Chapter 143

Serena's POV

Second morning, I was scrolling through my phone, trying to ignore the trending news that seemed determined to catch my eye: "Lucas Harrington Bids Emotional Farewell to Rachel Thorne at JFK." The photos showed them standing close together near the private aviation terminal, Rachel's hand lingering on Lucas's arm.

"Focus, Serena," I muttered to myself, gathering my portfolio for the morning's brand strategy meeting. The Lumi Nova revelation had created unprecedented opportunities for our luxury fashion line, and I couldn't afford to be distracted by tabloid drama.

The elevator doors opened directly into StarRiver Group's executive floor, where Vincent was waiting with a stack of reports.

"Morning, Miss Sinclair. The team's already assembled in the main conference room."

I nodded, already shifting into business mode. "Perfect. Let's not keep them waiting."

The conference room buzzed with anticipation as I entered. All eyes were on the presentation screen where our latest market analysis was displayed.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I began, setting my portfolio on the table, "our market research indicates that the Lumi Nova revelation has created an unprecedented window of opportunity. But to capitalize on it, we need to move fast."

I clicked through the slides, presenting our strategy with precision. My phone vibrated silently in my pocket - Lucas calling again. I ignored it.

"The luxury segment is primed for disruption," I continued, pushing thoughts of Lucas aside. "With the right funding, we can position StarRiver as the next major player in high-end fashion. I've already lined up meetings with potential investors."

The vibration came again. This time, it was Ian Whitmore. I declined that call too.

The meeting ran longer than expected, and by the time we wrapped up, the sky had darkened with approaching storm clouds. I gathered my things, declining Vincent's offer to be my driver.

"I'll be fine," I assured him. "Go home to your family."

The parking garage was eerily quiet, my heels clicking against concrete the only sound. I fumbled with my keys, an inexplicable unease creeping up my spine.

A hand clamped over my mouth from behind, rough and unyielding. I tried to scream, but the sound was muffled against my attacker's palm. My mind went blank for a split second before erupting into chaos - every worst-case scenario I'd ever imagined crashed through my thoughts at once.

"Don't move, Miss Sinclair." His voice was cold. "We're going to take a little ride."

I struggled, my bag falling to the ground, contents scattering across the concrete. My heart hammered against my ribs as I tried to remember my self-defense training, but his grip was too strong.

Panic clawed at my chest, making it hard to breathe. The world seemed to narrow to pinpoints of sensation - the rough hand against my face, the thundering of my pulse in my ears, the sharp smell of him that made my stomach turn.

"Let her go!" A familiar voice rang out through the garage, followed by rapid footsteps. *It's Ian Whitemore!*

The man spun us around, keeping me pressed against him. I saw Ian Whitmore charging toward us, his usually perfectly styled hair disheveled, his suit jacket already discarded.

What happened next was a blur of violence. Ian tackled the man, forcing him to release me. I stumbled backward, watching in horror as the two men traded brutal blows. *The man is James Chapman. How dare him!*

Blood sprayed across the concrete when Ian's fist connected with Chapman's nose, but Chapman managed to slam Ian into a nearby column.

"Serena, run!" Ian shouted, even as he winced in pain.

Instead, I grabbed my fallen phone and dialed 911 with shaking fingers. Within minutes, the garage was flooded with police officers, their weapons drawn, their commands echoing off the concrete walls.

It was 1 AM when Ian and I stepped out of the police station. The streets were unusually quiet, with only the occasional taxi breaking the silence. The air bit through my thin blazer, and I couldn't suppress a shiver.

Ian immediately started to remove his suit jacket. "Here, take-"

"Don't," I cut him off, wrapping my arms tighter around myself. The last thing I needed was to wear his jacket, to smell his familiar cologne. "I'm fine."

He lowered his arms slowly, wincing at the movement. In the harsh streetlight, I could see the bruises beginning to form on his face, the dried blood still crusted at the corner of his mouth. The sight made something twist in my chest - not quite guilt, not quite concern, but something uncomfortably in between.

"You need medical attention," I said, keeping my voice professionally neutral. "I'll drive you to the ER."

"Serena-"

"My car's just around the corner." I started walking, not waiting to see if he'd follow.

Inside my Mercedes, the silence felt heavier. I turned the heat up and pulled away from the curb.

"About what happened back then," he began, his voice low. "I need to apo-"

"Don't." The word came out sharper than I'd intended. I softened my tone slightly. "The past is the past. Let's focus on the present."

He shifted in his seat, and I could feel him studying my profile. "That's actually why I've been trying to reach you. Whitmore Enterprises needs-"

"A partnership with StarRiver," I finished for him, the pieces clicking into place. Of course. This wasn't about the past at all - it was about business. "That's why you've been calling."

"It's not just that." He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, a gesture so familiar it made my chest ache. "The market's changing, and Whitmore's facing some challenges. Your success with the Lumi Nova revelation... we could help each other, Serena."

I navigated through the empty streets, taking the turn toward St. Luke's Hospital. "You know why that's not possible."

"We could keep it strictly professional. The terms would be extremely favorable-"

"I worked at Whitmore for two years, Ian." My knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Your management system isn't mature - it's outdated and conservative. Your marketing strategies are at least five years behind current trends. And that's not even addressing the issues with your design department."

"We can change. With your influence-"

"Ian." I pulled into the hospital's parking lot, killing the engine. The sudden silence felt like a physical presence. "If you really knew me at all, you'd understand that this isn't possible. Our relationship - personal and professional - ended the moment we broke up. You made your choice then. I've made mine now."

He was quiet for a long moment, then said softly, "I didn't choose Nina because I wanted to."

"Don't." My voice shook slightly. "Don't you dare make excuses. Not now. Not after everything."

We sat in silence until a security guard tapped on the window, pointing at the "Emergency Vehicles Only" sign. I started the car again, moving to the regular parking area.

The ER was surprisingly quiet for a midnight. I waited while they cleaned Ian's cuts and checked for concussion, maintaining a careful distance. The lights made everything look harsh and unreal, turning Ian's bruises into abstract watercolors across his skin.

Finally, the doctor cleared him to leave, though she recommended observation for the next 24 hours. We walked to the hospital entrance together, our footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

"Thank you," Ian said as we reached the doors. "For everything tonight."

"Take care of yourself, Serena." He touched my shoulder briefly, then turned away.

I watched him walk away to wait Uber. When I turned to head back to my car, I froze.

Lucas Harrington was standing by the emergency entrance.