Chapter 215
Serena
The lunch order was extravagant—lobster ravioli, truffle risotto, aged steaks from that new place on Madison that charged three hundred dollars a plate. I'd watched Grayson's eyes go wide when I suggested it, watched the whole team exchange those uncertain glances like they thought I was joking.
"Consider it a celebration," I'd said, sliding him my card. "We survived my parents. That deserves better than sad desk salads."
The laughter that followed had been real, warm. Something in my chest loosened for the first time since this morning's disaster with the fake Chanel and gold-plated memories.
Now, standing in the elevator on my way down to pick everything up myself—because why not test the new car properly—I let myself sit with what had just happened. My family had walked into my office with their desperate little gifts and even more desperate agenda, and I'd sent them away with nothing.
No guilt. No second-guessing. Just the clean, sharp satisfaction of a door closing for good.
The elevator chimed. I stepped into the lobby, already reaching for my sunglasses, and pushed through the glass doors into brilliant midday sun.
The Aston Martin waited at the curb like some kind of promise kept in metal and paint. Rose gold caught the light, turned it liquid and alive. I'd tried to play it cool this morning when Vincent delivered it, tried to maintain boundaries and independence and all those other things that felt increasingly theoretical where Lance was concerned.
But God, it was beautiful.
I was halfway across the sidewalk, already smiling despite myself, when I caught the movement.
Someone crouched by the rear wheel. Dark hair, hunched shoulders, that furtive quality of someone who knew damn well they shouldn't be there.
My smile died.
I walked faster, heels clicking sharp against concrete. The figure straightened at the sound, spun around with wide, startled eyes.
Elena.
"Jesus Christ!" She jumped back like I'd materialized out of thin air, one hand flying to her chest. "What the hell are you doing?"
I stared at her. Just stared, because the audacity was actually impressive.
"What am I doing?" The laugh that came out was more disbelief than humor. "You're skulking around my car like some kind of—and you're asking what I'm doing?"
"I wasn't skulking." Her voice pitched higher, all defensive edges. "I was looking, okay? That a crime now? Can't even admire something I'll never afford in my entire goddamn life?"
The bitterness dripping off those words was thick enough to taste. Almost enough to make me feel something other than cold irritation.
Almost.
"Mom and Dad smacked me around, by the way." She gestured at her face, where faint redness still marked her cheek. "That make you happy? They didn't even let me in the car. Just dumped me here like trash."
I studied her for a long moment. The dress that looked expensive from a distance but didn't quite fit right up close. The perfume—too strong, too sweet, trying to cover something cheaper underneath. The way she held herself like she was bracing for another hit.
"Well," I said finally, voice flat as glass. "That's your mess, not mine. Now back up."
"Why?" She didn't move. "Think I'll scratch your precious paint job?"
"No." I pulled the keys from my bag, hit unlock. The Aston Martin's lights flashed once, sleek and expensive. "I think that perfume you're drowning in will contaminate my leather interior. Bad luck. Bad energy. You understand."
Her face went crimson. "You just humiliated me upstairs in front of your entire office, and now you're out here throwing more insults?"
"Well." I let the word hang there, sharp-edged. "What exactly were you expecting? A hug? Maybe a heart-to-heart where I suddenly remember all the wonderful sisterly moments we shared?"
I took a step toward her. She held her ground, but her eyes tracked me like I was something dangerous.
"Actually, I have been thinking about it," I continued, voice dropping lower. "Really digging through my memory for even one time you showed me kindness. One single moment of actual sisterly affection." I made a show of considering it, tapping one finger against my chin. "Huh. Weird. Can't find a damn thing."
"Serena—"
"You know what I can remember, though?" I kept walking, forcing her to back up. "Kindergarten. You stealing my toys, handing them over to the bigger kids so they'd let you sit at their table. Elementary school—spreading rumors I was cheating because you couldn't handle that my grades were better than yours."