Chapter 212
Serena
The Aston Martin gleamed under the morning sun like a predator at rest.
I stood on the sidewalk, staring at the midnight blue convertible parked directly in front of my building. Ostentatious. Impossible to miss. Clearly worth more than most people earned in a year.
My jaw tightened as I approached, running my fingers along the flawless paint job. I should have felt uncomfortable with this—with Lance spending money on me so casually, with the statement this car made to everyone who saw it. I'd never been the type to enjoy being bought.
But God, it was beautiful.
The smile tugging at my lips felt like a betrayal of my own principles. What was happening to me?
The elevator ride to the fifth floor felt longer than usual. I clutched the envelope in my hand, trying to compose myself before facing my team. The moment those doors opened, I knew my peaceful morning was over.
"Oh my God, did you see the news?" Sophie's voice carried across the entire office space.
"Which news?" That was James, our junior analyst, swiveling in his chair with obvious interest.
"About Serena and Lance Lawson!" Sophie was practically bouncing. "They're officially together! There are photos from the gala everywhere!"
My hand paused on the door handle.
"Wait, THE Lance Lawson?" Rebecca's voice pitched higher. "The guy who's never been photographed with anyone? The one they call the Ice King of Wall Street?"
"That's the one!" Sophie pulled up something on her screen. "Except he doesn't look very icy here. Look at the way he's looking at her. God, who knew that man was capable of smiling like that?"
"And did you guys see the car downstairs?" James interjected. "That Aston Martin? That's got to be from him. I looked it up—base price starts at three hundred thousand."
"Three hundred—" Rebecca's voice cracked. "For a car? Jesus Christ, Serena really hit the jackpot. Not only is she building this empire, but she's got New York's most eligible bachelor completely wrapped around her finger."
"Maybe he'll come by the office sometime," Sophie mused. "Can you imagine? Lance Lawson just casually walking through our door?"
I cleared my throat loudly.
All three of them jumped, faces flushing various shades of red as they spun to face me.
"Good morning," I said pleasantly, leaning against the doorframe. "You all seem to have a lot of free time this morning. Should I assume you've finished the quarterly projections? Completed the client outreach? Finalized the gallery contracts?"
"We were just—" Sophie stammered.
"Discussing my personal life instead of working?" I raised an eyebrow. "Fascinating priority management."
"Sorry, boss," James muttered, already turning back to his computer.
"Mm-hmm." I fought back a smile as I walked past them toward my office. "I expect those reports by noon."
The moment I closed the door behind me, I allowed myself to relax. The keys sat on my desk exactly where Lance had promised, attached to a leather fob embossed with my initials. Next to them lay a handwritten note in his precise, controlled script.
The car is yours. I've also taken the liberty of including a selection of gowns in the trunk—I know you prefer to choose your own wardrobe, but I wanted to ensure you had options for Arthur's birthday celebration in three days. I want you to walk into that room knowing you're the most stunning woman there. Because you will be. —L
I traced my fingers over the words, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in my chest. Three days. Three days until Arthur Lawson's birthday celebration—the kind of event where every power player in New York would be watching, evaluating, judging.
It wasn't just a party. It was my formal debut into their world, my chance to prove I belonged among the elite. Three days to prepare for whatever scrutiny awaited.
The thought sobered me quickly.
I was just reaching for the keys when raised voices erupted from the outer office.
"Excuse me, you can't just—"
"We need appointments to see the CEO!"
"Sir, ma'am, please, you're going to knock over—"
I yanked open my door.
The scene before me was chaos. Rebecca and Sophie had positioned themselves at the top of the stairs like human barriers, while James hovered nervously near the reception desk. And pushing past all of them, laden with shopping bags and designer boxes, were three people I'd hoped never to see again.
My father. My mother. And Elena.
"What," I said coldly, "are you doing here?"
Every head in the office swiveled toward me, then back to the intruders, confusion written across their faces.
Elena's perfectly painted lips curved into a triumphant smile. "See? I told you she'd see us. You can let us through now." She waved dismissively at my employees. "Don't you people have work to do? You realize you could all be fired at any moment, right?"
Sophie's face flushed with anger, but I held up a hand before she could respond.
"They're right," I said evenly, my gaze locked on Elena. "Seeing me does require an appointment. Which none of you have."
"Serena!" My mother's voice hit that particular pitch of outrage she'd perfected over the years. "What kind of joke is this? We're your parents!"
"Really?" I crossed my arms, making no move to invite them into my office. "Because the last time I checked, when my company was barely surviving, when I was drowning in debt and working around the clock, none of you showed your faces. No calls. No texts. Complete silence. But now that my business is stable and I'm making headlines, suddenly you remember where my office is?"
"You ungrateful little—" Elena started.
"Careful," I interrupted softly. "You're in my office now. My territory. My rules."
My father's jaw clenched, that familiar flash of anger sparking in his eyes. But he tamped it down quickly, smoothing his expression into something approximating paternal concern. "Serena, we came to bring you gifts. To congratulate you on everything you've accomplished."
I let my skeptical gaze sweep over the shopping bags they carried. "Gifts. How thoughtful."
"Of course!" My mother's laugh was brittle, artificial. "Our daughter is thriving! Your company is growing so quickly! And your boyfriend—" Her eyes gleamed with calculated interest. "We heard he's quite... extraordinary."
At the mention of Lance, Elena's expression flickered—just for a moment, but I caught it. Jealousy, sharp and bitter.
"Open them," I said abruptly.
My father blinked. "What?"
"The gifts. Open them. Right here. Let everyone see what you brought."
"Serena, this is hardly appropriate—" my mother began.
"Why not?" I leaned against the doorframe, deliberately casual. "We're all family here, right? And you said these gifts represent how proud you are of me. Surely you want my team to see the thoughtfulness behind them."
An uncomfortable silence stretched between us. Finally, my mother nodded curtly at Elena.
With obvious reluctance, Elena began pulling items from the bags. The distinctive orange boxes of Hermès emerged first, followed by the iconic brown and gold of Louis Vuitton. A wooden case of what appeared to be expensive wine. Several jewelry boxes from brands I recognized.
My employees' eyes widened. Even I had to admit, at first glance, it looked impressive.
"Well," Sophie whispered to Rebecca, "at least they went all out."
"See?" My mother's smile turned triumphant. "Only the best for our successful daughter! These gifts match your new status perfectly."
She reached to start packing them back up, but I raised my hand.
"Wait. Why stop now?" My voice was honey-sweet, dangerous. "You've opened the bags, but not the boxes themselves. Let's see everything. After all—" I met my mother's eyes directly, "—I'm sure you personally selected each item with such care. It would be a shame not to appreciate them fully."
The color drained from my mother's face.
"Serena, really, this isn't necessary—" my father started.
"Open them," I repeated, my tone leaving no room for argument. "All of them. Right now."