Chapter 58

Serena's POV

I set the phone face-down on my desk, my movements deliberate and controlled. The city lights twinkled beyond my office windows, unchanged despite how my world had just shifted on its axis. Five years. I'd given Ian Whitmore five years of my life, fought countless battles by his side, even saved his family's company from bankruptcy. And this was his answer - conspiring with my sister behind my back.

"I can accept that you don't love me anymore," I whispered to the empty office, my voice steady despite the rage coursing through my veins. "But I cannot forgive this betrayal."

My computer chimed with an incoming email from Lucas. I hesitated before opening it, my father's words from years ago echoing in my head: "Trust is a luxury we can't afford, Serena."

My finger hovered over the reply button, but I couldn't bring myself to type even a simple "thank you." The walls I'd carefully constructed had risen higher than ever. After all, hadn't I trusted my own father once? Hadn't I believed in family, only to watch Lawrence choose Nina over me time and time again?

The sky was beginning to lighten when Vincent knocked on my door. "Ms. Sinclair, we've confirmed the media attendance for today's press conference. Thirty-five outlets have RSVP'd."

I looked up from the stack of documents I'd been methodically organizing. "Almost double what we expected. Everyone loves a good family drama, don't they?"

Walter shifted uncomfortably. "Should we try to limit the number?"

"No." I straightened a paper clip with precise movements. "Let them all come. And Vincent, please ask Nina to my office."

She arrived fifteen minutes later, all wide-eyed concern and perfectly calculated sisterly worry. "Serena," Nina's voice dripped with false sympathy as she closed the door behind her. "I heard about the press conference. You don't have to do this alone. I know how difficult-"

"You'll be joining me," I cut her off, my tone pleasant but firm. "After all, this concerns both of us, doesn't it?"

A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. "Of course, I'll support you. You don't need to worry about-"

"I'm not worried at all," I smiled, watching her carefully. "Why would I be? Today isn't about me, Nina. It's about truth... and consequences."

She tried to read my expression, but I'd had years of practice keeping my thoughts hidden.

"Now," I stood, gathering my files. "Shall we go give the press what they came for?"

Nina's answering smile wavered slightly. Good. She should be nervous.

The press conference room at the Tribeca Towers feels like a battlefield. Camera flashes assault my vision like strobe lights, turning the modern space into a disco of hostility. I maintain my composure, keeping my spine straight in my fitted black blazer. The weight of StarRiver Group's future rests on my shoulders.

Nina stands beside me, her eyes conspicuously red-rimmed. She's perfected the art of looking devastated, I'll give her that. Every few minutes, she dabs at her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief - a performance worthy of an Oscar.

"Ms. Sinclair." A reporter from The Phoenix Herald rises, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Are you here to address the allegations of your multiple affairs that surfaced yesterday?"

Before I can respond, another journalist jumps in. "How do you feel about betraying Ian Whitmore? Don't you think he deserved better?"

The questions come like rapid fire, each more pointed than the last. I remain silent, watching the frenzy build. A woman in the third row practically leaps from her seat: "Eleanor Yates has publicly supported you on social media. What did you offer her in exchange?"

Nina lets out a small, theatrical sob beside me. "Sister..." she whispers, just loud enough for the nearest microphones to pick up. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her performance.

"Will StarRiver Group survive this scandal?" someone shouts from the back. "Your father's health has been declining - was this stress the final straw?"

Years of boardroom battles have taught me that timing is everything. Let them exhaust their ammunition first.

Finally, when the room reaches a fever pitch of accusations and speculations, I lean forward slightly toward the microphone. "May I speak now?"

The effect is immediate. The chaos dies down, replaced by an anticipatory silence that feels almost electric. Even Nina's theatrical sniffling stops.

"If everyone is finished, I would appreciate your attention," I continue, my voice steady and measured. "After I've said my piece, I'll answer your questions - all of them, as time permits."