CEO’s Regret After I Divorced (Serena and Ryan) novel Chapter 359

Chapter 359: Chapter 359 The Real Serena

Serena’s POV

How the hell did I end up on this stage?

The crowd’s energy is infectious in the worst possible way—champagne-fueled enthusiasm mixed with that particular brand of London society bloodlust that comes out when they sense drama. I can feel hands literally pushing me forward, voices shouting encouragement that sounds more like demands.

Great. Just what I needed tonight.

I grip the microphone like a lifeline, my palms already slick with sweat. The spotlight is blinding, but somehow my eyes find him immediately. Ryan. He’s standing near the back, that unsettling intensity radiating from him like heat waves. His stare has been burning into me all evening—relentless, uncomfortable, like he’s trying to figure out some puzzle I don’t even know I’m part of.

Why does he keep looking at me like that? It’s making my skin crawl.

My pulse hammers against my throat, but I force myself to speak. Standard hostess nonsense—thanking everyone for their support, expressing gratitude for the incredible turnout, blah blah blah. The crowd eats it up, clapping and cheering like I’ve just delivered the Gettysburg Address.

Then the real torture begins.

"Come on, get Mr. Lancaster up there too!"

"When’s the wedding banquet? Don’t keep us in suspense!"

"We want our invitations!"

"Seriously, you two are like something out of a fairy tale!"

A fairy tale. If only they knew how complicated this actually is.

The noise level doubles as everyone starts shouting suggestions and demands. Cedric materializes beside me with that effortless confidence I’ve always envied, his arm sliding around my waist like we’ve rehearsed this moment a thousand times.

"Thank you all so much," his voice carries perfectly over the crowd, smooth as aged whiskey. "Serena and I have actually been discussing this, and once we get through this insane month, we’re definitely planning a proper celebration here in London. You’ll all be the first to know."

We’ve been discussing what now?

My smile feels like it might crack my face in half. When exactly did we have this conversation? His fingers press against my side—a warning, a request, a gentle threat all rolled into one. Play along. Don’t ruin the magic.

Fine. Whatever gets me off this stage faster.

But something in the crowd shifts, and my eyes find Ryan again. This time, he’s not staring. He’s moving—pushing through the throng of people with determined strides, heading straight for the exit.

He’s leaving.

The realization hits me with unexpected force. I watch his broad shoulders disappear through the hotel doors, and something inside my chest tightens uncomfortably.

Why do I care? He’s been nothing but trouble since he showed up.

But there’s something about the way he left—abrupt, almost... hurt?—that bothers me more than I want to admit. My throat burns, and I realize with horror that I’m feeling emotional. On stage. In front of half of London. While pretending to be blissfully happy with my husband.

Get it together, Serena. You don’t even know this man.

Cedric must feel the change in my body language because he smoothly guides us off the stage, his hand steady at my elbow. The concern in his eyes looks genuine, which somehow makes everything more confusing.

"Serena, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing. Too much champagne probably." My voice sounds strange, distant. I want to find a bathroom and lock myself in until this night is over, until I can figure out why a complete stranger’s departure is affecting me this much.

"Are you sure? You look—"

"I’m fine." I’m not fine. I’m confused and tired and this whole night has been too much.

I can’t leave—not yet, not when everyone’s watching, waiting to see if the fairy tale couple will crack under pressure.

"Five minutes," I whisper back. "Just give me five minutes to pull myself together."

Fake it till you make it. That’s gotten me this far.

I manage to hold it together through the rest of the speeches, the toasts, the endless parade of networking conversations. By the time the last guests start filtering toward the exits, my face hurts from smiling and my feet are screaming in these designer heels.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify