Chapter 283

Chapter 283
Serena
 
The cheerful interruption made me jump. I spun around to find Wesley standing a few feet away, looking entirely too pleased with himself despite the fresh bruises on his face and the slight limp in his gait.
 
"Wesley!" I was on my feet before I could think better of it, pulling him into a hug that made him grunt in surprise. "Oh my God, you're alive. You're actually alive and walking and—"
 
"Easy, easy," he laughed, patting my back with one hand while trying to maintain his balance. "I'm still pretty banged up here. My good uncle over there—" He shot Lance a look that was equal parts affectionate and exasperated. "—doesn't believe in letting people die peacefully."
 
"Damn right I don't," Lance said from behind me, though there was warmth in his voice that I rarely heard. Pride, maybe. Or relief.
 
I pulled back to get a better look at Wesley, and what I saw made me do a double-take. The boy I'd dated for three miserable years—the one who'd spent most of our relationship either sulking or partying or finding new ways to make me feel small—was gone. In his place stood someone I barely recognized.
 
He was wearing a perfectly tailored black suit that actually fit him properly instead of hanging off his frame like he'd grabbed it off a rack. His hair was styled instead of perpetually disheveled. And his eyes—God, his eyes were different. Sharper. Clearer. Like he'd finally woken up after years of sleepwalking through life.
 
I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face as I gave his shoulder a playful shove. "Holy shit, Wesley. You finally stopped looking like a hungover trust fund baby. I mean, you've still got the face full of bruises, but—" I made an exaggerated show of looking him up and down. "—you actually look kind of hot? Who knew that was possible?"
 
"Careful, Serena," Wesley said with a smirk that was all confidence—the kind he'd never managed to pull off when we were together. "Keep talking like that and my girlfriend might get jealous."
 
I froze. "Your what?"
 
"You heard me." He turned slightly, extending his hand toward someone I hadn't noticed approaching. "Come on, don't be shy."
 
Isabella Lloyd stepped into view, looking every inch the polished attorney in a deep green dress that complemented her dark hair perfectly. She shot Wesley an exasperated look as she took his offered hand.
 
"I am not your girlfriend, Wesley," she said firmly, though her cheeks were definitely pink. "I agreed to be your date for tonight. That's it."
 
"Semantics," Wesley said cheerfully, pulling her closer despite her protests. "You're here with me, you look stunning, and you haven't run away screaming yet. I'm calling that a win."
 
"Jesus Christ," Isabella muttered, but she didn't pull away. If anything, she looked like she was fighting back a smile.
 
Lance and I exchanged a look—his eyebrow raised in that way that meant did you know about this? and my slight headshake that answered absolutely not.
 
Wesley caught our silent communication and grinned wider. "What? You two aren't the only ones allowed to have a complicated relationship with questionable timing."
 
"We should sit," Isabella said quickly, clearly trying to regain some control of the situation. She tugged Wesley toward the empty chairs at our table, and he followed with the kind of easy compliance that the old Wesley never would have managed.
 
As they settled in, Isabella immediately reached for the wine bottle, pouring herself a generous glass before offering one to Wesley. But as she set the bottle down, her gaze landed on me and stayed there, her brow furrowing in concentration.
 
"Is something wrong?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious under her scrutiny.
 
"No, I just—" She tilted her head, studying me with the kind of intense focus that probably served her well in court. "There's something familiar about you. Have we met before? Outside of that disaster at the auction house, I mean."
 
I felt my stomach drop. Oh no.
 
"I don't think so?" I tried to keep my voice casual, but Lance's hand found my knee under the table—a silent reminder that he knew exactly what Isabella was trying to remember.
 
"No, no, there's definitely something—" Isabella snapped her fingers suddenly, her eyes going wide. "Oh my God! I knew I recognized you!"
 
Wesley leaned in, clearly intrigued. "Recognized her from what?"
 
"From that restaurant!" Isabella was practically bouncing in her seat now, all professional composure forgotten. "The night you and Lance had your date, and she crashed it pretending to be—" She dissolved into laughter, actually covering her mouth with her hand like she couldn't believe what she was about to say. "—pretending to be Yuna from that K-pop group! With the sunglasses and the terrible accent and everything!"
 
The table went silent.
 
Lance's shoulders started shaking first. Then Wesley snorted. And then they were both laughing—actually laughing—while I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
 
"I hate all of you," I announced, crossing my arms over my chest even as my own lips twitched traitorously. "That was a very stressful night and I was improvising under pressure—"
 
"You were so jealous," Lance managed between laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made my heart do stupid things. "You showed up with Vincent pretending to be on a date just to spy on me and Isabella—"
 
"I was not spying, I was—" I floundered for a better word and came up empty. "—conducting reconnaissance."
 
"You ordered the same meal as me," Lance pointed out, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Down to the wine pairing."
 
"That was a coincidence!"
 
"You knocked over your water glass when I smiled at Isabella."
 
"The table was uneven!"
 
"You literally fell out of your chair trying to run away when I called you out."
 
I pointed an accusing finger at him. "You are a terrible boyfriend for bringing this up."
 
"And you—" He caught my hand, pulling me closer despite my protests. "—are the most beautiful, brilliant, absolutely insane woman I've ever met. And I wouldn't change a single thing about that night, because it was the moment I knew I was completely fucked."
 
The sincerity in his voice cut through my embarrassment, leaving me breathless and blushing and utterly unable to form a coherent response.
 
"Okay, okay," Wesley cut in, still grinning like an idiot. "As much as I'm enjoying watching Serena's brain short-circuit, can we please get back to the part where she impersonated a K-pop star? Because I need details. All the details."
 
"Absolutely not," I said firmly, reaching for my champagne and downing half of it in one go.
 
"I have video," Vincent's voice came from somewhere behind us, and I nearly choked.
 
"Vincent, I swear to God—"
 
"Five thousand dollars and it's yours, Wesley," Vincent continued, completely ignoring my death glare.
 
"Deal," Wesley said immediately.
 
"I'm getting new friends," I announced to no one in particular. "All of you are fired."
 
"You can't fire me," Lance said, pressing a kiss to my temple. "I'm your boyfriend, remember?"
 
"Debatable," I muttered, but I was smiling despite myself.
 
The lights in the ballroom dimmed suddenly, and a spotlight illuminated the small stage at the far end of the room. But instead of Arthur, it was Eleanor who stepped into the light, moving with the kind of quiet authority that made the room fall silent without her having to ask for it.
 
She wore deep burgundy—the color of old wine, of blood that had dried and darkened with time—and her silver hair caught the light like a blade.
 
"Arthur sends his regrets," she began, her voice carrying effortlessly across the half-empty ballroom. "The past few days have been—" A pause, deliberate and unflinching. "—clarifying. And exhausting. He's resting now."
 
No apologies. No excuses. Just fact.
 
"But before he retired, he reminded me what tonight was supposed to be about." Eleanor's gaze swept the room, landing on faces that couldn't quite meet her eyes. "Not celebration. Not mourning. But the space between—where you bury the dead and decide what grows next."
 
She lifted her glass, the crystal catching the light and throwing fractured rainbows across the white tablecloth.
 
"So here's to the messy, ugly work of surviving the people who tried to destroy you. Here's to waking up tomorrow and deciding that's enough." Her mouth curved—not quite a smile, but close. "Here's to being the last ones standing."
 
She drank.
 
Around me, glasses rose. No one spoke. No one needed to.
 
Eleanor set her glass down with a soft clink that sounded like a door closing.
 
"Enjoy the evening," she said simply, and stepped out of the light.