilted his head.
"If you come near her again, I won't bury you. I'll keep you alive long enough to watch everything you ever tried to build burn down around you. Then I'll bury your legacy."
A beat passed.
Then Calder smiled again.
"Well then, Cross. I'll wait for your call."
He slid into the car and drove off.
---
Back at the Villa
The silence between them was unbearable.
Serena stood in the glass hallway overlooking the pool, her reflection pale in the nightlight. Damon stood behind her, his breath shallow.
"What did he mean?" she asked.
Damon didn't lie.
"Your father was part of the deal that launched me. But he tried to sink me. I retaliated. Calder kept records. And those records had your name on them. Not because of what you did—but because I moved you out of the country to keep you safe."
Serena turned.
"You sent me away."
"I saved you," he said, voice breaking. "I had to. Your father died thinking I'd ruined him. And Calder? He kept all the pieces."
She stared at him.
"I don't care about the money. I don't care about the files. But you should have told me sooner."
He nodded.
"I know."
And then, she stepped into his arms—not to forgive.
But to stand beside him.
"We deal with him," she whispered.
"Together," Damon replied.
And somewhere in the dark…
A storm was rising again.
But so were they.