Chapter 4
Serena's POV
The tenderness in Willow's eyes switched off, replaced by the cool composure she wore in court.
"Alright, let's sort through what we're dealing with," she said. "There are only two paths to divorce—mutual consent or litigation. Mutual consent requires Leo's agreement."
Last night, Leo had made his position perfectly clear. He'd even invoked Lydia to pressure me. A man unwilling to divorce would never cooperate with signing the papers.
"What about litigation?" I asked.
"The timeline is too long. From filing to the first hearing, you're looking at six months minimum, over a year in many cases—and that's not counting the mandatory mediation period. Once you enter litigation, all the documents go into the system. There's no way to guarantee Lydia won't find out."
My fingers curled tight. Two paths—one blocked, the other impassable.
Willow watched me, pausing a moment before she spoke again. "I'd suggest you start collecting evidence of Leo's affair. Once you have proof in hand, we'll have leverage to negotiate."
I nodded. Leo could refuse to divorce me, but he couldn't withstand the consequences of his relationship with Tiffany being exposed. She was his brother's wife. Under the rules of Omertà, betrayal within the family was more lethal than any outside enemy.
If Leo and Tiffany's affair were laid bare, Katerina would lose her mind, the old matriarch would be devastated, and the entire Kensington family's reputation would be torn to shreds.
"It may take time, but it's our only option right now," Willow said. "We need photographs, recordings, communication records—at least one of those."
I nodded, agreeing with her plan.
For two years, Leo had told me he was afraid of hurting me. I'd believed him.
Because when Winston abandoned me, I'd nearly lost the chance to attend university at all.
I was sent back to Lydia. She told me that was simply Winston's nature—once he grew bored, he discarded people.
I don't want to revisit those days. There wasn't a patch of unbroken skin on my body. Every morning I opened my eyes and calculated how much longer I could hold on.
It was Leo who paid my tuition in full, arranged a place for me to live, gave me a crack of breathable air in that hell.
He never asked for anything in return.
He wasn't like those sugar daddies who expected repayment in flesh. He said he respected me, said I was still young, said we'd talk about it when I was ready.
I thought that was love.
During our two years of marriage, it wasn't as though I'd been completely blind to something being off about Leo.
His tenderness was too precise.
Like a script that had been carefully choreographed—never a fraction more than required.
He never saw me smile and suddenly crossed the room to hold me. He never canceled his plans because I mentioned a headache. He never lost an ounce of control when I moved close to him. Every gesture was perfectly measured—the textbook ideal husband.
But when you truly love someone, you can't maintain that level of restraint forever.
Only now did I understand why.
His heart belonged to someone else. All the care and consideration of the past two years had been nothing more than the polished shell of an elaborate lie.
I'd lived inside it, believing it was real.
I looked up at Willow. "Let me think it over," I said. "But no matter what, I'm divorcing Leo."
"I'm behind you. Whatever path you choose, I'm on your side. But before you start gathering evidence, you might try talking to Leo again—he may have a different response."
I thought about it, then took out my phone and dialed Leo's number.
Three rings. He picked up.
"Leo, where are you?" My voice came out calmer than I'd expected. "There's something I need to discuss with you."
Two seconds of silence on the other end. When Leo's voice came through, it carried a deep, heavy exhaustion. "Come to the old house."
By the time I arrived at the Kensington estate, it was already afternoon. The front gates stood open, several black sedans parked along the gravel drive. Before I even stepped into the entrance hall, I could feel something was wrong.
The living room was thick with a suffocating weight.
Katerina sat on the sofa, her face ashen, lips pressed into a thin line, one hand gripping the armrest until her knuckles turned white.
She wasn't crying, but the suppressed fury radiating from her was more unsettling than tears. Leo stood before the fireplace with his back to everyone, his shoulders rigid.
The butler emerged from a side door, saw me, and hurried over, his voice barely above a whisper. "Serena... Noah is gone."
I froze.
"What?"
"It happened this morning..." His voice was so low his lips barely moved. "Noah had a severe allergy condition. Tiffany gave him a prescription medication that contained a substance he was fatally allergic to. She claims she didn't know... Noah went into anaphylactic shock in his sleep. By the time he reached the hospital, it was already..."
My gaze drifted involuntarily to the far side of the living room.
Tiffany sat in a corner armchair, her body curled into a small ball, one hand resting on her slightly rounded belly, her eyes red-rimmed as she wept softly.
A maid offered her a tissue. She took it and pressed it to her face.
She was crying as though heartbroken.
But I noticed the hand resting on her stomach—her fingertips weren't trembling.
A person truly shattered by grief trembles. The sorrow on her face looked more like a mask she'd put on.
Arrangements for the funeral moved quickly.
After a long silence, Katerina rose and began issuing directives with near-mechanical efficiency—the memorial layout, coordination with the funeral home, notification of family members, a unified statement for the press.
As Mrs. Kensington, I took on part of the coordination: contacting the funeral home to confirm the memorial specifications, selecting wreath designs, organizing the guest list.
I didn't refuse.
Whatever was happening between Leo and me, Noah was the eldest son of the Kensington family. His funeral had to be conducted with dignity.
Shortly after eight that evening, I was in the second-floor study organizing the guest list when the door opened.
Tiffany stood in the doorway.
Her eyes were still red, but her expression had shifted from the breakdown in the living room to something composed—a transition so swift it was like watching someone swap faces.
She walked in, her gaze falling on the guest list spread open before me.
"Serena, let me handle this." She extended her hand, fingertip tapping the first page of the list. "I know Noah's social circle better than you do. Who should be notified, who shouldn't come—I'm more familiar with all of it."
I looked at her finger, then raised my eyes to meet hers. "Tiffany, Mother assigned this task to me."
The corner of her mouth curved slightly—a small arc laced with quiet arrogance. "Serena, Noah was my husband. I have more right than you to arrange his funeral."
Two seconds of silence.
I set my pen down. My voice was soft but clear. "Tiffany, Noah was your husband, but this funeral is a Kensington family matter. Katerina assigned it to me. If you have objections, take them to her."
Tiffany's smile vanished.
She said nothing more and turned to leave the study, but I caught the resentment in her eyes—the look of someone who'd been slighted and intended to remember it.
I paid her no mind and finished the remaining work.
That evening, after ending my last phone call, I prepared to leave the estate. I'd barely stepped out of the study when Leo blocked my path.
His expression was grim, brow knotted tight. "Serena." He spoke first. "Tiffany told me your attitude in the study today was unpleasant."
I paused, then replied in a cold voice, "Did she also tell you she came to take over the guest list?"
"She's Noah's wife. It's perfectly natural that she'd want to be involved in arranging his funeral." Leo's tone wasn't harsh, but it carried an unmistakable pressure. "She just lost her husband. Don't make trouble right now."
"Also—Noah's death was sudden, and many things haven't been properly settled. There are procedures and accounts that need handling. Tiffany needs funds to manage things, so I gave her your bank card. If you need money, you can come to me directly."
My fingers tightened at my sides.
He gave my bank card to Tiffany.
Before, they'd at least made an effort to conceal things—maintained a respectable distance in front of me.
Now they weren't even pretending anymore. I'd barely caught them, and already he'd cut off my financial access and handed what was mine to Tiffany.
I didn't confront him. I simply nodded to show I understood, then turned and headed downstairs.
As I reached the top of the staircase on the second floor, Tiffany appeared from around the corner of the hallway, blocking my path.
The fragile expression she'd worn in the living room was gone. The light behind her illuminated her slightly tilted chin and half-narrowed eyes.
Her voice was low—pitched for only the two of us to hear. "Serena, I suggest you behave yourself."
She stepped forward until less than half a meter separated us.
"Noah is gone. The dynamics of this household are about to be reshuffled. At the very least, as a woman who's lost her husband, I hold a special position in the Kensington family." She tilted her head slightly. "So you'd better think carefully about where you stand."
I held her gaze. "My position isn't yours to define. Worry about yourself."
I turned and started toward the stairs.
My foot hadn't touched the first step when a sudden force slammed into my shoulder blades from behind.
I lost my balance completely.
Then my body was tumbling—the back of my skull cracking against the edge of a step, my shoulder slamming into the floor, my elbow scraping across the rough carpet, my knee smashing into the solid wood corner of the last stair.
I ended up crumpled at the bottom of the staircase.
My ears rang. I felt something warm and wet flowing from the back of my head, trickling down my neck, seeping into my collar. Pain surged from every direction at once.
I heard Tiffany's footsteps descending slowly from above.
Unhurried. Untroubled. One step at a time—her heels striking the wooden stairs in a rhythm as even as a leisurely stroll.
She reached me and stopped, looking down.
Then she regarded me with a cold curl of her lips—before her face twisted into a scream.
"Someone help! Serena fell down the stairs!"
