Chapter 5 Unwanted Rescue

The Motel – 9:37 PM

The night air was cold against Serena's skin as she stepped out of her car, the dim glow of the flickering neon motel sign casting fractured red light over the cracked pavement.

Her first day at Sinclair Enterprises was over. She had survived. She had won small battles.

But the war was only beginning.

The sharp heels she had worn all day had left angry red marks against her skin, and the sleek black dress-now wrinkled from long hours-felt like a second layer of exhaustion clinging to her. A gust of wind cut through the thin fabric, making her ache for the warmth of a home she no longer had.

With stiff fingers, she pulled out the motel key from her bag. The lock stuck before clicking open, revealing the same bleak, lifeless room she had left that morning.

The walls bore the stains of time and neglect. The thin curtains barely shielded her from the draft creeping under the door. The bed-still unmade from her restless sleep-looked no more inviting than it had the night before.

Serena set her bag down and sat at the edge of the mattress, pressing her fingers to her temples.

Her body ached.

Her pride was bruised, but intact.

And tomorrow, she would walk back into Weston Sinclair's office and prove-again-that she wasn't leaving.

Letting out a slow breath, she stood, slipping off the dress and leaving it in a heap over the chair. A quick shower did little to wash away the sting of reality, but she ignored it.

Dressed in an oversized sweater and leggings, she climbed into bed, pulling the thin blanket over her.

The neon light from outside bled through the blinds, streaking the ceiling with slashes of red.

Serena closed her eyes.

Day One down.

How much worse could Day Two be?

---

By morning, the city was drenched.

Rain pounded against the pavement, seeping into every crevice, clinging to Serena's coat as she stepped through the towering glass doors of Sinclair Enterprises. The cold left her skin tinged pink, the damp sheen of water still clinging to the ends of her hair.

She had chosen a navy-blue pencil dress today-sharp, professional. A silent message.

She wasn't going anywhere.

Not even when Weston Sinclair tried to break her.

The moment she stepped onto the executive floor, the whispers started.

She felt them-curious eyes watching, waiting for cracks to form, for the scandal-ridden heiress to crumble under the weight of her new reality.

She didn't.

Serena strode toward her desk, setting down her bag and powering on her laptop. A small note was taped to her screen.

Welcome back. Let's see how long you last. – M

M?

She glanced around. No one met her gaze.

A quiet warning curled in her gut.

Something wasn't right.

---

By 9 AM, the problem revealed itself.

Emails were missing.

Files she had saved yesterday-gone.

The contract Weston had asked her to revise, the one he needed by noon? Corrupted beyond recovery.

Serena stared at her screen, pulse hammering.

No.

This wasn't an accident.

Someone was setting her up.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, trying every recovery method she knew. Nothing. It had been wiped clean, as if her work had never existed.

She inhaled slowly, keeping her expression neutral.

They wanted her to panic. To fail.

She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

---

Weston Sinclair walked into the office like a storm, his presence demanding attention.

His voice cut through the hum of the workspace, sharp as steel. "Lancaster."

Serena looked up from her desk, meeting his gaze.

"Where is it?"

The contract. The one that no longer existed.

"I'm handling it," she said, voice steady.

His eyes darkened. "Handling it?" He stepped closer. "It was due an hour ago."

Serena refused to back down. "Someone tampered with my files."

The room felt suddenly colder.

Weston's jaw tightened. "Excuse me?"

"I had it ready," she said evenly. "This morning, it was gone."

His gaze flickered, sharp and assessing. "Who?"

Serena shook her head. "I don't know yet."

Weston turned abruptly, walking toward the main office floor. Serena followed, heart pounding.

The moment he entered, the air shifted.

Every employee in the room went still.

His voice was low, controlled, and dangerous. "Who tampered with the assistant's files?"

Silence.

Eyes darted between desks, bodies shifting uncomfortably.

Then-one man, Mark Caldwell, refused to look up.

Weston moved fast. Too fast.

Within seconds, he was standing in front of the man's desk, towering over him.

Mark paled. "Sir, I-"

"Save it," Weston said coldly. He turned slightly toward Serena. "You think it was him?"

She studied Mark. Sweat at his temple. Fingers twitching.

Yes.

But she wouldn't give Weston the satisfaction of blind accusations.

"I don't assume without proof," she said smoothly. "But the timing is... interesting."

A slow, quiet laugh escaped Weston. She had passed his test.

He turned back to Mark. "Caldwell, pack your things. You're fired."

Mark stammered. "Sir, I-"

Weston didn't spare him another glance.

Instead, he turned to Serena. "Fix the contract. You have one hour."

She lifted her chin. "Done."

---

One hour later, she delivered.

Serena rebuilt the document from memory, verifying every clause, ensuring it was stronger than before.

She stepped into Weston's office and set the file down.

His eyes flicked up, expression unreadable.

"Done," she said.

He flipped through the pages, scanning them with the same intensity he did everything else.

Then-

A smirk.

"I didn't think you'd manage it."

Serena folded her arms. "You'll learn I always manage."

A slow, deliberate pause.

Weston closed the file, then stood.

This time, when he stepped toward her, the air between them changed.

It was subtle. A shift in weight. A quiet hum of something neither of them acknowledged.

He reached past her, placing the file onto his desk, his arm brushing against hers.

Serena's breath hitched.

Not from fear.

From something else.

Weston leaned in slightly, his voice a dark murmur.

"You belong to me now."

Her pulse jumped.

She should have stepped back. Should have said something cutting.

But she didn't.

Because for the first time in a long time...

She wasn't sure if she wanted to run.