Chapter 22
Serena
Felix Lawson.
The name detonated in my mind like a grenade.
I'd heard it before—whispered in boardroom corridors, mentioned in business articles Chloe had sent me. Lance's cousin. The golden boy who'd charmed his way up the corporate ladder while Lance rebuilt the company from the ground up. The one who smiled for cameras while Lance did the actual work.
And now, apparently, the one who'd been systematically embezzling company funds through fake procurement invoices.
"Afraid now?" Wesley's grin widened as he watched realization dawn across my face. "You really stepped in it this time, babe. Of all the people in this company to accuse—" He laughed, sharp and cruel. "Uncle Felix isn't just Head of Global Procurement. He's one of our largest shareholders. Board member. The family loves him." His eyes glittered with malice. "Unlike some people."
The unspoken name hung between us: Lance.
"So here's what's going to happen." Wesley stepped closer, folder still clutched in his hand like a weapon. "You're going to drop this little crusade of yours. You're going to apologize to me—properly, on your knees if I feel like it. And then maybe, maybe, I'll convince my family not to destroy yours completely."
My hands curled into fists. "Excuse me?"
"Do you know how many calls your parents have made to me in the past week?" His voice took on a mocking, wheedling tone. "'Please, Wesley, give Serena one more chance. She's just confused. She didn't mean what she said.'" He dropped the act, his expression hardening. "Your father literally cried on the phone. Begged me to take you back. Said he'd do anything—anything—to fix what you broke."
The words landed like physical blows. Of course they had. Of course my parents were already groveling, already trying to sell me back into the same prison I'd just escaped.
"You know what the funniest part is?" Wesley continued, clearly enjoying himself. "They didn't even ask if you were okay. Didn't ask where you were staying or if you had money. Just: 'How do we fix this? What does Wesley need?'"
Rage bloomed in my chest, hot and fierce.
"So." He held up the folder. "Last chance, Serena. Put down this ridiculous 'investigation.' Apologize for embarrassing me at The Sovereign. And at the Frick. Come back, play nice, and maybe—maybe—I'll consider not telling Uncle Felix that you tried to destroy his career with some amateur Nancy Drew bullshit."
I stared at him. At this man-child who'd wasted three years of my life. Who'd hidden me like a dirty secret while parading Vanessa Holland on his arm. Who thought a black card and empty promises made him a king.
And I laughed.
"Are you insane?" I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. "You think I'm going to crawl back to you? After everything? I'd rather burn every bridge in this city than spend another second pretending you're worth my time."
His face flushed red. "You arrogant little—"
"I'm going to expose this." My voice was steel. "I'm going to make sure everyone knows exactly what Felix Lawson has been doing with company funds. And you?" I smiled, sharp as broken glass. "I'm going to climb higher than you've ever dreamed. I'll make more money in a year than you've blown on bottle service. I'll—"
"SHUT UP!"
Wesley's hands moved before I could react. He grabbed the folder with both hands and ripped.
The sound of tearing paper filled the corridor.
"No—" I lunged for it, but he twisted away, tearing another page. Then another.
"You want to threaten my family?" He was shouting now, papers flying around us like confetti. "You want to play corporate whistleblower? Fine! Let's see how far you get without your precious evidence!"
I grabbed at his arms, trying to stop him, but he was stronger. Taller.
The folder was shredding apart. My evidence—gone. Every page I'd compiled, every damning comparison—torn into worthless scraps.
"Stop it! Wesley, stop—"
Behind us, the elevator chimed.
Voices. Footsteps. The early morning shift arriving to find their CEO's nephew in a physical altercation with the new analyst.
Perfect.
I could feel their stares. Hear the whispers starting already.
"Oh my God, is that Wesley Lawson?"
"Who's the girl?"
"I heard she was his girlfriend for years. Guess she moved on to someone else—"
"No wonder she got hired. Probably sleeping with half the executive floor."
The comments sliced through me, but I didn't let go. Couldn't let go. Even as the folder became nothing but shredded paper in Wesley's hands, I kept fighting.
"You can destroy the folder," I spat, fingers still locked around his wrists. "But I memorized every single transaction. Every fake invoice. Every SKU code. You think tearing up paper is going to make this disappear?"
"Then I'll make you disappear!" He raised his hand, palm open, aimed at my face.
The slap never landed.
A hand—large, efficient, cold as steel—caught Wesley's wrist mid-swing.
"That's enough."
Vincent's voice. Calm, professional, utterly devoid of emotion.
But it wasn't Vincent who made my heart stop.
It was the man standing two steps behind him.
Lance Lawson.