Chapter 61
Wesley
The painting sat on Felix's pristine white sofa like an accusation.
"This piece of shit," Vanessa hissed, pacing behind the sofa like a caged animal. Her Louboutins clicked an angry rhythm against Felix's marble floors. "It's barely worth two million. We paid ten times that. Ten fucking times."
She whirled on me, her perfect composure finally cracking. "And it's all because of that bitch."
I should have agreed. Should have been equally furious about the money, about the painting, about getting played in front of half of New York's elite.
But my mind kept circling back to that text message.
My sugar daddy makes Felix look like a trust fund baby.
The photo had been deliberately vague—just a man's silhouette against floor-to-ceiling windows, the kind of penthouse view that cost more than most people made in a lifetime. But something about the stance, the breadth of those shoulders, had triggered a sick recognition in my gut.
When had Serena become this person? This woman who could lie with a straight face, who could manipulate an auction crowd, who could casually reference being kept like it was a business transaction?
The Serena I'd dated—the one who'd waited patiently while I partied, who'd never complained when I forgot our anniversary, who'd made herself small and agreeable—that girl would have been horrified by the very concept of a sugar daddy.
This new version terrified me in ways I didn't want to examine.
"Are you even listening?" Vanessa snapped, and I realized she'd been talking. "I said this is your fault. You trained her to be like this."
"I didn't train her to do anything," I shot back, more defensively than I'd intended. "She was never like this before."
"Well, she sure as hell is now." Vanessa's laugh was ugly. "Probably spreading her legs for whoever's bankrolling her little revenge tour. That's how girls like her operate when they lose their meal ticket."
The words should have satisfied something in me—confirmation that Serena had degraded herself, that she'd proven herself unworthy of the Lawson name. Instead, they just made me feel... empty.
Sad, even.
Which was ridiculous. I had no reason to feel sad about Serena moving on. I'd moved on first. I'd chosen Vanessa, with her perfect pedigree and her family's media empire and her ability to navigate society in ways Serena never could.
So why did the image of Serena bidding millions with that cold smile make my chest feel like someone had carved something out?
"At least we got the painting," I said, forcing my voice to sound confident. "Arthur will be pleased."
"Will he?" The new voice made us both jump.
Felix emerged from the balcony, his phone still in hand, that perpetual smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He'd been out there for the past twenty minutes, conducting some deal in that smooth, cultured voice that made everything sound reasonable.
"Felix!" Vanessa's anger transformed instantly into something softer, grateful. "We couldn't have done this without you."
"Indeed." Felix's smile widened as he crossed to the bar, pouring himself two fingers of scotch with practiced ease. "Though I must admit, the final price was... higher than anticipated."
I felt my stomach drop. "Uncle, I know we went over budget, but—"
"Over budget?" Felix's laugh was light, almost musical. But something in his eyes had gone cold. "Wesley, we agreed on ten million dollars. The painting sold for twenty."
The room seemed to shrink.
"I'll figure it out," I said quickly. "My trust fund—"
"Is controlled by Lance until you turn thirty." Felix took a slow sip of his scotch. "We both know that."
Vanessa stepped forward, her face flushed. "Felix, I'll cover the difference. Just... please don't mention this to my father."
Felix's expression softened immediately. "My dear girl, I would never dream of it." He set down his glass, crossing to place a paternal hand on her shoulder. "In fact, let's call it even. Ten million each—split the difference fairly. No interest, no timeline. You can repay me whenever circumstances allow."
The relief on Vanessa's face was almost painful to watch. "Felix, that's... you're too generous."
"Generosity has nothing to do with it." Felix's voice had taken on that particular tone he used when making a point. "This is about principle. About standing together against those who would manipulate and deceive."
He moved back to the sofa, running one elegant finger along the painting's ornate frame. "If my research is correct—and it usually is—Miss Vance had exactly ten million dollars at her disposal tonight. Which means she deliberately bid up the price, knowing she couldn't afford it, purely to cause you financial harm."
"What?" Vanessa's voice cracked with fury.
I felt something cold settle in my chest. "She was bluffing?"
"Masterfully." Felix's smile was sharp now, predatory. "She played you both like instruments. Made you spend double what you needed to, then walked away without spending a dime. It's actually rather brilliant, in a sociopathic sort of way."
Vanessa exploded. "That manipulative little—she can't just—there have to be consequences for that kind of—"
But I wasn't really listening. My mind was still trying to reconcile the girl I'd known with the woman who could orchestrate something this calculated. This cruel.
The anger was there—hot and immediate, the kind that made my jaw clench and my hands curl into fists. She'd made fools of us. Cost us millions. Walked away laughing.
But underneath it, something else twisted. Something I didn't want to name.
"Felix," Vanessa was saying, her voice taking on that coaxing tone she used when she wanted something. "You must have some idea how to handle this. How to make her pay."
Felix was quiet for a long moment, his gaze shifting from Vanessa to me. Something flickered across his face—calculation, perhaps, or satisfaction.
When his eyes settled on me, I felt a chill run down my spine. There was something in that look I couldn't quite read, something that made me want to shift in my seat like a child caught misbehaving.
"The show is about to begin," Felix said softly, his smile never quite reaching his eyes. He stood, smoothing down his jacket with practiced ease. "Wesley, I'll need you to handle something for me. Something that requires... discretion."
I nodded slowly, not trusting myself to speak.