Chapter 245
Serena
The car was wrong.
I'd been in Vincent's vehicles before—sleek black sedans that screamed Lawson Capital, the kind that made pedestrians step back from crosswalks. This wasn't one of them. This was something I'd never seen, understated to the point of invisibility, the automotive equivalent of a witness protection program.
"I don't recognize this car," I said, my voice sharper than intended as Vincent guided me toward the passenger door with a hand that was gentle but unyielding.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Lance keeps certain assets in reserve. For situations exactly like this one." He opened the door, waited. "You understand—if we took one of the regular vehicles, we might as well paint a target on the roof."
The implication settled over me like ice water. Lance had planned for this. Had vehicles staged, routes mapped, contingencies for contingencies. Which meant he'd known, on some level, that everything could go catastrophically wrong.
I slid into the passenger seat because what else could I do? Fight Vincent in the middle of the street? Storm back upstairs to a man who'd already made his choice to face this alone?
The door closed with a sound like a vault sealing.
Vincent pulled into traffic with the kind of practiced calm that made my anxiety worse by contrast. Every muscle in my body was wire-taut, my hands twisting the fabric of my shirt until my knuckles ached. The city scrolled past the window—familiar buildings, familiar streets, all of it suddenly feeling like something I was being exiled from.
"You're sure he can get Wesley out?" The words burst out before I could stop them. "You're absolutely certain Lance can survive this?"
Vincent's hands shifted slightly on the wheel. "Well," he said, and there was something careful in his tone that made my stomach clench, "if you're asking whether I believe in him? Absolutely. One hundred percent."
"But?"
The word hung between us like a blade.
His expression flickered, something dark crossing his features before he smoothed it away. "But this is the endgame. Ten years of accumulated poison, finally coming to a head." He paused, seemed to weigh his next words. "Felix and Thomas aren't just enemies—they're family. When the Lawsons go to war with themselves, the casualties aren't measured in money or reputation. And when you factor in that Thomas murdered Lance's mother..." He trailed off, shook his head. "All I can say is that this internal conflict was always inevitable. And the outcome is going to be brutal."
The breath left my lungs in a rush.
I turned to look out the window, watching the city thin around us. Fewer cars. More space between buildings. The urban density that had always felt like armor was peeling away, leaving us exposed on increasingly empty roads.
"Fuck," I whispered. "They're betting everything. Their entire lives. And me?" My voice cracked. "I'm running away while two men fight to the death over situations I'm tangled up in. I'm fleeing Manhattan like a coward."
"Miss Vance—"
"Don't." I cut him off, something hot and acidic rising in my chest. "Don't tell me I'm not. Don't dress it up."
Vincent's jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady, almost gentle. "You staying safe is the only thing that allows Lance to fight without restraint. You don't want him distracted, do you? Worrying about whether you're in danger while he's dealing with Felix and Thomas?"
He glanced at me, and there was something fierce in his expression now, something that reminded me why Lance trusted this man with everything that mattered.
"I've worked for Lance for eight years," Vincent continued. "I've seen him dismantle competitors, restructure billion-dollar deals, stare down board rooms full of men who wanted him dead. But I've never—not once—seen him truly unleash himself. Not until now." His hands tightened on the wheel. "When the King of Wall Street stops playing by the rules? Felix and Thomas are going to wish they'd never been born into the Lawson family at all."
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe that Lance was invincible, that this would end with him walking back through my door with that slight smirk and Wesley trailing behind him, bruised but breathing.
But belief felt like a luxury I couldn't afford.
"I need to do something," I said, hating how my voice shook. "I can't just—I have to help. There has to be something—"