No Divorce, Only Widowhood: His Possession

The sand was hot, burning the soles of her feet. Serena tried to run, but the desert floor was shifting, turning into quicksand. Harrison was there, standing on a dune, holding a blood bag. It was full, dangerously full, bursting at the seams. He was laughing, squeezing it, red liquid dripping over his fingers.

"You owe me," he chanted. "You owe me."

"No!" Serena screamed. She thrashed, trying to pull her legs free. "Let me go!"

"Serena!"

A voice cut through the heat. A hand gripped her wrist, anchoring her.

Serena's eyes flew open. She gasped, sitting bolt upright in bed. Her chest was heaving, sweat sticking her silk pajamas to her back.

"Stop! Get away! Harrison, stop!" she cried out, the terror of the dream bleeding into reality.

The hand on her wrist went rigid.

The room was bathed in the grey light of dawn. Julian was sitting next to her, his hand wrapped around her forearm. His hair was tousled from sleep, but his eyes were wide awake, and they were freezing over.

He let go of her arm as if she were contagious. He had heard the name. He hadn't heard the fear.

"It was a nightmare," Serena stammered, clutching the sheets. "I... I was dreaming about the movie set."

Julian didn't say anything. He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. The hurt in his eyes was there, buried deep under layers of indifference, but Serena was too panicked to see it.

He threw the covers off and got out of bed. "Get dressed."

He walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Serena put her head in her hands. Stupid. Stupid.

She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, bracing herself for the morning headlines. She opened Twitter. She searched for her name.

Nothing.

She searched for "Harrison Knox The Ivy."

Nothing.

The links from last night were dead. "Page Not Found." The TMZ article was gone. It was as if the internet had been wiped clean.

Confusion knit her brows together. Harrison wouldn't have done this. He wanted the press.

She dressed quickly in a pair of slacks and a silk blouse and went downstairs.

Julian was already at the head of the dining table. He was reading the Financial Times, a cup of black coffee steaming by his hand.

"Morning," Mrs. Higgins said, placing a plate of avocado toast and a bowl of berries in front of Serena.

Serena sat down. "Thank you."

She looked at Julian. He turned a page of the newspaper, the crisp snap of the paper echoing in the room.

"The photos are gone," she said tentatively.

Julian didn't lower the paper. "Are they?"

"You know they are. Did you... did you do that?"

He finally lowered the paper. His face was impassive. "Sterling stock cannot afford volatility based on your tawdry past. It was a business decision."

The words stung. Of course. It wasn't for her. It was for the shareholders.

"Right," Serena said, her voice dull. "Thank you anyway."

"Don't thank me," he said coldly. "Just stop dreaming about him."

Serena's fork clattered against her plate. "I told you, it was a nightmare about the shoot."

"You scream his name when you're scared," Julian said. He picked up his coffee cup, his knuckles white against the ceramic. "It's very telling."

He stood up, leaving his breakfast untouched. He buttoned his suit jacket.

"I have meetings all day. Don't go out."

He walked toward the door, then stopped. He pointed to a small glass bottle on the sideboard where Mrs. Higgins was organizing a tray.

"Mrs. Higgins, ensure she takes her supplements," he ordered, his voice clipped. "She looks anemic."

He walked out.

Serena stared at the bottle. It was a custom blend of vitamins for stress and fatigue. He noticed everything, even when he was furious.

She swallowed the pill with a gulp of cold coffee.

...

In the hallway, Gavin was waiting with Julian's briefcase.

"Sir," Gavin said, keeping pace with Julian's long strides toward the garage. "We have a problem. Harrison Knox is in contact with Canvas Media. He's trying to bypass the blockade. He has a video."

Julian stopped at the driver's side of his Maybach. He opened the door, his expression darkening.

"Let him try," Julian said. "Keep monitoring. If he releases anything, I want his production company audited by noon."

"Yes, sir."

Julian got into the car. He looked back at the house, at the dining room window where Serena was sitting alone. He hated leaving her like this. But every time she said that man's name, it felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

He slammed the car door and gunned the engine.