Chapter 83
Serena
"That's me."
"You seem like—I mean, you're clearly very put-together." God, I sounded like an idiot. "Someone as... vibrant as you. I'm sure you must have a boyfriend. Or—or someone. Someone special."
Isabella looked up from her filing, her expression shifting to something that might have been amusement. "Actually, no. I don't."
My stomach dropped. "Really?"
"Really." She set down the papers, leaning back in her chair. "I know it probably sounds cliché, but I've been so focused on my career lately that dating kind of fell by the wayside. And honestly?" She shrugged. "When I do date, I prefer someone a bit older. More mature. Someone with life experience, you know? Guys my age tend to be so..." She wrinkled her nose. "Immature."
Oh no.
Oh no no no no.
"Mature," I repeated faintly. "Like... how much older?"
"Well, I'm twenty," Isabella said matter-of-factly. "So ten years? Fourteen?" She seemed completely unaware of the small crisis I was having in my chair. "I like men who have their lives together. Who know what they want. Who aren't still figuring out who they are."
Ten to fourteen years older than twenty. That would put her preferred age range right around thirty to thirty-four.
Lance was thirty-four.
Fuck.
"But of course," I said, my voice coming out slightly strangled, "your family probably has opinions about that. About who you should be with. I'm sure there's pressure—arranged marriages, family obligations, that whole thing." I was definitely not fishing for information. Definitely not hoping she'd say she was being forced into something she didn't want.
Isabella laughed. "Oh, my aunt Eleanor absolutely hates the idea of arranged marriages. She thinks they're archaic and controlling."
My hopes lifted slightly.
"But me?" Isabella continued, and my hopes immediately crashed back down. "I don't really mind the concept, honestly. I mean, if it's someone suitable—someone I could actually see myself with—does it really matter if we met through family introduction or on a dating app?" She smiled. "Love is love. Connection is connection. Whether it happens organically or through a family dinner, if there's chemistry, there's chemistry."
I felt like I was going to be sick.
This was worse than I'd thought. So much worse. Because Isabella wasn't some reluctant participant being forced into an arrangement she didn't want. She was open to it. Willing. Possibly even interested.
And if Author arranged a dinner, if Lance actually met this woman—this brilliant, accomplished, beautiful woman who was mature beyond her years and looking for exactly the kind of man Lance was—
"Actually," Isabella said, her voice pulling me back to the present, "speaking of family introductions..." She bit her lip, looking almost shy for the first time since I'd walked in. "There is something coming up. A meeting my dad's been trying to arrange."
My heart stopped.
"Oh?" I managed to force the word out. "A... meeting?"
"Yeah. He wants me to have dinner with someone. Says we'd be compatible." Isabella's smile was soft, almost hopeful. "I haven't said yes yet—I mean, these things can be so awkward, right? But I'm considering it. He sounds... interesting."
"Has he—" I swallowed hard. "Has he said yes? To the dinner?"
"Not yet. My dad's still waiting for his response." Isabella returned to her filing, seemingly oblivious to the way my entire world was currently imploding. "But fingers crossed. From what he's told me about him, he seems like exactly my type."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only sit there imagining Lance reading the invitation, considering it, maybe even agreeing to it because why wouldn't he? Isabella was perfect. Exactly the kind of woman Arthur would approve of. Exactly the kind of match that would solve all his family pressure problems in one elegant swoop.
"Well," I said, standing abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. "I should—I need to go. Thank you for your help with the contracts. I really appreciate—"
"Of course!" Isabella stood as well, shaking my hand with genuine warmth. "It was lovely meeting you, Miss Vance. And congratulations on the company. That's a bold move, taking on a turnaround like that. I admire your courage."
"Thanks," I managed. "Good luck with your... meeting. Dinner. Whatever."
I was already moving toward the door, desperate to escape before I said something stupid or, worse, started asking questions I had no right to ask.
My mind was racing as I stepped into the hallway. I needed to call Lance. Right now. I needed to tell him—
What?
What exactly would I tell him? "Don't have dinner with Eleanor's niece because I've decided I have dibs on you"? "Ignore any invitations from your stepmother because I'm irrationally jealous of a twenty-year-old lawyer I just met"?
I had no claim on Lance. No relationship beyond employee and employer. No right to feel this burning, possessive anger at the thought of him sitting across from Isabella at some romantic restaurant—
"Well, well, well."
The voice cut through my thoughts like a knife.
I looked up and felt my blood run cold.
Vanessa and Wesley stood at the end of the hallway, blocking my path to the elevators. And in Vanessa's hands, held up like trophies—
Photographs.
Even from here, I could see what they were. Me and Lance. Outside the restaurant. My face flushed and eyes half-closed, my body leaning heavily against his. His arm around my waist, steadying me. The angle, the lighting, the expressions on our faces—
It looked exactly like what they wanted it to look like.
"Looking a little pale there, Serena." Vanessa's smile was vicious, triumphant. "Guilty conscience?"
Wesley hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. Just stood there watching me with an expression I'd never seen before—cold, assessing, almost clinical in his observation.
"I have to say," Vanessa continued, taking a step forward, "when these first came across my desk, I wasn't sure I believed it. Serena Vance, the girl who spent three years playing perfect girlfriend to Wesley, suddenly showing up at expensive restaurants with his uncle?" She laughed, sharp and cruel. "I mean, we knew you were desperate, but this? This is a whole new level."
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
Because behind them, I could see another figure emerging from the elevators. A woman in her fifties, perfectly coiffed, watching the scene with cool interest.
And suddenly I realized—we weren't alone in this hallway.
We were in Lloyd & Partners. Eleanor's family firm. Where anyone could be watching. Where any scene could become gossip that reached exactly the wrong ears.
"Well?" Vanessa demanded, holding up the photographs higher. "Aren't you going to explain? Aren't you going to tell us how these photos are totally innocent? How your sugar daddy just happened to be Lance Lawson this whole time?"
Wesley finally spoke, his voice quiet but cutting. "I have to know, Serena." His eyes locked on mine. "Is this why you really broke up with me? Did you already have your sights set higher? On someone with actual power?"
They had me cornered. In front and behind, with those damning photographs between us, in a building where any scandal could spread faster than wildfire.