Chapter 62 A united front.
THIRD PERSON’S POV.
Damian and Serena reached the house just as Sarah’s driver was easing her car to a smooth stop on the concrete driveway of the compound.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who came late,” Sarah said as Serena and Damian stepped out of their car.
“Aunty,” Serena walked up to her. “Good evening,” she said softly, leaning in to place a light kiss on Sarah’s cheek.
“Hello, darling.” Sarah kissed her back, her smile warm but measured.
“Sarah,” Damian took her hand and brushed a polite kiss over her knuckles. “You look absolutely astonishing this evening.”
Sarah’s smile widened. “Oh, Damian, you flatter me far too much.”
Serena chuckled lightly, glancing between them. “Shall we go in?”
Damian flicked an invisible speck from his jacket and exhaled. “Let’s get it over with.”
When everyone had gathered in the dining area, Horace rose to his feet and gave a short speech.
“It gladdens my heart to see us all here together like this — one united family. I hope this bond of ours continues.” He lifted his glass.
The speech wasn’t great, and everyone knew it. Still, one by one, they raised their glasses in polite agreement.
“What sort of ingenuine speech was that?” Pa Benedict asked. “What family bond are you talking about?”
“Keep your voice down, brother,” Sarah cautioned under her breath. “We don’t want the reporter hearing you.”
“That’s all you care about, Sarah — image!” Pa Benedict’s voice rose an octave.
“Yes,” Sarah hissed, “I’m forced to care because nobody else here will. Now chew your dinner quietly and smile.”
Clara, Serena, and Horace exchanged a look, shifting uncomfortably in their chairs. Sarah had just spoken over the family head.
The reporter looked up, then back down at his notes, writing.
“You’re just being sour because they called you a barren, bitter old woman,” Benedict shot back.
Sarah slapped her hand on the table and stood. “Don’t you dare bring up my dead child.”
“Wow,” Serena cut in with a nervous laugh. “This is the best tuna I’ve had all year. It’s truly amazing.”
Clara laughed the loudest. It was fake — just a desperate attempt to stop the volcano of emotions threatening to erupt at their table tonight. Everybody else forced out polite laughter with her.
A moment passed.
Then the table fell silent again, the only sound the soft scrape of spoons against porcelain.
Clara glanced around. The reporter was jotting away on his iPad, and if she had to guess, he was probably drafting a piece about how fake and painfully boring their family was.
Under the table, she reached out and lightly kicked Serena’s leg.
Serena’s eyes snapped up, lips already parting, ready to hurl an insult at Clara.
But Clara subtly motioned toward where the reporter sat.
Serena followed her gaze — and immediately understood.
“What are we going to do?” Clara whispered, leaning slightly over the table.
Serena thought for a moment.
Then, loudly, she said, “So, Clara, how are the honeymoon plans coming along?”
Everybody’s head snapped toward her.
Clara choked on her salad.
Serena only nodded calmly, urging her to respond.
“We want something exotic but exclusive,” Clara stammered, choosing to follow Serena’s lead. “I’m thinking St. Barts, but my baby and I,” she looped her hand around Jonathan’s arm under the table, “are yet to decide.”
The dinner party looked confused.
Jonathan looked even more confused.
They had never discussed honeymoon plans. They had been too focused on the will, so when exactly had Clara started making all these plans?
She nudged him sharply in the ribs.
“Yes,” he choked on an olive. “Although… I’m leaning more toward Bora Bora. Those blue lagoons won’t swim in themselves.”
Scattered laughter.
He turned to Serena. “You and Damian should join us.”
Silence.
Judging by the slow smile spreading across the reporter’s face as he noted that down, anyone could guess how well that headline would sell in mainstream media.
Everyone knows you don’t invite your ex on your honeymoon, especially not when that ex is your sister-in-law who is also newly married.
Well… everyone except Jonathan, apparently.
“What’s wrong with you?” Clara whispered harshly.
“What’s the problem?” Jonathan asked, obtuse.
Damian chuckled, cold, quiet. “My wife will not be tagging along on your honeymoon trip,” he said, speaking for the first time since he sat down.
All eyes turned to him.
There was something in his voice, a low vibration that seemed to still everything in the room. Even Horace looked like he wanted out.
Jonathan scoffed. “I don’t see the big deal. It could be like a double date.”
“Are you slow?” Serena finally snapped. “Why would I go on a double date with you?”
“Wait,” Jonathan said with a smirk. “Is this because I was cheating on you with Clara while we were dating? Is it because you’re my ex?”
That was a slip.
Serena’s eyes went wild.
Horace's head snapped up.
Pa Benedict and Sarah looked around, confused.
The reporter gasped audibly and bent over his iPad, scribbling faster.
“Ex?” Sarah murmured.
“Hey, scratch that,” Clara snapped at the reporter. “You can’t write that.”
“Why not?” the reporter asked calmly.
Clara glared. “Because I said so, bitch. Now scratch that statement out of your silly little notepad.”
The reporter slowly shook his head.
“Are you deaf?” Serena snapped, finally recovering from her shock. “She just asked you to scratch a statement.”
“Why should I?” the reporter asked, defiant.
“Who the hell do you think you are to be asking all these questions?” Horace barked.
Only members of the family understood why that small piece of information could never reach the public.
The late Charles Gregory’s will was explicit: any heir who attempted to secure their inheritance through fraud, coercion, or undue influence would forfeit their claim, and the company’s controlling shares would be transferred to the Gregory Foundation.
If both marriages came under scrutiny, the court would quickly see the scheme for what it was and the entire transfer of control could be declared void.
They all had something to lose.
“I have freedom of speech, the freedom to report what I witness,” the reporter said finally.
“Yes,” Damian’s calm, masculine voice replied. “But will you have freedom after the speech?”
He looked up at him, eyes cold.
“Is your freedom after this report truly guaranteed?”
The reporter,tensed suddenly feeling surrounded, hesitated… then slowly crossed out his last note.
A quiet wave of relief passed around the table as everyone settled back into their seats.
Pa Benedict cleared his throat. “Now, was that so hard?” he teased.
Taking his seat, he leaned toward Clara and whispered, “You married an absolute fool.”
Clara tensed but said nothing. Even she had begun to question the maturity level of Jonathan’s remaining brain cells.
She stretched her leg toward Serena again and gave her a light kick.
Serena looked up.
Clara gave a small nod, a faint smile tucked into the corner of her lips.
Serena smiled back.
They fought most of the time, but in tiny moments like this, they forgot to be enemies and slipped back into being the little girls who once played dress-up in their late mother’s old clothes.
The rest of dinner continued with little to no drama. For tonight, at least, everyone had decided to pocket their tempers.