Page 62 of So Close to You
Seraphina keeps her back straight, her hands clasped on the glass, and her face serene. She doesn’t tremble. She spent the entire night training herself not to. She feels the weight of every gaze like a silent accusation, but she forces herself to breathe calmly. She thinks that if she shows the slightest crack, they will magnify it until it destroys her.
Adrian finally speaks with that unbearable calm that always characterizes him. He wears an impeccable dark blue suit and a carefully studied, almost theatrical expression of gravity.
“The board’s priority is to contain the impact on the merger and ensure the confidence of external investors,” he states as he slides a document toward the center of the table. “Of course, we all deeply regret the personal situation you are going through, Seraphina.”
The word “personal” turns her stomach. Because nothing he has done has been accidental or private. Everything has been calculated.
Seraphina looks down at the document. The black letters on the white paper seem to dance for a moment: TEMPORARY SUSPENSION OF EXECUTIVE DUTIES. She hears the beating of her own heart pounding inside her head, louder than any voice in the room.
Adrian continues in the same tone:
“The measure is purely preventive. The board believes that a temporary withdrawal will facilitate the stabilization of the financial operation while we analyze the media impact of the incident.”
“Son of a bitch.” How dare he call it an incident? How can he be so nonchalant, sitting right in front of her after what he’s done? How can he pretend that what happened was a mere accident and not the result of him lighting the fuse with his own hands?
Seraphina slowly raises her eyes and looks him straight in the face. He holds her gaze with the poisonous calm of someone who knows he’s already won the game. At that very moment, she realizes something far worse than the loss of her career: therewas never any real intention to negotiate. The blackmail was only the prelude. Adrian needed to destroy her publicly to take absolute control of the investment fund and remove her from the deal before she could react. And now, it’s crystal clear to her.
“We need your corporate access credentials immediately,” the general counsel interjects with obvious discomfort, clearing his throat slightly. “Also, all the documentation you’ve worked on and financial authorization over the accounts linked to the merger.”
The silence that follows is devastating. For years, that room was her territory, her undisputed kingdom. She led international deals from that very table, closed multimillion-dollar acquisitions, and saved operations that others had written off as lost. Every screen, every report, and every strategic decision bore her mark. And now they’re cutting her off from her own creation as if she were a threat that must be eradicated as quickly as possible.
Adrian folds his hands on the table and adopts an almost paternal tone.
“We understand that this moment may be emotionally difficult for you.”
Seraphina feels an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh in his face, but she restrains herself. She doesn’t intend to give him a single reaction he could use against her later. She opens the folder and reads the entire document, line by line, without haste. The clauses are clearly worded, within a legal framework that now makes her sick. Because every single one of those words is perfectly designed to bury her alive.
She picks up the fountain pen beside the folder, and soon the ink flows across the paper as she signs her name.
Adrian flashes a faint, barely perceptible but triumphant smile.
“We appreciate your cooperation, Seraphina,” he murmurs.
She carefully sets the pen down on the table and looks up.
“Are you done already?” she asks, without a trace of emotion.
The question throws him off for half a second. He’d expected tears, anger, perhaps a dramatic scene. But Seraphina has been broken inside for too many hours to offer him that spectacle.
The general counsel clears his throat again.
“The IT team will deactivate your access as soon as we leave here.”
She nods, removes her executive ID badge from around her neck, and places it on the glass. The small plastic rectangle makes a ridiculously faint sound, but to her it feels as though she has just torn out a vital organ. Then she hands over everything they’ve asked for, and her symbols of power disappear in a matter of seconds, piled up in front of Adrian Beckett like war trophies.
When she stands up, no one tries to stop her. They no longer need anything else from her.
Rain is pounding Manchester when the taxi drops her off in front of the hotel entrance. Seraphina remains inside the vehicle for a few moments, watching the revolving doors and the steady flow of strangers with suitcases. No one knows who she is. For the first time in many years, she is invisible. The thoughtshould bring her relief, but it only opens an unbearable void inside her.
She gets out of the car carrying only her purse and a small suitcase she packed in a hurry that very morning, while Elliot went out of his way to avoid running into her in the hallways of the house and her children endured their own personal hell at their grandparents’ home.
“They’re going to hate me for the rest of their lives,” she thinks, just as the receptionist gives her a professional, neutral smile.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Chapman.”
The surname pierces her chest. She signs the register and heads toward the elevator to go up to room 814.
As she inserts the key card and hears the electronic beep of the door, she feels a strange twinge. She sets her suitcase down next to the bed and walks slowly to the large window. Manchester stretches out before her like a weary landscape of concrete and dim lights. Seraphina Chapman crosses her arms and, for the first time since the meeting, feels the true weight of her fall.
