Chapter 291

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the hospital window, casting a warm glow over the room where Dylan Reeves lay recovering. Serena Cole sat beside him, her fingers gently tracing patterns on the back of his hand. The quiet moment was abruptly shattered when Dylan’s phone rang.

Serena glanced at the screen—Cassandra Whitmore flashed across the display. Without hesitation, she answered and held the phone to Dylan’s ear.

"Mom?" Dylan’s voice was rough from disuse.

"Everything’s falling apart again!" Cassandra’s sharp tone crackled through the speaker, thick with urgency.

Dylan’s expression darkened instantly. "What happened?"

"Just look at the news," she snapped before hanging up.

A knot of dread twisted in Serena’s stomach as Dylan turned to her, his jaw tight. "Serena, check the headlines. Now."

Her fingers trembled as she unlocked her phone and opened her social media. The moment the page loaded, her breath hitched.

Hundreds—no, thousands—of notifications flooded her screen.

"Pathetic liar! Gold-digging homewrecker!"

"You disgust me. Get out of the Blackwood Symphony!"

"How dare you play the victim? Unfollowed and blocked!"

Each comment was a fresh stab to her chest. Swallowing hard, she refreshed her feed—and froze.

A post from Leonard Grant dominated the top of the page.

Her vision blurred as she read the words, the room tilting around her.

No. No, no, no—

Dylan noticed the blood draining from her face. "Serena, what is it?"

Hands shaking, she passed him the phone. His eyes scanned the screen, his expression turning stormy.

The post read:

"As Chairman of Grant Industries and father to Nathan Black, I must address Ms. Cole’s recent behavior. Should you find yourself in distress, I suggest contacting your own family rather than a married man in the dead of night. Have you no sense of propriety? While my son is not without fault, I have reminded him of his marital obligations and advised him to distance himself from certain individuals. His marriage is strong. Any attempts to undermine it will be met with consequences."

The statement was a death sentence—painting Serena as the villain, the scheming seductress who had overstepped.

Dylan’s grip on the phone tightened. He scrolled through the comments, each one more vicious than the last.

"Wow. Leonard Grant never makes public statements. Serena must have really crossed a line!"

"She’s officially branded as the other woman. No coming back from this."

"Did she really think she could fool everyone with those ‘old photos’? Karma’s a bitch!"

Serena’s hands curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms.

This wasn’t just a scandal.

This was war.