The first week was almost... intoxicating.
Serena and Landon became a fixture on the city's social pages.
Photographed outside new art installations,
at rooftop bars,
at charity auctions —
always smiling, always leaning into each other like they were untouched by gravity.
Serena wore the illusion like a second skin.
Bright lipstick.
High heels.
Laughter in her throat like wind chimes.
She posted smiling pictures of them online,
let herself believe that the likes and the comments meant approval, not curiosity.
"You look so happy!"
"Finally someone who appreciates you!"
The public, it seemed, was easy to fool —
at least for now.
Landon soaked up the attention.
He loved the cameras,
the velvet ropes,
the murmurs of his name alongside Serena's.
He bought her flowers with money he didn't really have.
He whispered promises into her ear at afterparties,
his hands always on her waist,
as if afraid she might still slip back into Malik's orbit.
But beneath the surface—
even in the early days—
the cracks waited.
Small things.
The way Landon's eyes wandered toward younger, newer faces at events.
The way Serena flinched when she saw a black luxury sedan parked anywhere nearby, for just a second thinking it might be Malik.
The way certain old friends smiled politely, then disappeared without saying goodbye.
Still, Serena clung to the high.
She told herself it would last.
That she had survived worse.
That Malik would see her shining from across the city
and realize he had made a mistake.
That her parents would come around once they saw she hadn't fallen.
That Landon — reckless, loyal Landon — would protect her like he promised.
For now,
the pictures were bright.
The champagne was cold.
The kisses were public and warm.
And for a woman who had built her life on appearances—
that was almost enough.
Almost.
Meanwhile...
In a private drawing room lined with oil paintings and old-world furniture,
Dolores Calvert sipped her tea with controlled disgust.
Across from her, Mr. Calvert (rarely emotional about anything) frowned behind a folded newspaper.
He didn't even have to speak.
The headline said enough:
Socialite Serena Calvert Seen Cozying Up with Landon Croix at Solstice Gala.
A nobody.
A second-rate opportunist.
A stain on the Calvert name.
"You said she was stabilizing," Mr. Calvert muttered.
Dolores set her cup down, porcelain clinking softly against the saucer.
"She was," she said, voice crisp.
"Until she lost Malik."
The name hung in the air like a judgment.
Malik Graves — solid, respectable, quietly powerful — had given Serena a gravity she no longer possessed.
Without him, she was just another drifting ember — beautiful but burning out.
"We'll need to intervene," Dolores said finally.
Her husband grunted in agreement, flipping the page.
"And if she won't listen?"
Dolores smiled thinly.
"Then she'll have to be dealt with.
Quietly."