Chapter 8 - The Aftermath in Greenwich
The Croft manor in Greenwich had never felt so cavernous, nor so cold.
The morning fog rolled off Long Island Sound, pressing wet fingers against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the grand study where Robert Croft sat slumped in his leather chair, a damp cloth pressed against his broken, swollen knuckles.
The estate was quiet—too quiet. The domestic staff had been given mandatory leave the night before, and the silence was only broken by the heavy, rhythmic pacing of footsteps coming down the grand staircase.
Serena entered the study.
She had changed out of her emerald velvet gown into a structured black traveling suit. Her hair was pulled back into a severe, tight knot at the base of her neck. Her face was pale, stripped of the haughty, untouchable radiance that had defined her status in Manhattan high society for the past two years.
“The car is outside, Daddy,” she said, her voice hollow, devoid of its usual melodic bite. “The driver is loading the bags into the trunk.”
Robert didn't look up immediately. He stared down at his shattered fingers, the realization of absolute, irreversible ruin finally settling into his marrow like frost.
“He took everything, Serena,” Robert whispered, his voice cracking with a defeated rasp. “Forty years of building our name, our connections, our leverage in the state senate... wiped out in less than twelve hours. Dominic didn't just defeat us; he erased us.”
Serena walked over to the mahogany desk, her eyes falling upon the small, dark object resting near the edge—the brushed gunmetal ring Dominic had left behind.
She reached out with a trembling, manicured finger and touched the cool metal.
“He threw me away,” Serena murmured, a bitter, trembling laugh escaping her lips, laced with a venomous disbelief. “Like I was nothing. Like a spilled cup of tea.”
“He is a monster, Serena,” Robert muttered, finally looking up, his eyes bloodshot and hollow. “A monster we invited into our home because we thought we could control him.”
Serena closed her hand tightly around the ring, the metal biting sharply into her palm until it hurt—a sharp, physical pain that mirrored the emptiness inside her chest.
“We aren't done, Daddy,” Serena said, her voice dropping into a dark, resolute whisper that sent a shiver through the room. “Men like Dominic Thorne think they are untouchable because they own the streets. But they forget... monsters can be hunted.”
Robert stared at his daughter, seeing not the spoiled socialite he had coddled for decades, but something cold, sharp, and entirely fractured.
“What are you talking about?” Robert asked cautiously.
May you like
Serena dropped the ring back onto the wood with a sharp clink. She turned toward the double doors of the study, her heels clicking a cold, deliberate rhythm against the marble floor as she walked out toward the waiting car.
“London is just a layover,” she said without turning back.
