After leaving the courthouse, Serena Blake stared at the marriage certificate in her hand, struggling to reconcile the glossy official paper with the chaos in her heart.
She was married. Legally bound to Damien Cross—a man she barely knew, but who now held the only shield between her and the Blake family's ambitions.
It wasn't love. It wasn't even affection. It was war—and she'd just aligned herself with the lesser evil.
Serena carefully tucked the certificate and her ID back into her bag. She had kept full control over her legal identity ever since the Blakes "adopted" her at seventeen but never legally registered her. That decision—painful at the time—had just worked in her favor.
Now, no one could claim she needed her adoptive father's consent for anything.
She turned toward Damien, who stood silent beside the courthouse steps, tall and unreadable in a charcoal coat.
"I've got a few things to handle," she said casually. "I'll head off first."
He didn't move, but his voice was low and direct. "Need backup?"
His tone held no humor. It wasn't teasing, just… prepared.
Serena took a step back instinctively, catching a whiff of his cologne, crisp and cold. "No. I'm good."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked briskly away.
Behind her, Damien watched until she vanished into the crowd.
From the edge of the parking lot, Jason stepped out from the car's shadow, fists clenched at his sides. "Boss, are you out of your mind? That woman—she's the same girl who set you up four years ago!"
Earlier that day, Jason had still been puzzled by his boss's sudden attachment to a plain-looking woman with a quiet demeanor.
But now, after doing a little digging, he was livid.
"That's the same Serena Blake who used you to get close to the Cross Group," Jason spat. "She changed her look, downplayed everything—but it's her. She was involved with the Santiago leak, and your name got dragged through the mud for it."
Damien's eyes turned sharp. "Enough."
Jason pressed on. "She destroyed your rep and damn near cost you your life. And now you just hand her a marriage certificate?"
Damien's jaw ticked, but he didn't speak.
Jason tried again. "She's poison, Damien. You can't let her get close again."
A long silence followed, stretched thin.
Then Damien said quietly, "Track what happened to her today. All of it. I want the real story."
Jason scowled. "I already pulled a report—she was accused of stealing a design pitch this morning. Fired on the spot."
"That's not what I asked," Damien snapped. "Find the truth."
Jason exhaled, tight-lipped. "Got it."
Once alone, Damien pulled the marriage license from his coat pocket. The cold New York wind tugged at its edges, but he held it firmly.
For the first time in years, something unfamiliar flickered in his expression.
She's finally mine.
Serena returned to her apartment and tossed the certificate onto the table.
What the hell was she doing?
She wasn't reckless by nature. But here she was, married to a man who barely knew her name a week ago. Still, she reminded herself—this was a strategic play. Nothing more.
And she needed to move fast.
By five o'clock, she was pulling up in front of the Blake estate, a gated manor nestled deep in one of Westchester's wealthiest neighborhoods.
Years ago, when she first arrived here as an orphaned teenager, she'd been overwhelmed by its grandeur. Chandeliers, marble floors, velvet curtains—it had felt like entering a dream.
But she'd quickly realized: it wasn't a dream. It was a cage.
The moment she rang the bell, a housekeeper opened the door with a sneer. "Do you even know where you are? What are you doing here?"
Serena lifted her chin. "I'm Serena Blake."
The woman's face shifted—recognition dawning. "You're… Serena?"
The spoiled, scandal-ridden girl who disappeared four years ago? This quiet, modest figure looked nothing like the sharp, dangerous beauty of the past.
Before the woman could protest again, Serena stepped through the door and walked straight toward the sitting room.
Inside, Camille Blake—her adoptive cousin—and Yvonne, Henry Blake's biological daughter, were mid-conversation.
Serena's entrance sucked the air from the room.
"Well, well," Camille drawled, crossing her arms. "Look who crawled back in like a stray mutt."
She'd warned Serena to stay away. But of course, she hadn't listened.
Yvonne blinked in surprise. "Serena? You look… different."
She was polite. Graceful, even. The golden child of the Blakes. Everything Serena wasn't.
"She's hiding behind that quiet act again," Camille hissed. "Don't let it fool you, Yvonne. She's the same manipulative snake she's always been."
Camille turned to the maid. "Why did you even let her in?"
"She's still legally a Blake," the maid mumbled, clearly annoyed.
"She's not a Blake," Camille snapped. "She's nothing."
Serena had had enough.
"I'm not here to argue," she said calmly. "I'm here to deliver this."
She set a red envelope on the marble coffee table.
Camille narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to be?"
"A wedding invitation."
The room froze.
Camille all but shrieked, "You got married?! Who the hell would marry you?"
Yvonne stepped forward, soft-spoken. "Why didn't you tell Dad first?"
Serena smiled coolly. "Because I didn't need his permission."
She turned to leave—but the door creaked behind her, and Henry Blake stepped into the room like a shadow.
His eyes locked on hers, cold and furious. "What did you just say?"
Serena stood tall, her voice unwavering. "I'm married. As of this morning. I met someone while I was overseas. We agreed to spend our lives together."
She looked directly at him, not flinching. "I'm sure you'll offer us your blessing, won't you?"