Chapter 205
Serena
The manager lunged forward instinctively, reaching for Vanessa's arm as she crumpled toward the polished marble floor. For a split second, I thought she might accept the help—might let someone catch her before she shattered completely.
Instead, her hand shot out and shoved him away with surprising violence.
"Get off me!" The words tore from her throat, raw and savage. "Don't you fucking touch me!"
The manager stumbled backward, nearly colliding with a display of leather key fobs. His face cycled through confusion, concern, and something that looked dangerously close to pity. "Ms. Holland, I was only trying to—"
"Trying to what?" Vanessa's voice cracked on the words as she hauled herself upright, one hand braced against the reception desk. Her knees were still shaking, her entire body trembling like she'd been caught in a winter storm. "If you hadn't been such a complete idiot—if you'd just sold her that stupid car like a normal person instead of making this ridiculous scene—my father would still—he wouldn't have—"
She broke off, chest heaving. The perfect makeup couldn't hide the mottled flush spreading across her cheeks, the mascara beginning to streak at the corners of her eyes.
The manager's confusion deepened into something bewildered and slightly defensive. "Ms. Holland, I don't think you understand why your father—"
"Shut up!" She whirled on him with such fury that he actually flinched. "The only thing I don't understand is why everyone in this godforsaken city treats this—this nobody like she's some kind of royalty!" Her voice rose to a near-shriek. "She's nothing! She comes from a bankrupt family that couldn't afford to keep the lights on, and yet somehow you're all falling over yourselves to kiss her ass!"
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the soft jazz playing through the overhead speakers seemed to fade into nothing.
I felt Vincent tense beside me, his entire body going rigid with barely contained rage. He started to rise from his seat, shoulders squaring, and I knew with sudden clarity that if I didn't stop him, Vanessa was about to receive a third slap—one that might do considerably more damage than the first two.
My hand shot out and caught his wrist.
"Don't." My voice came out quieter than I'd intended, but somehow it cut through the tension like a blade. "She's already lost everything. Look at her."
Vincent's jaw worked, muscles jumping beneath his skin, but he sank back down. His eyes never left Vanessa, though—watchful and predatory, like a wolf waiting for the slightest excuse to strike.
I turned my attention back to Vanessa, taking in the wild eyes, the trembling hands, the way she kept glancing toward the door as if expecting her father to burst through and tell her this was all some terrible joke. "She's putting the blame on everyone else," I continued, still speaking to Vincent but loud enough for the entire showroom to hear. "Even now, after everything, she can't accept that this is her own doing. She's completely lost touch with reality."
I let a small, cold smile curve my lips. "Why bother arguing with someone who's already gone insane?"
For a moment, Vanessa just stared at me. Then something seemed to snap inside her.
She grabbed one of the delicate porcelain teacups from the coffee table—the ones the manager had brought out earlier in a desperate attempt at hospitality—and hurled it at the floor with all her strength. It exploded against the marble in a spray of white shards and cold Earl Grey, the sound sharp enough to make everyone in the showroom jump.
"You did this!" She was pointing at me now, her finger shaking so badly it looked like she might lose control of her entire arm. "You made me lose the Holland name! You took everything from me! And I swear to God, Serena—I swear you're going to pay for this. You're going to die screaming, and I'm going to be there to watch!"
The threat hung in the air like smoke. Then Vanessa turned on her heel and stalked toward the exit, her steps uneven, her breathing ragged. The automatic doors slid open with a soft hiss, and she disappeared into the gray afternoon light.
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Then Lance's voice drifted in from the entrance, lazy and amused. "Well." He strolled back into the showroom, pocketing his phone with one hand while the other slid casually into his trouser pocket. "That went better than I expected."
I blinked at him. "Better?"
"Mm." He came to stand beside my chair, his presence solid and reassuring in the wake of Vanessa's explosive exit. "Judging by the broken china and the death threats, I'd say she's been completely cut off. No family support, no financial backing, no social standing to fall back on." His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "She's lost every tool she ever had to hurt you."
I wanted to feel triumphant. I wanted to bask in the victory, to savor the image of Vanessa Holland—perfect, untouchable Vanessa—reduced to a trembling, desperate shadow of herself.
Instead, I just felt tired.
"You canceled millions of dollars in contracts," I said, my voice coming out sharper than I'd intended. "Over a car, Lance. A single car. I know Felix isn't a threat anymore, but that kind of move can't be good for Lawson Capital's reputation. What if—"
"What if what?" Lance's tone was mild, but there was steel underneath. "What if people think I'm willing to burn bridges to protect the woman I love? What if they realize I don't tolerate anyone who tries to humiliate her?" He shrugged, the gesture elegant and unconcerned. "Let them think it. I'd rather pay a breach-of-contract penalty than let Marcus Holland's daughter continue to poison your life."