Chapter 213
Serena
I could feel my team's attention boring into my back. Sophie had stopped typing. James's chair no longer squeaked. Even Rebecca, who usually had the emotional awareness of a brick, had gone completely still.
Good. Let them see. Let them all see exactly what kind of family I came from.
When no one moved, I strode forward myself.
The first bag was Hermès orange, the iconic color practically glowing under the fluorescent lights. I pulled out the tissue paper with deliberate care, letting it flutter to the floor. Inside was a dress—Chanel, if the label was to be believed. But the moment I lifted it, the truth became obvious.
The fabric was worn thin at the seams. There were faint yellow stains under the armpits. The hem had been inexpertly repaired, leaving puckered stitching that no Chanel atelier would ever allow.
I held it up for everyone to see.
Behind me, someone let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.
"Moving on," I said pleasantly, dropping the dress back into the bag.
The wine came next. "Château Lafite Rothschild, 1982," the label proclaimed. Impressive. Except the wooden box was scratched and dented, and when I tilted it, the cork shifted with an audible rattle.
"The cork's loose," James observed from his desk, his voice carefully neutral. "That wine would be vinegar by now."
"Or it was never Lafite to begin with," Sophie added.
My mother's laugh was shrill, desperate. "Well, you know how storage can be! These things happen with old wine—"
"These things don't happen with twenty-thousand-dollar bottles," Rebecca cut in. "Unless someone's trying to pass off two-dollar grocery store plonk as vintage."
I set the wine down and moved to the jewelry boxes.
The first contained a bracelet that turned my wrist green the moment I touched it. The second held earrings with "diamonds" that caught the light wrong—too much fire, too little brilliance. Cubic zirconia, if I was being generous. Glass, more likely.
"Well," I said, surveying the wreckage of their "gifts" spread across the floor. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. After all, I know exactly what kind of people you are."
My father's jaw worked soundlessly. Elena had gone very pale.
"Serena, you have to understand," my father managed. "We're in a difficult financial position. Very tight. Surely you can't expect us to afford real luxury goods when we're barely keeping the estate—"
"Well," I cut him off, my tone dry as dust, "I suppose I can't really blame you. At least you went through the trouble—the faking, the wrapping, the presentation. That's more effort than you've put into anything involving me in three years."
My mother's expression transformed instantly. She latched onto my words like a drowning woman grabbing driftwood, choosing to hear approval instead of the acid beneath it.
"Yes!" she laughed, relief flooding her features. "Yes, exactly! We did work so hard on this, Serena! Hours! I told your father, I said, 'Richard, we absolutely must make this special for our daughter—'"
"And the last gift!" She pointed eagerly at the heavy velvet box in my hands, practically glowing with excitement. "That one, darling—you're going to love that one. I promise. It's from your grandfather."
My father nodded enthusiastically. "We saved the best for last, sweetheart. We knew you'd appreciate something with real sentimental—"
I looked down at the box.
The worn velvet. The tarnished clasp.
I knew this box.
My hands shook slightly as I opened it.
And stopped.
Everything else—the fake dress, the counterfeit wine, the costume jewelry—all of it I'd been prepared for. Expected, even. But this...
This was different.
It was a small silver cigarette case, Victorian era, with delicate scrollwork along the edges. I recognized it immediately. It had belonged to my grandfather, one of the few pieces he'd kept from his own father. He used to let me hold it when I was small, tracing the patterns with my fingertips while he told me stories about art and beauty and the importance of preserving history.
Except someone had ruined it.
The entire surface had been plated in garish, tacky gold. And across the top, in huge, laser-etched letters that screamed new money desperation, were the words: "VANCE CEO - SERENA."
My hands started shaking.
"Oh my God," I breathed.