Chapter 40
Serena
The car stopped five houses down from the Vance estate. Through the tinted window, I saw them waiting on the front steps like some twisted reception committee—Father with his leather belt already in hand, Mother standing rigid with calculation in her eyes, and Elena pacing back and forth with her teeth bared, looking more feral than I'd ever seen her.
"Well," Vincent said from the driver's seat, dry amusement threading through his tone. "You said the battle had started early. I see you weren't exaggerating. Shall I accompany you inside?"
"No need." I reached for the door handle, the Valentino pumps Lance had sent hitting the pavement with a decisive click. "Wait for my good news, Vincent."
The door shut with a satisfying thud, and I started up the cracked driveway without looking back, my stride long and deliberate, the kind of walk that announced ownership of every inch of ground I crossed. The burgundy Max Mara suit—Lance's armor—moved like liquid confidence against my skin, and I felt a smile curve across my lips as I watched them gape.
"What the fuck?" Father's voice cracked across the morning air, the belt hanging loose in his grip as if he'd forgotten what he was holding.
Mother recovered first, her eyes narrowing as she catalogued every detail of my appearance. "You dress like that to come grovel? Or are you here to mock us?"
Elena didn't bother with words. She lunged for me with her fingers clawed, but I sidestepped with an ease that surprised us both, putting just enough distance between us that her grasping hands found only air. "Careful, Elena," I said, my voice carrying that dangerous sweetness I'd perfected. "Don't wrinkle the jacket. Your family can't afford to replace it."
The words landed like a slap. I turned away from her sputtering rage and found a nearby garden chair, crossing my legs as if I were presiding over a board meeting instead of a family intervention.
Father raised the belt, his arm trembling. Mother's hand shot out to catch his wrist before the blow could land.
"Wait." Mother's voice sharpened. Her eyes swept over me—the suit, the shoes, the confidence I'd never had before—then tracked past me to where the Bentley waited down the street, the same car from last time, positioned at a careful distance.
Her grip snapped around Father's wrist before the belt could fall. "Something's different about her." Her tone turned cautious. "Make her kneel and apologize first. We can deal with punishment after."
"Mother!" Elena's shriek carried that edge of hysteria I remembered from childhood tantrums. "You don't know what she did to me last night! She set me up, she drugged me—"
"Did what?" I let the question hang there, examining my nails with casual interest. "All I did was exactly what you and Father planned to do to me. Sell me to a decrepit old man for cash. Only I was clever enough not to drink from the wrong glass."
Father made a strangled sound. Mother stepped forward with her hands raised in that placating gesture she used when she wanted something.
"Serena, darling, how can you say such things? We would never—we're not that kind of family—"
I reached into my Bottega Veneta bag and withdrew the contract, the paper making a satisfying snap as I flicked it open and tossed it onto the garden table between us. "I can understand Elena being upset," I said, my tone conversational. "After all, she's the one who ended up in Henderson's hotel room instead of me. But you two? You got exactly what you wanted. Five hundred thousand dollars for that collection of third-rate watercolors. I'd say you should be thanking me."
Father snatched up the contract with shaking hands, his eyes scanning the signature, the dollar amount. "You actually got him to sign?"
The words came out hushed, almost reverent. I watched greed battle pride across his features, watched desperation win.
"Dad!" Elena's voice pitched higher. "Who cares about the money? She ruined me! Everyone in New York has seen those photos—"
"Five hundred thousand," Father breathed, clutching the contract like a lifeline. I watched the exact moment avarice won, watched him weigh his daughter's reputation against cold cash and choose the money.
"Last night was just a warning shot," I said softly. "Keep pushing, and I'm happy to escalate. Right now, the entire city knows Elena fucked a married man twice her age for a business deal. I wonder what that does to her marriage prospects? What it does to the Vance name when tabloids start asking if this is a family tradition?"
The threat hung in the air, ugly and undeniable. Elena lunged for the broom leaning against the wall, raising it above her head with murder in her eyes.
I stayed perfectly still. "Go ahead. Hit me. Damage the only daughter you have left with any shred of reputation. Because once you do, the Vance family has nothing left to trade on. No beauty, no charm, no social capital. Just debt and shame."
The broom trembled in her grip. For a heartbeat I thought she might actually do it. Then Father moved, faster than I'd seen him move in years, catching the broom mid-swing.
"Stop!" His voice cracked. "We need to stay calm. We need to think this through."
"Exactly," Mother added, her tone shifting to false sweetness. "Serena, darling, we've heard such exciting news about your position at Lawson Capital. The Grey Estate acquisition—such important work. Even if there's been some tension, you're still our daughter. Our best hope for restoring the family's fortunes."
The manipulation should have made me sick. But watching Elena's face contort with impotent rage as Mother essentially announced I was more valuable? That was delicious. That made every uncomfortable second worth it.
"Well, well, well." A new voice cut across the tension, smooth and masculine and dripping with condescension. "The Vance family reunion in full swing. How touching. And here I thought I was arriving at the worst possible time."
We all turned in unison. Wesley Lawson stood at the foot of the driveway, hands in pockets, that smirk I'd once found charming plastered across his face. He looked different—harder around the edges despite the immaculate Tom Ford suit, his eyes carrying a gleam that spoke of sleepless nights and too much scotch.
Mother's transformation was instantaneous. "Wesley! What a wonderful surprise!" Her eyes darted to me with barely concealed hope. "Have you come to reconcile with Serena?"