Chapter 23 Calla Lillies
THIRD PERSON’S POV.
The car was silent except for the string of curses rolling off Horace’s tongue. His knuckles whitened around the edge of his golf glove.
Serena had embarrassed him.
In front of Clara.
In front of the driver.
In broad daylight.
The humiliation crawled under his skin like fire.
“Something is going on with Serena,” he muttered, each word clipped and venomous.
Clara straightened in her seat but didn’t speak. Her eyes flickered to her phone instead.
Clara: YOU WERE RIGHT. SERENA IS ACTING STRANGELY.
She watched the little dots flash, impatient.
Jonathan: WHAT DID SHE DO AGAIN.
Clara’s jaw tightened.
Clara: WHAT DID SHE NOT DO?
Clara: I THINK SHE KNOWS ABOUT OUR PLANS.
This time, the reply came fast.
Jonathan: HOW COULD SHE POSSIBLY KNOW?
Clara didn’t answer.
Because she didn’t know.
And that bothered her more than anything.
She had spent years studying Serena’s weaknesses, her routines, her triggers, her blind spots.
Serena wasn’t supposed to change.
Serena wasn’t supposed to suddenly grow a spine.
Clara swallowed hard, glancing at Horace just as he exhaled, anger radiating off him like fumes.
“I’m calling my lawyer,” he said abruptly.
Clara blinked. “Why? We’re only going to practice…”
“I don’t trust Serena,” he cut in, voice hoarse. “Not with this new… confidence she’s suddenly developed. I need my lawyer to meet us at the club.”
A pause.
““People only grow brave when they know something the rest of us don’t.”
Clara frowned, a chill crawling up her spine. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” Horace snapped, “that Charles’ will hasn’t been read yet. No one outside the legal team knows what’s in it. And yet Serena is walking around like she’s untouchable.”
Clara’s heartbeat stumbled.
“You think… there’s something in the will?”
“I think,” Horace said coldly, “that I need to find out before the funeral reading. I want an advantage.”
He pulled out his phone.
“I messaged one of the junior lawyers working under Bill last night, Thomas. He owes me a few favors. He’s going to sneak me a photograph of Charles’ updated will.”
Clara’s brows furrowed. “Updated?”
Horace nodded once. “Bill may be loyal to Charles but Thomas isn’t. He’ll forward whatever changes Charles made before he died.”
“And then when you get it?” Clara asked quietly.
Horace’s lips curved in a humorless smile.
“I’ll hand it to my lawyer. I want him to interpret every clause. If there’s anything,anything at all that disadvantages me or gives Serena power…”
His eyes hardened.
“…we deal with it before the public reading.”
Clara hesitated. “Can I… sit in on that meeting?”
Horace gave her a long, scrutinizing look as if trying to decide if she was worthy of that privilege.
Then he nodded. “Fine. You should hear it too.”
Clara exhaled, carefully masking her relief.
Horace typed a quick message, confirming the meeting with his personal lawyer.
As he hit send, the driver slowed, turning into the pristine gates of Monterra Golf & Country Club. The manicured lawns opened before them like a scene from an old-money photograph.
The car rolled to a smooth stop.
Back in the Gregory house, Serena let the hot water run over her skin until the knots in her chest loosened.
Sleep hadn’t helped, but the shower did, just enough to steady her breathing, just enough to remind her she wasn’t the same girl Horace could command into silence.
When she finally stepped out and started to get dressed, she didn’t reach for anything casual.
Not today.
She slipped into an ankle-length silk skirt, the kind that caught light with every movement. She paired it with a soft, fitted top in a complementary shade, something minimalist but intentional.
Then she slid her feet into burgundy kitten heels.
Elegant. Quiet. Feminine without being fragile.
Before she left, she brushed on a deep red lip gloss.
Not harsh.
Not dramatic.
Just enough to signal a subtle power move.
When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she paused in acknowledgment. She looked like herself.
But a version of herself no one in that house had ever bothered to see.
And that version… was done being underestimated.
The familiar scent of cinnamon and warm bread drifted from the kitchen. Constance was already by the breakfast table plating pancakes with fruit, moving with that efficiency Serena had always admired.
“Good morning, Miss Serena,” Constance said warmly.
“Good morning.” Serena offered a small smile as she sat. “Thank you… this looks perfect.”
Constance smiled back. “You’ve been looking tired lately. Please eat well.”
Serena ate slowly, grateful for the gentle normalcy the woman brought into the house.
When she finished and stood to leave, something made her pause.
“Constance?” she asked, turning back. “Where’s James? I haven’t seen him in days.”
“Oh. He reported having some family problems, Miss. He… doesn’t stay in the house anymore. He only comes and goes as needed.”
Serena frowned. “He moved out?”
“Yes,” Constance said quietly. “I think his daughter is really sick.”
Serena nodded, filing the information away.
James had served the Gregory family longer than she’d been alive. He’d always treated her with more warmth than her own father.
“I’ll call him later,” she murmured. “Just to check on him.”
Constance smiled approvingly. “He’ll appreciate that.”
Serena grabbed her keys and handbag, stepping outside. It was almost noon and the warm afternoon sun was already taking position.
Today mattered.
Her grandfather had been the only real kindness in her life. He deserved more than Horace’s spectacle of power and Clara’s fake smiles.
He deserved intention.
He deserved to be seen.
And she was going to make sure of it.
She drove toward the hilltop restaurant, she and Trisha’s favorite spot.The place known for its breathtaking view, fresh air, and garden of flowers that changed with the seasons.
The owners were also renowned florists.
Serena had already decided:
they would handle her grandfather’s funeral arrangements, because her grandfather would have loved it.
The hilltop restaurant smelled like fresh pastries and blooming gardens. But today she wasn’t here to drink coffee or sit by the panoramic windows.
Today she walked with the owners, Mrs.Lily and her husband Thomas through the adjoining greenhouse where they grew their specialty flowers.
“We can handle every arrangement,” Mrs.Lily assured her. “Your grandfather was a respected man. We’ll make it beautiful.”
Serena nodded, “Thank you. He… he would’ve loved this.”
They showed her rows of flowers,roses, wild peonies,dahlias, but then Serena stopped.
Her breath hitched.
Calla lilies.
Cream-white, elegant, standing tall in their pots like silent guardians.
Her grandfather’s favorite.
The sight of them alive, blooming, the same ones he used to water in the family greenhouse every morning without fail hit her so hard she almost fell.
He used to say they reminded him that even the quietest things in life deserved care.
And now he was gone.
Her throat tightened, tears blurring her vision before she could stop them. She turned slightly away, embarrassed at the rush of emotions…
And then a hand appeared in front of her.
A clean, neatly folded handkerchief.
She saw the handkerchief first.
Then, slowly, she turned.
Damian.
Standing barely a foot away,sunlight catching the bruise on his jaw like a neon sign.
Her brows furrowed. “Damian?”
He gave a slow, crooked smile, a smirk tugging one corner of his mouth. “Are you surprised to see me here?”
She let out a shaky, confused laugh. “Yes, Damian. What are you doing here? How do you even know this spot?”
His smirk widened. “Serena… I know all the spots in Monterra.”
She blinked at him.
“But I know this specific spot,” he added, leaning slightly closer, voice low with mischief, “because a little birdie told me you’d be here.”
She didn’t ask.
She didn’t need to.
Trisha.
Serena rolled her eyes softly, but the corner of her mouth lifted. “Okay. That explains how you know the place. But it doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
he handed her the handkerchief properly this time.
“I came here to see you,” he said simply. “Remember you said I was going to help with your grandfather’s funeral arrangements?”
She laughed this time. “Damian, that was something I said to get Jonathan off my back.”
“Well,” Damian said, straightening, “I’m a man of my word. If I say I’m going to help, I’m going to help.”
He gestured toward the flowers, his gaze locking with hers.
“So… what flowers are we picking for our dear Charles’ funeral?”
His gentleness disarmed her.
She took a breath, forgetting all the awkwardness she felt after waking up in his house that morning. then nodded toward the lilies. “These. Calla lilies. Grandpa’s favorite. He used to water them every morning. He said they reminded him of my mother.”
Damian’s expression softened even more. “Your mother liked them too?”
Serena shook her head lightly, a sad smile touching her lips. “No… her favorite were orchids. White ones. My grandfather planted them everywhere in our greenhouse after she died. So that everywhere he looked, she would be there.”
Damian absorbed that quietly, respectfully.
And so they walked side by side through the greenhouse,picking flowers, mixing arrangements, letting stories spill gently between them.
Then, quietly, Damian said, “You left the house so fast this morning. I thought you were… having regrets. About what happened. Or almost happened.”
Serena whipped her head to him.
“That’s not it,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I just felt… awkward about it.”
A beat.
“But I don’t regret anything, Damian.”
His shoulders eased. A slow, relieved smile tugged at his mouth.
“Okay.”
When they finished choosing everything they needed, the florist helped pack the boxes, and they stepped out into the cool hilltop air. A light mist hung over the valley below, softening the view and making the whole place feel calm and quiet.
“I’m glad you came,” Serena said.
“I’m glad I came too.” His voice was warm, sure. “Will you be at the funeral?”
“I wouldn’t miss a chance to say goodbye to Charles.”
They stood there for a moment, the kind of quiet that feels like a held breath.
Damian took a step closer, like he was about to say something else.
But he never got the chance.
Because Serena’s phone buzzed in her hand.
An unknown number.
One line.
HORACE AND CLARA ARE ON TO YOU.
Her heart lurched.
Damian watched her face pale.
“Serena? What’s wrong?”
She swallowed hard, unable to answer because she suddenly realized something
The message wasn’t a warning.
It was a countdown.
And the sender wasn’t just watching her.
He was watching her whole family.