Chapter 86
Serena
"Vanessa." His voice was sharp now, almost desperate. "Pick up the papers. Now."
For a moment, I thought Vanessa might refuse. Might dig in her heels and turn this into an even bigger scene. But something in Wesley's expression must have convinced her, because she bent down—awkwardly, angrily—and started gathering the scattered contracts.
"I can't believe this," she hissed, her voice rising. "You're from an old family yourself, Isabella! Why the hell are you protecting this gold-digging trash?"
"Don't insult my client," Isabella said, her pleasant tone sharpening into something cold. "And for the record—real family dignity comes from conduct, not from screaming your last name in hallways. You might want to learn the difference."
Vanessa shoved the papers at me, crumpled and out of order but mostly intact. Wesley grabbed her arm, already backing toward the elevators.
"This isn't over," he said, looking at me. But the threat sounded hollow now, desperate. "Those photographs—everyone will know what you really are."
"Well," I said, tilting my head slightly, "next time you decide to stalk me with a camera, at least make sure the lighting is decent. Those shots were embarrassingly amateur."
Wesley's jaw worked. For a moment, he looked like he might say something else. Then Vanessa yanked on his arm, and they were retreating down the hallway, their exit lacking any of the triumph they'd arrived with.
The hallway emptied fast after that. Nobody wanted to linger where the police might show up asking questions.
Within thirty seconds, it was just Isabella and me.
And Vincent.
I heard his footsteps before I saw him—rapid, concerned, the kind of pace that suggested he'd been running. He appeared around the corner, his usually composed expression cracking into something close to alarm when he saw me standing there with my broken bag and disheveled clothes.
"Miss Vance." He took in the scene immediately—my torn bag, the scattered papers I was clutching, Isabella standing nearby with her phone still in hand. "What happened? I was on a call, and when I looked up, I saw that red Audi parked outside and I—" He stopped, his expression darkening. "I'm so sorry. I should have been here."
"It's fine," I said, trying to smooth my hair back into some semblance of order. "Isabella handled it."
Vincent's eyes moved to Isabella, assessing her in that quick, professional way he had. "Then I owe you a debt of gratitude, Miss Lloyd."
Isabella waved him off. "I didn't do it for thanks."
Something flickered across Vincent's face—surprise, maybe respect.
Her expression turned sharp for a moment. "Honestly? I can't stand people who think their family name gives them permission to break the law. It's exactly why I went to law school instead of just living off the family reputation." She looked at me, her tone softening slightly. "And you're my client. I won't tolerate illegal behavior happening to you—especially not in my father's firm. Are you alright? Did they hurt you?"
"I'm fine," I lied. My arms ached where Wesley had grabbed them. My hands were shaking slightly from the adrenaline. But I was standing, and the contracts were still in my possession, and that was what mattered.
"You're an excellent lawyer," I said, and meant it. "Thank you again. For... for all of that."
"Like I said, they were breaking the law." But Isabella smiled, just a bit. "Though I will admit, shutting down entitled people who think their family name gives them permission to behave badly—that's one of my favorite parts of the job."
"Still." I clutched the contracts closer. "I appreciate it. More than you know."
And I meant that—more than she could possibly understand. Being rescued by the woman Arthur Lawson wanted as his grandson's bride made the whole situation surreal in a way I couldn't quite process yet.
Isabella tilted her head, studying me. "So... what was that about? Who were they to you?" She paused. "And what exactly were they accusing you of? They seemed very committed to the narrative."
My stomach dropped.
Well, Isabella, I thought, they were accusing me of sleeping with your potential future husband. But technically I haven't done that yet, so the accusation was premature, even if my intentions are definitely not pure.
Out loud, I said: "It's... complicated. Long story. Involves a messy breakup and some very bitter feelings." I forced a laugh that sounded hollow even to my own ears. "But thank you again for the help with the contracts. I'll need them first thing Monday morning—I'm taking over management of the company immediately."
I was already moving toward the elevator, desperate to escape before Isabella's lawyer brain started connecting dots. The photographs. The contract for a company I couldn't possibly afford. The level of rage from my ex-boyfriend about his uncle.
"Of course," Isabella called after me. "And Miss Vance? If they harass you again—if they try anything—you call me. I meant what I said about representing you."
I turned back, gave her what I hoped was a grateful smile. "I'll remember that."