The invitation went out two days after the New Horizons Gala.
The Private Collection Unveiling — By Invitation Only.
Serena personally curated the guest list—only the most important names, only the faces that mattered.
It wasn't about the art.
It wasn't about Celina's new work.
It was about image.
Control.
About proving, beyond doubt, that Serena Calvert-Graves still owned her place among the city's elite.
Malik agreed to attend, of course.
He smiled when she handed him the black and gold embossed card over breakfast.
"Wouldn't miss it," he said, voice calm.
And he meant it.
Because the best place to watch a house of cards fall was from the front row.
That afternoon, while Serena worked with her PR team, fussing over lighting angles and interview points,
her phone buzzed under the conference table.
Landon.
Again.
She silenced it without reading.
Two minutes later—another buzz.
Another message.
She glanced down when no one was looking.
You can't keep putting me off forever, Serena.
You said after the gala we'd talk.
You said you loved me.
Her stomach twisted sharply.
She tucked the phone deeper into her bag.
Not now.
Not today.
She would fix this later.
She always fixed things later.
By the time Malik arrived at the gallery that evening, the guests were already swirling through the space.
Champagne. Soft jazz. Polished smiles.
Serena moved through them like a queen hosting her court.
Perfect posture. Flawless dress.
A smile crafted so precisely it could have been carved from marble.
Malik watched her glide from handshake to air kiss, laughing brightly at jokes she didn't hear.
He let her take his arm when the photographers called for pictures.
He let her lean in, her hand resting lightly on his chest.
But inside, he was already stepping away.
One foot already out the door.
Serena didn't notice.
She was too busy chasing applause that was already beginning to fade.
Later, while she stood on the small stage, microphone in hand, thanking investors and patrons for their unwavering support,
Malik's phone buzzed quietly in his jacket pocket.
He stepped outside, into the cool night air, answering with a quiet nod.
Victoria Lane's voice was smooth as silk.
"Everything's in place.
The moment you say the word —
the filings move.
The locks change.
The accounts split."
Malik glanced through the glass doors at Serena.
She was still speaking—
still smiling—
still playing to a crowd that didn't realize the floorboards were already cracking.
He adjusted his cufflinks slowly.
"Not tonight," he said quietly.
"But soon."
Across the gallery, Serena's phone buzzed again.
Still hidden in her purse.
Still ignored.
Another message from Landon.
I'm not going to be your dirty little secret forever, Serena.
Make a choice.
Or I will.
And somewhere far above the glittering city,
a storm that had been building for months
began to whisper against the glass.
Almost time.
Almost.