Chapter 309

Kennedy's POV

I watched Serena's face as she scrolled through Mateo García's profile on her phone. The subtle tightening around her eyes, the almost imperceptible downturn of her lips.

"He's American with Latin roots," I explained, keeping my voice steady. "Grew up in France. Twenty-six years old. Not a professional model, just does this occasionally. He's friends with Marlon. Comes from money but started his own e-commerce business."

Serena said nothing, her thumb swiping through the images with mechanical precision. Each photo seemed to drive a deeper wedge between her wishful thinking and reality. This man wasn't Lucas Harrington. He simply looked eerily similar.

"The world is full of coincidences," I offered awkwardly, knowing how hollow my words must sound. "Doppelgängers exist everywhere. Today you saw Mateo, tomorrow it could be someone else who looks like-"

I let the sentence die, suddenly aware I was only making things worse. Serena set her phone down on her lap, her movements deliberate. She seemed isolated in a bubble of disappointment.

I didn't push further.

The show concluded to enthusiastic applause, but Serena remained fixed in her seat long after the final model left the runway. The crowd thinned around us, fashionable attendees streaming toward the exits, their excited chatter fading into the cavernous space of the venue.

Atticus and I flanked Serena like silent sentinels. Neither of us spoke.

The cleaning crew started to move through the rows, collecting discarded programs and empty champagne flutes. One of them gave us a questioning look as they approached our section.

"We should go," I said finally, breaking the heavy silence.

Serena looked up, and I was startled by the clarity in her eyes. Whatever inner turmoil she'd been experiencing had been replaced by determination.

"You two go ahead," she said, rising from her seat. "I'm going backstage to wait for Marlon."

Atticus immediately stepped forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No," she replied, her voice soft but resolute. "I'll be fine."

She turned and walked toward the backstage entrance, her posture straight.

"Wait-" Atticus began, moving to follow her.

"Let's go," I said firmly, grabbing his arm.

Atticus wrenched away from my grip, his face contorted with sudden anger. "What the hell, Kennedy? I'm trying to support her, and you keep getting in my way. Do you have some kind of thing for me or something?!"

The absurdity of his suggestion would have made me laugh in any other circumstance. Instead, I felt my patience snap like a dry twig.

"Chase any woman you want, Atticus," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous register. "But not Serena. Never Serena."

His eyes widened, then narrowed suspiciously. "Why not Serena? Don't forget, Kennedy, you're married with a kid. If anyone shouldn't have 'intentions' toward her, it's you."

I stared at him, not bothering to hide my contempt. "This is Washington," I warned, stepping closer. "If you want to leave here in one piece, I suggest you behave yourself."

Atticus's jaw dropped. "Are you threatening me?!"

"Yes," I replied without hesitation.

"Fuck!" he spat, realizing I was deadly serious.

I watched Serena's retreating figure until she disappeared behind the backstage door. Part of me wanted to follow, to protect her from whatever pain might come from confronting Mateo García. But I knew this was something she needed to do alone.

Some ghosts can only be exorcised in private.

Cursing under his breath, Atticus followed me as I made my way to the exit.

Serena's POV

I settled into the plush sofa in Marlon's dressing room, picking up a newspaper from the glass coffee table to pass the time. The headline blurred before my eyes-another corporate takeover that would normally interest me, but today my mind was elsewhere.

The door suddenly swung open, and my heart lurched painfully against my ribs.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Standing in the doorway was the moderl - Mateo García.

But when his eyes slid over me, there was nothing there. No recognition. No warmth. Just a stranger's casual glance that lasted two or three seconds before he prepared to leave.

"Are you looking for Marlon?" I asked, my voice betraying me with a slight tremor.

He paused, one hand still on the doorknob. "Do you know where he is?"

His voice was different-lighter, more crisp than Lucas's deep, resonant tone. The realization washed over me like a cold shower. This wasn't Lucas. Of course it wasn't.

He raised an eyebrow at my silence, studying me with growing impatience.

I forced myself back to reality. "I don't know where he is," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "But his assistant mentioned he'd be back soon. If you need to see him, you could wait here for a moment."

He hesitated, then stepped into the room. He chose the armchair across from me and picked up another section of the newspaper, creating a barrier between us.

I couldn't help myself. My eyes kept drifting to his features, cataloguing the similarities and differences. The shape of his nose was identical, but his lips were slightly thinner. His hair was styled differently, but the same rich color. It was uncanny, unnerving, and I couldn't look away.

Suddenly, he lowered the newspaper, fixing me with a cold stare.

"I don't appreciate being stared at like that," he said flatly.

Heat rushed to my face. "I'm sorry," I fumbled, embarrassed to be caught. "It's just that you look remarkably like someone I know."

His mouth curved into a mocking smile. "That's quite a cliché pickup line, don't you think?"

The casual cruelty of his assumption stung more than it should have. I wasn't some desperate woman trying to flirt in a backroom. I was Serena Sinclair, for God's sake. I ran one of the largest companies in Manhattan. Men approached me, not the other way around.

But something in his dismissive attitude pricked me. Before I could respond, he abruptly folded the newspaper and stood up. "Actually, I think I'll wait elsewhere."

As he reached the door, he turned back, his eyes cold. "The way you look at me makes me uncomfortable."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, but it might as well have been a slam. I sat there, seething, with no outlet for my sudden anger. How dare he assume I was interested in him? Lucas was ten times more handsome than this arrogant copy. Lucas had warmth behind his eyes, even when he was being stern. Lucas would never be so needlessly cruel to a stranger.

I pressed my hands against my temples, frustrated with myself for allowing thoughts of him to resurface so easily after all this time.

The door opened again, and I quickly composed my expression.

"What's wrong?" Marlon asked, his brow furrowed with concern as he entered. "You look upset."

I forced a smile. "Nothing. I'm just hungry."

He checked his watch and grimaced apologetically. "Sorry to keep you waiting so long. Let's go get something to eat."

"By the way, I've invited a friend to join us," Marlon mentioned casually as we walked through the exhibition hall. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all," I replied, the words leaving my mouth before I could consider who this mysterious friend might be.

As we approached the entrance, my heart stopped. There he stood, tall and imposing.

I forced my gaze away, pretending to adjust my dress, desperately trying to slow my racing pulse.

"Mateo! Over here!" Marlon called out, waving enthusiastically.