Chapter 41
Serena
Father straightened immediately, his belt-wielding fury morphing into obsequious charm as he extended his hand toward Wesley. "Young Lawson! What an honor to have you visit our home!"
The sight made my stomach turn. I leaned back in the wingback chair, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate casualness, and let my voice cut through their performance like ice.
"What are you doing here?" I kept my tone flat, bored. "Come to beg me to take you back? Sorry. Not interested."
Wesley's smirk vanished, his face darkening. "Henderson couldn't handle you last night. I have to admit, I'm impressed." His gaze shifted past me, landing on Elena with something between contempt and satisfaction. "But I'm not here for you, Serena. I'm here for your stupid sister."
He pulled an envelope from his jacket's inner pocket with theatrical flourish—cream-colored card stock embossed with gold, the Lawson family crest gleaming under the foyer's chandelier. He spun it between his fingers once, twice, then placed it on the table in front of Elena with exaggerated care.
"My great-grandfather has graciously decided to extend an invitation to the Vance family." His voice dripped with false sympathy. "For his eightieth birthday gala. Since there's only one invitation, naturally it goes to you, Elena. I heard about your unfortunate... incident last night. Such a tragedy. You must be devastated."
Elena's wounded expression transformed instantly, pain giving way to greedy excitement. "Arthur Lawson's birthday?" Her voice climbed with barely restrained glee. "The Arthur Lawson? Oh my God, this is—this is incredible!"
I stared at the invitation, my mind immediately calculating. Arthur's birthday meant the entire Lawson family would be there. Board members. Major shareholders. And Lance—Lance would be there, in his element, commanding that room the way he commanded everything else.
A chance to see him. To be near him. To watch him work.
My pulse quickened.
Elena reached for the invitation, her fingers trembling with anticipation.
"Oh?" The word slipped out before I could stop it, light and conversational. I tilted my head toward my parents, letting amusement color my tone. "One invitation. For a woman who's already dirty. Isn't that a bit... wasteful?"
Elena froze, her hand hovering inches from the card.
"I mean," I continued, examining my nails with studied disinterest, "no matter how high-class the venue, no matter how exclusive the guest list—Elena only has one thing now. Her reputation. Or rather—" I looked up, meeting her eyes with a smile that was all teeth, "—her complete lack of one."
"You BITCH—" Elena lunged for me.
But she never reached the invitation.
Mother's hand shot out faster than either of us expected, slamming down on the card stock with enough force to make the table shake. Her palm pressed flat against the embossed crest, fingers splayed possessively.
Elena stopped mid-lunge, her face cycling through shock, confusion, then dawning horror.
Mother's eyes weren't on Elena anymore. They were fixed on me—specifically, on my Max Mara dress, then tracking past me to the Bentley still idling at the curb. I watched the calculation happen in real time, watched greed override whatever maternal instinct might have once existed.
"Wesley." Mother's voice came out honey-sweet, that society matron charm she'd perfected over decades of networking events. "I think there's been a misunderstanding." She snatched up the invitation, her grip white-knuckled as she held it away from Elena's reaching hands. "Elena isn't feeling well. The stress from last night—she needs rest. Quiet. Time to recover from this terrible scandal."
She turned to me, and the smile that spread across her face made my skin crawl.
"Naturally, the invitation should go to Serena. She works at Lawson Capital now. She's making such wonderful connections. This kind of event is perfect for her career development."
"WHAT?" Elena's shriek could have shattered glass. "Mom, NO! You can't—after what she did to me—after she RUINED everything—"
"Elena, darling, calm down—"
"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!" Elena was practically vibrating with rage, her face mottled red. "I AM GOING TO THAT PARTY! It's the only chance I have to fix my reputation! To show everyone that I'm not—that I didn't—" Her voice cracked. "Mom, please! One mistake doesn't define me!"
She lunged for the invitation, fingers clawing at Mother's grip.
Father stood frozen, his eyes darting between Elena's desperation and the Bentley outside. I could see the war playing out on his face—familial loyalty versus financial survival, emotions versus cold calculation.
Time to tip the scales.
"By the way," I said casually, as if commenting on the weather, "Lance Lawson personally promoted me. Gave me the Grey Estate acquisition—you know, that project Wesley spent months trying to get assigned to?" I paused, letting that sink in. "Lance said I had 'exceptional talent.' His exact words."
I uncrossed my legs, leaning forward just slightly. "He's taken a special interest in my career development. Very hands-on mentorship. Who knows?" I shrugged, the gesture deliberately careless. "If things continue this way, I might end up quite successful. Influential, even."
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue—not because it was untrue, exactly, but because I was using Lance's name to manipulate my own family.
Father's face cleared of all hesitation. His hand moved before Elena could react—a sharp crack echoing through the foyer as his palm connected with her cheek.
Elena stumbled backward, hand flying to her reddening face, eyes wide with shock and betrayal.
"Enough," Father said coldly. He picked up the invitation with careful reverence, turning it over in his hands like it was made of spun gold. "Your mother is right. You need rest. Time away from the public eye." His gaze shifted to me, and something ugly flickered in his expression—resentment mixed with desperate hope. "Serena will represent the family."
He held out the invitation.
I stood slowly, every movement deliberate, and crossed the space between us. My fingers closed around the card stock, feeling its weight, its significance.
Behind me, Elena made a sound like a wounded animal—rage and pain compressed into something inhuman.
"You'll regret this," she hissed, her voice shaking. "All of you. She'll destroy this family, and you're handing her the tools to do it."