Chapter 65

Serena's POV

"Ma'am," the male officer chimed in firmly, "any form of physical violence is a serious matter, regardless of family ties."

I gestured toward the ceiling. "There are security cameras in the office. Everything was recorded." My voice remained steady, though my right ear felt like it was stuffed with cotton, creating an unsettling partial silence.

Angela stepped forward, her heels clicking against the floor. "Surely we can handle this privately," she suggested, her practiced smile faltering when neither officer responded to her charm.

"We'll need you to come to the station," the female officer told Beatrice. "And Ms. Sinclair, would you like to get a medical examination?"

"Yes," I replied. My phone vibrated in my pocket-probably Lawrence or Angela's flying monkeys-but I ignored it. "I want this documented properly."

Nina lingered by the door, her expression a mixture of concern and poorly concealed satisfaction. She was probably already crafting the narrative she'd spread through her social circles.

At the hospital, the lights cast harsh shadows as the doctor examined my ear. The antiseptic smell reminded me of childhood visits after "accidents" that the family had always been so careful to explain away.

"The impact has caused temporary hearing loss," the doctor explained, her voice clinical. "There's trauma to the eardrum. This constitutes a minor injury, but it could have been much worse."

"How long until it heals?" I asked, watching her write up the report.

"Hard to say exactly. Could be days, could be weeks." She looked up from her paperwork. "You'll need to follow up with an ENT specialist."

My phone buzzed again. I glanced at the screen: three missed calls from Lawrence, two from Angela. They'd have to wait.

"I want to press charges," I told the doctor, my voice firm. The partial silence in my right ear felt like a reminder of every time I'd stayed quiet before. "I need all of this documented."

She nodded, understanding more than I'd said. As she completed the medical report, I thought about the security footage waiting in the office system. Beatrice had finally shown her true colors to people outside our gilded cage of a family. And this time, there would be consequences.

I lay in the adjustable bed, scrolling through news feeds and social media, watching the digital storm unfold with detached interest.

The internet had exploded. Every social platform was flooded with discussions about Ian and Nina, their names trending alongside particularly creative hashtags. Comments ranged from disappointed to outright vicious, with some going as far as dragging their entire family histories through the mud.

I paused on a financial news article analyzing the potential impact on both companies. The predictions were grim: consumer boycotts, plummeting stock prices, irreparable reputation damage. The Whitmore Group and StarRiver Group were both facing significant losses. I closed the article without a hint of sympathy.

My thumb hesitated over Ian's last Weibo post. The comment section had undergone a dramatic transformation. Where supporters had once gathered, critics now swarmed. The top comment-"A match made in hell"-had garnered thousands of likes.

Then I noticed something unusual: Lucas had interacted with the post. Just a simple thumbs-up emoji, but coming from his verified "Lucas Harrington, Harrington International Holdings" account, it carried weight. It was his only social media activity in months.

The comments under his response were enthusiastic:

"THE Lucas Harrington actually posted something!"

"King behavior"

"That thumbs up says everything"

I found myself smiling, imagining his expression as he made that simple gesture-probably casual, unbothered, but with that slight upward curve of his lips. The mental image came so naturally that it startled me.

When had I started paying this much attention to his reactions? When had I begun to automatically picture his expressions, anticipate his responses? This growing awareness of him was... unsettling.

My phone buzzed again-another call from Lawrence. I watched his name flash across the screen until it faded to black.

A shadow fell across my bed, and my heart skipped-actually skipped-as I looked up to find Lucas standing in the doorway. His presence filled the room, somehow making the sterile hospital space feel warmer.

Before either of us could speak, my phone lit up again. Lawrence's name appeared on the screen, his timing as impeccable as ever.

"Had enough of this drama?" Lawrence's voice crackled through the speaker, harsh and demanding.