Serena's POV
The rain had not stopped when she reached the Ministry.
It fell in soft, relentless sheets — enough to blur the lamps, to soften the edges of the world.
Her driver offered to escort her to the door, but she refused. The short walk through the drizzle felt necessary, a kind of penance.
Inside, the building was hushed.
Clerks moved through the corridors like ghosts, their murmurs fading into silence as she passed.
Their eyes lingered on her — not with respect, not even with curiosity, but with that specific, poisonous interest reserved for women whose reputations were both fragile and fascinating.
The Minister's woman.
That's what they whispered now.
Serena kept her chin high. Her steps were measured, graceful, deliberate — as if every movement were an assertion of her right to stand there.
When she reached the private floor, the guard simply nodded and opened the door.
No one stopped her anymore.
