Chapter 7 Revelations
THIRD PERSON’S POV.
Upstairs, Serena’s hands trembled as she clutched her phone.
“Jonathan,” she said, her voice breaking. “Come to the house. I’m going to fix this, I’m going to save us.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“Serena, what are you talking about?” Jonathan sounded confused, uneasy.
But before she could explain, the call ended.
Jonathan exhaled, staring at his screen. Moments later, he dialed Clara.
Serena tossed her phone aside and began packing in a frenzy. Passport, car keys, travel documents. She shoved everything into her vintage Chanel duffel bag, her movements swift, breath uneven. Within seconds, she was storming down the stairs again.
At the entrance, Clara stood by the doorway, whispering something urgently into her phone. When she turned, Serena’s gaze met hers, sharp, disappointed. For a moment, neither spoke.
But Clara’s eyes drifted to the bag tucked under Serena’s arm, her mind already working fast, calculating.
Serena walked past her without a word.
Inside the living room, Horace Gregory sat where she’d left him, calm, collected, unmoving. The amber light from the chandelier bounced off his cufflinks, his drink now refilled sat on the table. He wasn’t used to being challenged by Serena, and though her outburst had unsettled him, he’d die before showing it.
He looked up as she entered.
Serena’s voice didn’t waver. “Call the lawyers. I want my shares transferred to me….now. I’m leaving this house, and I’m never coming back.”
Horace studied her for a long moment,unblinking, cold then suddenly laughed. It wasn’t loud, but it was the kind of laughter that made the air feel thinner.
“Serena,” he said softly, setting his glass down. “I’m truly disappointed. With all your degrees, with all your exposure… you’re still this naive? You’re willing to upend your entire life for a man?” His words dripped with disgust.
Serena’s eyes glistened, but she stood her ground. “Call them,” she repeated, firmer this time.
He sighed, the sound heavy, theatrical. Then he rose, his every movement deliberate buttoning his jacket, adjusting his cufflinks, walking toward the tall windows. The sun was out, the birds perched on the trees taking shade. When he spoke again, his tone was quiet, almost nostalgic.
“Didn’t your grandfather tell you?”
Serena froze. Horace notices the shift in her energy and he smirks.
He never talked about their grandfather, Charles Gregory, except it was through clenched teeth. The two men had loathed each other for years. When Horace’s wife died, he’d inherited her shares in the Gregory empire, and Charles had despised him for it. Before his death, Charles had rewritten the will, crafting clauses to protect his company from Horace’s greed.
“That sneaky old man,” Horace muttered, half to himself, a bitter smile playing on his lips.
Serena’s heart pounded. “Tell me what?” she demanded, voice shaking.
Horace turned slowly, the satisfaction in his eyes unmistakable. He took a long, deliberate sip of his whiskey before answering.
“Well, your beloved grandfather left a little condition in his will,” he began, drawing out every word. “You cannot access your inheritance—any of your shares—until you are rightfully married. Under the family’s terms.”
Serena blinked, her throat tightening. “What do you mean… under the family’s terms?”
“It means,” he said, savoring the words, “your future husband must meet the Gregory standards,financially, socially, traditionally. He must come from a proper family. In other words…” He tilted his head, smirking. “You’ll have to marry a billionaire.”
He looked almost joyful now his eyes bright with cruel amusement. This was victory to him. Serena could see it in the way his mouth curved, the satisfaction that lingered in his tone. He knew the chances of her finding a man who fit that impossible mold were next to nothing.
Serena’s breath hitched. “That’s impossible,” she whispered. “Grandfather wouldn’t do that.”
Horace didn’t answer. He just watched as the weight of his words sank in.
Serena’s hands trembled. She knew the truth before she spoke it aloud,Jonathan was the best she could do.The only man who’d ever truly loved her. No one else ever had. Not at school. Not in her father’s world of perfect heirs and polished smiles. Jonathan saw her. And now because of one cruel line in a will he was being taken from her too.
Her chest ached, tears spilling over as she whispered, “If I have to wait for someone like that…i’ll never marry.”
Horace’s smirk deepened. He took one final sip of his drink, setting the empty glass down with a soft clink. “Then you’ll be pleased to hear,” he said quietly, “there’s one more thing.”
Serena lifted her gaze, her vision blurred with tears.
“If you remain unmarried for too long,” he said, stepping closer, “your shares will be transferred to Clara.” He paused,enjoying the way her face fell, then added almost casually, “And if both of you stay unmarried…everything goes to charity.”
The room went silent. The fire cracked faintly in the background.
Horace stood there, watching her crumble, and smiled.
Serena’s knees weakened,the world around her spinning. She had come downstairs ready to claim her freedom.
Now she realized her father had already taken it.
Unbeknownst to either of them, Clara stood behind the door, her head pressed lightly against the polished wood. She had heard everything,every word, every smirk in her father’s voice, every tremor in Serena’s. And with each sentence, something inside her sharpened.
When Horace finished the last of his whiskey, he set the glass down and exhaled deeply, a satisfied hum in his throat. He didn’t glance back at Serena. He simply straightened his suit and walked out, leaving her sitting there small, broken, and forgotten in the silence of the room.
Clara waited a few seconds before following. Her heart raced, not from guilt, but from opportunity.
Horace had already reached his study when she appeared in the doorway. He didn’t look up immediately just muttered something under his breath about the incompetence of his staff and began flipping through a pile of documents.
“Dad,” she began,stepping inside.
He glanced up briefly, irritation flashing in his eyes. “What do you want,Clara?”
She walked closer, pulling out the chair opposite his desk. “I just wanted to..”
“Did I invite you to sit?” he cut in sharply.
Clara froze. The air in the room went cold. She quietly pushed the chair back in and remained standing, hands clasped in front of her, eyes downcast.
Horace leaned back, exhaling slowly, his fingers drumming against the armrest. He had never been the nurturing kind. He’d never even wanted children in the first place. Marriage had been a transaction, an access to power but when his wife began her endless talk of wanting a family, he’d agreed only to quiet her. Two daughters, he thought bitterly. Two burdens. When his wife died, he’d been left with both and no idea what to do with either of them.
“Speak,” he said finally, voice flat.
Clara wet her lips, careful to sound calm. “I wanted to ask if what you told Serena about the will was true.”
He waved a hand, dismissive. “Of course it’s true.”
He turned back to his desk, already done with the conversation,until Clara’s next words came
“Dad… Jonathan isn’t really in love with Serena.”
The air stilled. Horace’s gaze lifted slowly, the faintest spark of curiosity breaking through the dullness in his eyes.
Clara’s voice dropped lower, steady but deliberate. “He’s in love with me.”
He didn’t move.Didn’t blink.
“He only wanted to marry her for the money,” she continued,testing him. “That was our plan. He was supposed to marry her, stay for a year, then divorce her once she transferred her assets to his name. And after that… he’d marry me.”
A dangerous quiet filled the room. Horace leaned back, studying her face.This daughter he’d long dismissed as vain, shallow, and useless. But there it was now,calculation. Ruthlessness. A reflection of himself.
For the first time in twenty-seven years, Horace Gregory felt something toward his daughter that almost resembled pride. Not love.Never love,but recognition.
“So this Jonathan fellow is interested in you and not Serena?”, Horace asked quietly.
Clara smiled. “Yes, Dad. And with what you just told Serena, we don’t even need him to go through with her anymore. He and I can marry instead. Serena will never find a man who fits those conditions. I mean,what billionaire would want to marry her?”
A soft laugh escaped her, mean and triumphant. “In two years, her shares will transfer to me. I’ll control everything. And she’ll have nothing.”
Horace didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, silent, eyes half-lidded, his fingers tapping lightly against the glass on his desk. Then, gradually, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth,slow, precise,venomous.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
“Call Jonathan.”
Horace leaned forward, his eyes gleaming beneath the low light. “Tell him,” he said, pausing just long enough for the weight of his words to sink in, “that it’s time we all came to an understanding.”
Clara nodded and began to dial, her fingers trembling with a thrill she couldn’t contain.
As the line began to ring, Horace’s gaze drifted,a cruel satisfaction curling his lips.
Outside, somewhere in the mansion, a door slammed.
And then Jonathan’s voice came through the receiver.
“Clara?”
She smiled.
“Yes. Come to the house.” She added slowly, dragging every word “My father wants to see you”.
On the other end, Jonathan’s hand tightened around the phone. The silence that followed felt heavy. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He knew this wasn’t just a meeting, it was a reckoning.