Chapter 7
Dylan's press conference was a masterpiece of victimhood.
I watched it from Callum's office on the wall-mounted screen, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"Serena Cole was manipulated," Dylan said into the cluster of microphones, his expression perfectly arranged into wounded sincerity. "Callum Reed has been planning this for months. He targeted my company, my family, and then my fiancée. This isn't a love story. This is a hostile takeover wearing a wedding ring."
Beside him, his mother dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. His father stood stone-faced, arms folded. The full family performance.
"He's good," I admitted.
"He's desperate," Callum corrected. "There's a difference."
Diana appeared at the door. "Sir, calls coming in from six outlets requesting comment. PR wants to know your approach."
Callum looked at me. "Your call."
I thought for exactly three seconds.
"Set up a joint interview," I said. "Tomorrow morning. The biggest platform we can get. And I want to tell the story myself."
Callum nodded, a flicker of pride in his eyes.
"Diana, make it happen."
The next morning, I sat on a white couch in a studio, lights bright, camera rolling. Callum was beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched.
The interviewer, a sharp woman named Helen Park, leaned forward.
"Serena, the country watched your wedding fall apart two days ago. Dylan Lawson says you were manipulated. What's your response?"
I looked directly into the camera.
"I was in a relationship with Dylan for four years," I said calmly. "During that time, he carried on an affair with my maid of honor. I have receipts, hotel records, and text messages confirming this. At my wedding, in front of three hundred guests, he kissed her at the altar. I left. That's not manipulation. That's self-respect."
Helen's eyes widened slightly. "And your marriage to Callum Reed?"
"Was my choice," I said firmly. "Made with clear eyes and a clear head."
"Some might say it happened very fast."
Callum spoke for the first time. "Sometimes you know. When the right person walks past you, you don't let them keep walking."
Helen paused, studying us both.
"And the accusations of corporate sabotage? That this marriage is a strategy?"
I reached into my bag and pulled out a tablet. On it was a summary document, redacted for privacy but clear enough.
"Dylan Lawson has been embezzling from a joint project funded by Reed Global for the past year," I said. "Callum's team discovered this independently, months before we met. The investigation and the marriage are separate events. One is justice. The other is personal."
Helen took the tablet, scanned it, and her eyebrows shot up.
"This is... substantial."
"It's the truth," I said.
The interview aired that afternoon. Within two hours, the public narrative flipped entirely.
Dylan's sympathy campaign collapsed. Comments flooded in, calling him a cheater, a fraud, a con artist. His family's remaining investors started pulling out.
By evening, his mother called mine.
Not to apologize. To beg.
"Elena, please," Mrs. Lawson said over the phone, her voice breaking. "Talk to your daughter. We can settle this privately. The lawsuit, the fraud claims, all of it. We'll drop everything if she just stops."
My mother looked at me across the dinner table. I was there with Callum, meeting both my parents properly for the first time since everything happened.
"What should I tell her?" Mom asked.
I took a sip of wine.
"Tell her the terms are simple," I said. "Public apology from Dylan. Full repayment of my family's investment. And he admits on camera that the affair happened."
"And if they refuse?"
"Then the criminal fraud case proceeds," Callum said quietly. "And Dylan goes to prison."
My father, who had been silent all evening, set down his fork and looked at Callum.
"You're protecting my daughter."
"Yes, sir."
"And the shares you transferred to her?"
"Non-negotiable. What's hers is hers."
My father studied him for a long moment. Then nodded once.
"Good."
That was the most approval Richard Cole had given anyone in my entire life.
After dinner, Callum drove me back to the penthouse. At the door, he hesitated.
"Serena."
"Yes?"
"The guest penthouse offer still stands. But I want you to know—" He paused, choosing his words. "I'd like to come home to you. If you'll let me."
My heart pounded. This man, who commanded boardrooms and crushed companies, was standing at my door, asking permission.
"Callum," I said softly. "Come home."
His smile broke wide, boyish, real.
He stepped inside, and the door closed behind us.
I watched it from Callum's office on the wall-mounted screen, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"Serena Cole was manipulated," Dylan said into the cluster of microphones, his expression perfectly arranged into wounded sincerity. "Callum Reed has been planning this for months. He targeted my company, my family, and then my fiancée. This isn't a love story. This is a hostile takeover wearing a wedding ring."
Beside him, his mother dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. His father stood stone-faced, arms folded. The full family performance.
"He's good," I admitted.
"He's desperate," Callum corrected. "There's a difference."
Diana appeared at the door. "Sir, calls coming in from six outlets requesting comment. PR wants to know your approach."
Callum looked at me. "Your call."
I thought for exactly three seconds.
"Set up a joint interview," I said. "Tomorrow morning. The biggest platform we can get. And I want to tell the story myself."
Callum nodded, a flicker of pride in his eyes.
"Diana, make it happen."
The next morning, I sat on a white couch in a studio, lights bright, camera rolling. Callum was beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched.
The interviewer, a sharp woman named Helen Park, leaned forward.
"Serena, the country watched your wedding fall apart two days ago. Dylan Lawson says you were manipulated. What's your response?"
I looked directly into the camera.
"I was in a relationship with Dylan for four years," I said calmly. "During that time, he carried on an affair with my maid of honor. I have receipts, hotel records, and text messages confirming this. At my wedding, in front of three hundred guests, he kissed her at the altar. I left. That's not manipulation. That's self-respect."
Helen's eyes widened slightly. "And your marriage to Callum Reed?"
"Was my choice," I said firmly. "Made with clear eyes and a clear head."
"Some might say it happened very fast."
Callum spoke for the first time. "Sometimes you know. When the right person walks past you, you don't let them keep walking."
Helen paused, studying us both.
"And the accusations of corporate sabotage? That this marriage is a strategy?"
I reached into my bag and pulled out a tablet. On it was a summary document, redacted for privacy but clear enough.
"Dylan Lawson has been embezzling from a joint project funded by Reed Global for the past year," I said. "Callum's team discovered this independently, months before we met. The investigation and the marriage are separate events. One is justice. The other is personal."
Helen took the tablet, scanned it, and her eyebrows shot up.
"This is... substantial."
"It's the truth," I said.
The interview aired that afternoon. Within two hours, the public narrative flipped entirely.
Dylan's sympathy campaign collapsed. Comments flooded in, calling him a cheater, a fraud, a con artist. His family's remaining investors started pulling out.
By evening, his mother called mine.
Not to apologize. To beg.
"Elena, please," Mrs. Lawson said over the phone, her voice breaking. "Talk to your daughter. We can settle this privately. The lawsuit, the fraud claims, all of it. We'll drop everything if she just stops."
My mother looked at me across the dinner table. I was there with Callum, meeting both my parents properly for the first time since everything happened.
"What should I tell her?" Mom asked.
I took a sip of wine.
"Tell her the terms are simple," I said. "Public apology from Dylan. Full repayment of my family's investment. And he admits on camera that the affair happened."
"And if they refuse?"
"Then the criminal fraud case proceeds," Callum said quietly. "And Dylan goes to prison."
My father, who had been silent all evening, set down his fork and looked at Callum.
"You're protecting my daughter."
"Yes, sir."
"And the shares you transferred to her?"
"Non-negotiable. What's hers is hers."
My father studied him for a long moment. Then nodded once.
"Good."
That was the most approval Richard Cole had given anyone in my entire life.
After dinner, Callum drove me back to the penthouse. At the door, he hesitated.
"Serena."
"Yes?"
"The guest penthouse offer still stands. But I want you to know—" He paused, choosing his words. "I'd like to come home to you. If you'll let me."
My heart pounded. This man, who commanded boardrooms and crushed companies, was standing at my door, asking permission.
"Callum," I said softly. "Come home."
His smile broke wide, boyish, real.
He stepped inside, and the door closed behind us.