Chapter 42
Serena
Elena turned and ran, her footsteps echoing through the foyer as she fled toward the stairs. A door slammed somewhere above us, the sound reverberating through the house like a gunshot.
Wesley stared after her, then turned to my parents with undisguised disbelief. "Richard." His voice carried an edge of accusation. "Elena is your favorite daughter. Your favorite. And you just slapped her for Serena?"
Father shifted uncomfortably, his hand dropping to his side. The belt hung limp from his other hand, forgotten. "Wesley, you have to understand—"
"It couldn't be helped!" Mother swept in, her voice bright with forced cheerfulness. "Elena isn't like Serena. She doesn't have the education, the connections, the—the capability." She turned to me with that brittle smile I'd learned to recognize as performative affection. "Serena graduated from Yale, after all. Summa cum laude. And now she's working at Lawson Capital, making such wonderful progress. I'm certain once she becomes successful, she'll take care of her family. Won't you, darling?"
I slipped the invitation into my purse with deliberate care, then stood slowly, smoothing down my dress. The Max Mara fabric felt like armor under my fingertips.
"Oh," I said, my voice light and conversational. "I forgot to mention something important."
Three pairs of eyes fixed on me with varying degrees of hope and calculation.
"I'm attending this gala for my own career advancement. Not as a representative of the Vance family." I paused, watching their expressions shift from confusion to dawning alarm. "And just so we're absolutely clear—even if I do become successful in the future, it will have absolutely nothing to do with any of you."
The silence was delicious.
"What?" Father's face went from pale to red in the span of a heartbeat. "What did you just say? But you were just talking about how Lance Lawson promoted you, how you'd—"
"I said I might have a future—not this family." I adjusted my purse strap, the gesture deliberately casual. "I came here to make something very clear: I'm not the same person you've been bullying for the past twenty-two years. I'm not someone you can manipulate or control or sell off to the highest bidder anymore." I met his eyes steadily. "But if you think I'm going to become your personal ATM machine after years of treating me like garbage? You're delusional."
"You ungrateful—" Father lunged forward, his hand outstretched. "Give me back that invitation right now!"
I sidestepped smoothly, already moving toward the door. "No, I don't think I will."
Mother had abandoned us entirely, her heels clicking rapidly up the stairs toward Elena's room. Her voice drifted down, saccharine and soothing: "Elena, darling, please calm down. Let me explain—"
I didn't wait to hear more. I walked toward the entrance with measured steps, my spine straight, my head high. For the first time in my entire life, I was leaving this house without apologizing, without cowering, without feeling like I'd somehow failed to meet their impossible standards.
It felt fucking incredible.
I was halfway down the front walk when footsteps pounded behind me.
"Wait!" Wesley's voice carried equal parts confusion and anger. "What the hell is going on with you lately? Who did you hook up with?" He caught up to me, slightly out of breath, his eyes raking over my outfit with barely concealed suspicion. "You're dressed like—like someone who actually has money. And that car—" He gestured toward the Bentley idling at the curb.
I kept walking, my heels clicking against the pavement with each step.
"That car—" His voice rose slightly. "I know I've seen it before. It looks exactly like—"
"It's none of your business," I said coolly, not bothering to look back. "And whoever I'm with now—whoever I choose to be with in the future—they'll always be better than some trust fund baby whose own uncle doesn't trust him enough to access his inheritance."
"What did you just say?" Wesley's voice cracked with indignation. He rushed forward, grabbing my arm and spinning me around. "You think you're so clever? I delivered that invitation to you personally! You should be thanking me! Instead you're standing here insulting me?"
I yanked my arm free, meeting his furious gaze with deliberate calm. "Thanking you? For what? For three years of humiliation? For hiding me like a dirty secret while you paraded Vanessa around every social event in Manhattan?" I took a step closer, watching him instinctively back up. "You're right, Wesley. I should thank you. Thank you for being such a spectacular waste of my time that literally any other option looks like an upgrade."
His face flushed crimson, the word "bitch" catching in his throat before he shifted tactics, snarling instead, "Don't get cocky. You think you can just show up at Arthur Lawson's birthday gala and impress everyone? You need to bring a gift, Serena. A proper gift. And I can't wait to see what pathetic thing someone like you manages to scrape together."
He leaned in, his voice taking on a mocking edge. "My great-grandfather has seen treasures from all over the world. He has collections worth hundreds of millions. Paintings by old masters. Sculptures that belong in museums. Jewelry that queens have worn." His smile was vicious. "Whatever you bring will look like trash from a garage sale. But please, do try. The entertainment value will be worth the price of admission."
He turned on his heel and stalked back toward the house, shoulders rigid with satisfaction.
I watched him go, then glanced at Vincent, who was waiting patiently beside the Bentley with that carefully neutral expression.
Impress Arthur Lawson? I thought, fighting back a smile. Wesley, you idiot.
I wasn't going to that party for some eighty-year-old tyrant who'd spent decades pulling strings and crushing dreams.
I was going for your goddamn gorgeous, ice-cold, devastatingly sexy uncle.