Ex-Alpha's Regret: Siren's Comeback novel Chapter 115

POV: Seraphina

My office on Aethelgard was a space of quiet, ordered control. The wide desk was made of cool, grey marble, and the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the turquoise sea. It was a world away from the gilded cage I had once called home.

On my desk this morning, two items sat side-by-side, a study in contrasts. One was a data slate displaying the latest report from my financial team. It detailed Damian's systematic, brutish assault on the Omega foundation. The numbers were grim, showing frozen assets and escalating legal costs. It was a declaration of war written in red ink.

The other item was a glossy gossip magazine, the kind I hadn't touched in years. Jax had slammed it down on my desk moments earlier, his face a mask of thunderous rage. On the cover was the photograph. Damian and Sylvie, bathed in the flashing lights of camera bulbs, gazing into each other's eyes. His expression was one of intense devotion. Hers was one of triumphant adoration.

Jax was pacing in front of my desk like a caged wolf. "This is a mockery, Sera! He attacks your charity with one hand and flaunts that... that snake with the other! He's trying to replace you, to erase you! You have to give the order. Let me go after him. Let me tear his entire pathetic world apart."

My senior analysts stood by, their faces grim, their own anger simmering just beneath their professional composure. They were all looking at me, waiting for the command to unleash hell.

I picked up the magazine. I looked at the picture, studying it with a detached, clinical interest. I saw Damian's posturing, the carefully constructed angle of his jaw, the practiced intensity in his eyes. I saw Sylvie's genuine, naive ecstasy. She actually believed he was looking at her.

I felt nothing. No spark of jealousy. No sting of betrayal. Not even the ghost of a past hurt. The woman who would have been wounded by this picture was dead and buried, her ashes scattered in the fires of a forbidden ritual.

My analyst's eyes went wide with understanding, then lit up with predatory glee. "Yes, Siren. Right away."

They all hurried out, a palpable sense of purpose and excitement in their movements. The game had changed, and they knew it.

I was left alone in the silence of my office. I looked one last time at the picture of Damian and Sylvie, at the headline proclaiming their bright future. Then, with a flick of my wrist, I tossed the magazine into the wastepaper bin beside my desk.

It landed with a soft, dismissive thud.