Wednesday afternoon found Seraphine sitting across from Lizzie Chen in a small, deliberately unpretentious café in Santa Monica. The place was tucked away on a side street, the kind of location that catered to locals rather than tourists, with mismatched furniture and genuinely good coffee rather than Instagram-worthy aesthetics.
"I love this place," Seraphine said, genuinely relaxed for the first time in weeks. "How did you find it?"
"Marcus and I stumbled on it years ago, before everything got crazy with his company." Lizzie smiled warmly, stirring honey into her tea. "The owner doesn't care about celebrity or money. She just makes great coffee and minds her own business. It's perfect for when you need to feel normal."
Normal. Seraphine had almost forgotten what that felt like.
They'd been talking for an hour easy conversation that ranged from books to travel to the challenges of maintaining identity when your life was constantly in the public eye. Lizzie had a gift for making people feel comfortable, and Seraphine found herself opening up in ways she hadn't with anyone except Maya and her brother.
"Can I ask you something personal?" Lizzie said carefully, her kind eyes studying Seraphine over the rim of her cup.
"You can ask. I might not answer."
"Fair." Lizzie set down her tea. "At the gala, when I saw you on the terrace… you looked different. Lighter, somehow. Was it just getting away from the crowd, or was it something else?"
Seraphine felt heat creep up her neck. Of course Lizzie had noticed. She'd been standing right there when Seraphine had returned from the terrace, still shaken by the mysterious stranger's intensity.
"There was a man," she admitted quietly. "We talked for maybe fifteen minutes. I don't even know his name. But he… he saw me. Really saw me. Not the actress or the headlines or the public persona. Just me."
"And that was nice?"
"It was terrifying." Seraphine laughed softly. "But also wonderful. He was so controlled, so perfectly self-contained, but he understood things about me without me having to explain them. Like he could read pain in others because he carried his own."
Lizzie's expression shifted slightly, something that might have been recognition flickering across her features. "What did he look like?"
"Tall, dark hair, expensive suit. Very intense. Very private he kept to the shadows, wouldn't give his name." Seraphine traced patterns on her coffee cup. "Why? Do you think you know him?"
"Maybe." Lizzie chose her words carefully. "There was only one person at that gala who fits that description and values privacy that intensely. But if it's who I'm thinking of, I'm surprised he talked to you at all. He doesn't really… engage with people."
Seraphine's pulse quickened. "Who?"
Lizzie hesitated, clearly weighing something. "I should let him tell you himself, if he wants you to know. But Sera, if it's who I think it is be careful. Not because he's dangerous to you, but because he's dangerous to everyone else. And once someone like that decides to protect you, there's no going back."
The cryptic warning sent a shiver down Seraphine's spine. "You're scaring me."
"I don't mean to." Lizzie reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I just mean that there are levels of power most people never encounter. And the men who operate at those levels play by different rules. They can do incredible good or devastating harm, often without anyone knowing they were involved."
"And you think this man is one of those people?"
"I think if it's who I suspect, he's the most powerful one of all." Lizzie's smile was gentle. "But I also think if he's taken an interest in you, you're probably safer than you've ever been in your life. Men like that protect what's theirs absolutely."
"I'm not 'his,'" Seraphine protested. "We talked once."
"With some people, once is enough." Lizzie sat back, clearly deciding to change the subject. "Anyway, tell me about this Variety interview. Maya must be thrilled."
Seraphine allowed the conversation to shift, but Lizzie's words lingered in her mind long after they'd said goodbye. Men who operated at levels of power most people never encountered. Protection so absolute there was no going back.
Who was the man from the terrace? And why couldn't she stop thinking about him?
Derek Castellan lounged in his Malibu beach house smaller and less impressive than Seraphine's, though he'd never admit it scrolling through social media with increasing irritation. The narrative was supposed to be about his happiness with Vanessa, his brilliant career trajectory, his status as Hollywood's newest power couple.
Instead, every third post was about Seraphine looking radiant at some charity gala.
"She's doing this on purpose," he muttered, zooming in on a photo of her laughing. "Playing the victim, making me look bad."
Vanessa emerged from the bedroom in one of his shirts, her platinum hair artfully tousled. "Who cares? We got what we wanted. She's old news."
"She's not acting like old news." Derek threw his phone onto the couch with more force than necessary. "She's supposed to be devastated. Hiding. Instead, she's at exclusive galas looking better than ever."
"Maybe she's over you." Vanessa's tone was deliberately casual, but Derek caught the edge beneath it. She was testing him, seeing if he still cared about his ex.
"I'm over her," he said quickly. Too quickly. "I'm just saying the optics are wrong. People are supposed to pity her and celebrate us. Instead, they're calling her strong and resilient while we're just… a couple."
"We're Hollywood's hottest new romance," Vanessa corrected, crossing her arms. "Unless you're having second thoughts?"
"Of course not." Derek pulled her into his lap, turning on the charm that had worked on dozens of women before her. "You're everything I want. She was just… a placeholder until I found you."
The lie came easily. The truth that he'd spent two years molding Seraphine into the perfect complement to his image, only to have her walk away before he was ready to discard her wasn't something he'd admit even to himself.
His phone buzzed with an email notification. His agent, marked urgent.
Derek - we need to talk. Three projects just fell through. Call me ASAP.
Ice slid through his veins. Three projects? That was impossible. He'd had deals in place, contracts being finalized. What the hell had happened?
He called immediately, pushing Vanessa off his lap.
"Derek." His agent's voice was strained. "We have a problem. The Netflix deal, the A24 project, and the Warner Brothers development all dead. No explanation, just suddenly not moving forward."
"That's not possible. We were in final negotiations."
"I know. And I've been making calls all morning, trying to figure out what happened. Nobody's talking, but I'm hearing whispers about financing falling through, investors pulling out, executives getting cold feet." His agent paused. "Derek, have you pissed off anyone powerful recently? Because this feels coordinated."
Derek's mind raced through his contacts, his recent interactions, searching for an enemy capable of this level of sabotage. He came up blank. Sure, he'd made enemies you didn't climb to his level without stepping on people—but no one with enough juice to kill three separate projects simultaneously.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But find out what's happening. This is my career we're talking about."
After he hung up, Derek stared at his phone, unease crawling up his spine. Three projects, all killed within days of each other. Coincidence? Or something more sinister?
His phone buzzed again. A text from an unknown number.
Karma isn't always instant, but it's always certain. You should have treated her better.
Derek's blood ran cold. He stared at the message, his hands beginning to shake. Who was this? How did they get his number? And what did Seraphine have to do with his projects falling apart?
"Everything okay?" Vanessa asked, noticing his expression.
"Fine," he lied, deleting the message with trembling fingers. "Everything's fine."
But it wasn't fine. Something was happening, something he didn't understand. And for the first time since he'd orchestrated Seraphine's public humiliation, Derek Castellan felt the first whisper of fear.
In his Manhattan office, Damien reviewed the report from his financial team with quiet satisfaction.
CASTELLAN PROJECT DISRUPTION - STATUS UPDATE
Netflix Development Deal: Financing withdrawn by Hale subsidiary (untraceable shell corporation)A24 Project: Key investor (Hale-controlled fund) pulled backing, citing "creative differences"Warner Brothers Development: Executive producer replaced with Hale associate, project deemed "not viable"
Additional Actions Implemented:
∙ Castellan's publicity team lost three major clients (pressure applied through industry contacts)
∙ Upcoming film premiere moved to smaller venue (venue owner convinced through financial incentives)
∙ Industry whispers planted suggesting Castellan difficult to work with (information disseminated through trusted intermediaries)
Timeline: All actions completed within 72 hours, zero traceable connections to Hale Global Enterprises or affiliated entities.
Damien's expression remained neutral, but something dark and satisfied stirred beneath his perfect control. This was just the beginning. Derek Castellan's career wouldn't collapse overnight that would be too obvious, too traceable. Instead, it would erode slowly, opportunities drying up, doors closing, until the man who'd hurt Seraphine found himself irrelevant and forgotten.
And he'd never know why. Never know that the moment he'd publicly humiliated Seraphine Ashton, he'd signed his own professional death warrant.
Damien's phone buzzed with a message from his head of security.
Update: Ashton meeting with Elizabeth Chen at café in Santa Monica. Casual conversation, no press present. Appears relaxed and comfortable.
So Seraphine had taken Lizzie up on her coffee invitation. Good. Lizzie was genuine, kind, exactly the type of positive influence Seraphine needed right now. And through Lizzie, Seraphine would gradually become comfortable in the orbit of Damien's world without realizing it.
Patience, he reminded himself. This wasn't a hostile takeover to be executed with speed and force. This was the most important acquisition of his life, and it required subtlety, timing, perfect execution.
Another message appeared, this time from Marcus.
Marcus: Lizzie said she had coffee with Seraphine. Said she's lovely. Also said Seraphine asked about you.
Marcus: She's curious about the "mystery man from the gala." I'm guessing that's your doing?
Marcus: Lizzie's worried you're going to do something crazy. I told her it's too late for that, you've already done it.
Marcus: Just… be careful. Please.
Damien's lips curved fractionally. Marcus's concern was noted but unnecessary. Damien knew exactly what he was doing.
He typed back:
I'm always careful. Tell Lizzie not to worry.
The response was immediate.
Marcus: That's what worries her.
Damien didn't reply. Instead, he opened a new file on his computer, this one labeled simply "S.A." Inside were notes, observations, plans. Everything he was learning about Seraphine Ashton, everything he would need to know to be exactly what she needed when the time came.
Her favorite books (classics, particularly Brontë and Austen). Her coffee order (vanilla latte, extra shot). The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when nervous. The small tells that revealed when her public smile was masking private pain.
He was learning her the way other men learned financial markets or military strategy—with complete focus and absolute dedication. Because Seraphine Ashton wasn't just going to be his wife. She was going to be his partner, his weakness and his strength, the one person in the world who could see past his control to the man beneath.
And he would be her fortress. Her protection against every hurt, every threat, every person who tried to diminish her light.
Starting with Derek Castellan, whose world was already beginning to crumble around him.
Damien's intercom buzzed. "Mr. Hale, your four o'clock is here."
He closed the file, his expression shifting back to perfect neutrality. Work continued, empires needed managing, enemies required attention. But beneath it all, a new purpose drove him forward.
Seraphine Ashton didn't know it yet, but she'd already been claimed.
The rest was just a matter of time.
Seraphine returned home that evening to find Maya waiting with dinner and an enormous grin.
"Okay, spill," Maya demanded, pouring wine before Seraphine had even taken off her jacket. "How was coffee with Lizzie?"
"Really nice, actually." Seraphine accepted the wine gratefully. "She's so easy to talk to. We covered everything from books to the insanity of public life. I really like her."
"Good. You need more friends who aren't in the industry." Maya studied her closely. "Did you talk about anything else? Anyone else?"
Seraphine felt heat creep into her cheeks. "If you're asking about the mystery man from the gala, yes, it came up."
"And?"
"And Lizzie thinks she knows who he might be, but she wouldn't tell me. Said he should tell me himself if he wants me to know." Seraphine took a long sip of wine. "She also said something cryptic about levels of power and protection and men who play by different rules."
Maya's eyes widened. "Sera, exactly how powerful are we talking?"
"I don't know. That's the problem." Seraphine sank onto her couch, suddenly exhausted. "Lizzie made it sound like he's someone seriously important. Someone who could help me or hurt anyone who hurt me. But also someone dangerous in his own right."
"And you talked to this man alone, on a dark terrace, without knowing any of this?"
"It didn't feel dangerous. It felt… safe. Protected." Seraphine knew how that sounded, but it was true. "He was intense, yes. Controlled to an almost unsettling degree. But I never felt threatened. If anything, I felt like the safest person in the world while talking to him."
Maya was quiet for a long moment, clearly processing. Finally, she said, "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to focus on your career, your healing, your life moving forward. If this mystery man is who Lizzie seems to think he is, and if he's genuinely interested in you, he'll make himself known. On his own time, in his own way."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then he was just a nice conversation, and you move on." Maya squeezed her hand. "Either way, you're going to be fine. Better than fine. You're going to be amazing."
Seraphine wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe she could move forward, build a life not defined by Derek's manipulation or public scrutiny or mysterious strangers who saw too much.
But as she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling while waves crashed outside her window, all she could think about was obsidian eyes and a voice like aged whiskey and the absolute certainty in his tone when he'd said: "Not to you. Never to you."
Somewhere in the world, a man she didn't know was thinking about her.
And somehow, that thought made her feel less alone than she'd felt in years.