Chapter 12
Things shifted after that night.
Not dramatically — no grand gestures or sweeping declarations. Just a gradual wearing down of the walls between us.
He started staying for dinner more often. Then breakfast. Then the twins began asking why Daddy didn't just live with us.
I still wasn't ready to answer that question.
But then, four months after Dominic moved to London, Elena Marchetti escaped from custody.
Natasha called me at 2 AM.
"She's gone. Broke out during a transfer between facilities. Two guards dead."
My blood went cold.
"Where?"
"Unknown. But intercepted communications mention London."
I was out of bed and in the twins' room within seconds, pulling them into my arms.
Dominic arrived nineteen minutes later, his face ashen.
"I'm moving you somewhere safe," he said, already on his phone. "Tonight."
"I'm not running," I said. "Not again."
"Serena, she killed two people getting out. She's coming here."
"Then let her come." My voice was steady. "I'm done being afraid."
But the fear was real when, three days later, I came home to find the front door slightly open.
"Stay in the car," I told the twins, my hand trembling as I dialed Dominic.
He arrived in under four minutes with three armed security personnel.
They cleared the house room by room.
In the twins' bedroom, written in red lipstick across the wall:
"DID YOU THINK I'D FORGET?"
Beneath it, photographs of Lucas and Lily at their nursery, taken that morning.
Something inside me snapped.
Not fear. Rage.
"Get the children somewhere safe," I told Dominic. "Then meet me at Natasha's."
"What are you going to do?"
"End this."
Over the next 48 hours, I barely slept.
Natasha, Dominic, and I worked with private security and Interpol contacts to set a trap.
Elena wanted me. She'd always wanted me — the woman who had taken what she believed was hers.
So I would give her exactly what she wanted.
I leaked my location to one of Elena's known contacts: a charity gala at the Victoria and Albert Museum. High-profile, public, seemingly vulnerable.
"This is insane," Dominic said as I adjusted my earpiece. "I'm not using you as bait."
"You're not using me. I'm choosing this."
"Serena—"
I grabbed his tie and pulled him close. The movement surprised us both.
"I have spent four years rebuilding my life from nothing. No one — not you, not Elena, not anyone — is going to take it from me again."
His eyes searched mine.
"You are terrifying," he breathed.
"Good." I released his tie. "Cover the east exit."
The gala was in full swing when I spotted her.
A server with auburn hair, her face partially altered again but not enough. She moved through the crowd with a small clutch — large enough to conceal a weapon.
I made sure she could see me, standing alone by the Rodin sculpture, a glass of champagne in my hand.
Our eyes met across the room.
Elena smiled.
She started toward me.
Thirty feet.
Twenty feet.
Ten.
"Hello, Serena," she said, stopping beside me, her hand inside her clutch. "Miss me?"
"Elena." I didn't flinch. "You look terrible."
Her smile faltered.
"I'm going to enjoy watching you suffer," she whispered. "Just like I enjoyed watching you get thrown out like garbage four years ago."
"Was that your proudest moment?" I asked. "Stealing a dead woman's face to seduce a man who never truly wanted you?"
Rage flickered in her eyes, and her hand shifted inside the clutch.
"He would have loved me," she hissed. "If you hadn't existed—"
"But I do exist," I said calmly. "And you're surrounded."
Elena's eyes darted around.
Twelve plainclothes agents had closed in from every direction.
The click of weapons being drawn was almost musical.
"Elena Marchetti," a voice announced from behind her. "Don't move."
This time, there was no escape.
Not dramatically — no grand gestures or sweeping declarations. Just a gradual wearing down of the walls between us.
He started staying for dinner more often. Then breakfast. Then the twins began asking why Daddy didn't just live with us.
I still wasn't ready to answer that question.
But then, four months after Dominic moved to London, Elena Marchetti escaped from custody.
Natasha called me at 2 AM.
"She's gone. Broke out during a transfer between facilities. Two guards dead."
My blood went cold.
"Where?"
"Unknown. But intercepted communications mention London."
I was out of bed and in the twins' room within seconds, pulling them into my arms.
Dominic arrived nineteen minutes later, his face ashen.
"I'm moving you somewhere safe," he said, already on his phone. "Tonight."
"I'm not running," I said. "Not again."
"Serena, she killed two people getting out. She's coming here."
"Then let her come." My voice was steady. "I'm done being afraid."
But the fear was real when, three days later, I came home to find the front door slightly open.
"Stay in the car," I told the twins, my hand trembling as I dialed Dominic.
He arrived in under four minutes with three armed security personnel.
They cleared the house room by room.
In the twins' bedroom, written in red lipstick across the wall:
"DID YOU THINK I'D FORGET?"
Beneath it, photographs of Lucas and Lily at their nursery, taken that morning.
Something inside me snapped.
Not fear. Rage.
"Get the children somewhere safe," I told Dominic. "Then meet me at Natasha's."
"What are you going to do?"
"End this."
Over the next 48 hours, I barely slept.
Natasha, Dominic, and I worked with private security and Interpol contacts to set a trap.
Elena wanted me. She'd always wanted me — the woman who had taken what she believed was hers.
So I would give her exactly what she wanted.
I leaked my location to one of Elena's known contacts: a charity gala at the Victoria and Albert Museum. High-profile, public, seemingly vulnerable.
"This is insane," Dominic said as I adjusted my earpiece. "I'm not using you as bait."
"You're not using me. I'm choosing this."
"Serena—"
I grabbed his tie and pulled him close. The movement surprised us both.
"I have spent four years rebuilding my life from nothing. No one — not you, not Elena, not anyone — is going to take it from me again."
His eyes searched mine.
"You are terrifying," he breathed.
"Good." I released his tie. "Cover the east exit."
The gala was in full swing when I spotted her.
A server with auburn hair, her face partially altered again but not enough. She moved through the crowd with a small clutch — large enough to conceal a weapon.
I made sure she could see me, standing alone by the Rodin sculpture, a glass of champagne in my hand.
Our eyes met across the room.
Elena smiled.
She started toward me.
Thirty feet.
Twenty feet.
Ten.
"Hello, Serena," she said, stopping beside me, her hand inside her clutch. "Miss me?"
"Elena." I didn't flinch. "You look terrible."
Her smile faltered.
"I'm going to enjoy watching you suffer," she whispered. "Just like I enjoyed watching you get thrown out like garbage four years ago."
"Was that your proudest moment?" I asked. "Stealing a dead woman's face to seduce a man who never truly wanted you?"
Rage flickered in her eyes, and her hand shifted inside the clutch.
"He would have loved me," she hissed. "If you hadn't existed—"
"But I do exist," I said calmly. "And you're surrounded."
Elena's eyes darted around.
Twelve plainclothes agents had closed in from every direction.
The click of weapons being drawn was almost musical.
"Elena Marchetti," a voice announced from behind her. "Don't move."
This time, there was no escape.