She Took The Crown And His Empire

Serena POV

I regarded my mother-in-law, my lips forming a chillingly polite smile.

She awkwardly shifts the thermos in her hands, her eyes darting away as she tried to justify Julian's betrayal. "Men make mistakes," she tells me, her voice trembling slightly. "The unborn child is a blessing, and we have to think about the continuation of the family line."

I cut her off, my voice flat and devoid of any warmth. "The thing growing inside that woman is an illegitimate bastard," I tell her. "The Commission will never recognize a child born from a civilian whore."

Chloe's face turns bright red. "Do not dare insult my baby!" she screams at me.

She snatches the open thermos of hot soup from the older woman's hands and hurls the scalding liquid straight at my face.

I turn my head quickly, and the hot soup splashes across my shoulder, instantly soaking my pristine white suit.

My eyes darken. The high-ceilinged room seemed to swallow all sound, leaving only the sharp echo of the slap and the ragged rasp of breathing.

I step directly into Chloe's personal space. My hand closed around a handful of her expensive hair. I pulled her head back and deliver a brutal, ringing slap across her cheek. The sound echoed sharply against the high ceilings.

Julian lunges forward. He wrapped his arms around Chloe and pulled her away from me. He shields her body with his own, his eyes wide as he whispered a pathetic plea. "Please do not hurt her," he asks me. "She is fragile."

I stand there and stare at the man who once swore to burn every building on this street to keep me safe, observing his protective posture over another woman.

I let out a short, mocking scoff. I turned on my heel and walked out of the penthouse.

I returned to my estate and locked myself inside my private study. I look at the framed wedding photos on my desk, the glass reflecting the dark, spreading stain on my suit.

I realize Julian is no different from the corrupt, greedy men my father always warned me about. He used my power to build his throne, only to install a peasant to share it.

I wipe the single tear that falls down my cheek. I opened my laptop and begin preparing for war.

The next morning, my driver takes me to the syndicate's corporate headquarters. As I walk toward the main entrance, a line of unfamiliar soldiers steps in front of the glass doors and blocked my path.

The lead guard looks at the ground and tells me, "Serena Falcone is barred from entry."

Chloe steps out from behind the line of guards. She wore a tailored dress that cheaply mimics my style. "Julian authorized the guard change this morning," she gloats.

She points to the concrete floor and demands, "Kneel and apologize to me if you want to enter your own building."

We stand in a tense standoff.

Julian rushes out of the private elevator. He took in the scene, and immediately ordered the guards to stand down. He then scolded Chloe for coming down to the lobby.

I bypass all of them and walk straight into my corner office.

Julian follows me inside and closes the door. He walked over to my desk and hands me a stack of transition documents. "You need to hand over your daily operations to me," he tells me.

"I need to take full control of the operations to ensure family stability," he claims. "I will appoint my own trusted capos to manage your sectors. I suggest you step down until the baby is born to avoid any unnecessary stress on our marriage."

I sit in my leather chair and look at him. "Do you recall the exact quantity of laundered capital and Commission influence I bring to your faction?" I mockingly ask him.

He stays completely silent, aware he is nothing without my backing.

I pull a pen from my holder and agree to step down. I sign the transition papers and push them across the desk. "When are we finalizing the divorce?" I ask him again.

He frantically shakes his head. He refused. "We took a blood oath," he claims. "We are bound for life."

I stand up and walk out of the office.

Chloe is waiting in the hallway, holding a cup of coffee. As I walk past her, she intentionally tilts her cup. The scalding black liquid drenched my pristine suit sleeve.

She puts her hand over her mouth and fakes a gasping apology. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

I shake my head. Without a word, I reach out and grab her hair with my left hand. With my right foot, I kick hard against the back of her knees.

Her legs buckle instantly. She crashes down and is forced to kneel humiliatingly on the cold marble floor in front of me.

"Now, we are even," I whisper down at her.

But as I release her hair and walk toward the elevator, my mind is already elsewhere. Julian thinks I have surrendered by signing those papers. He thinks he is winning.

He does not realize that every signature, every concession, every humiliation I endured today—I was counting them. Cataloguing them.

And soon, I would collect the debt. With interest.