Chapter 12 Chapter 12: Money on Gravel
The air outside hit me like a quiet exhale I hadn’t realized I was holding. The front drive was washed in late-afternoon gold, the kind that made the Veyra estate look softer than it ever truly was. Gravel crunched beneath my shoes. The front drive was busy, controlling the way the Veyra estate always was—cars parked just so, staff moving with purpose, and nothing was out of place.
Neille stood by her car with the trunk wide open, half her body bent inside, arms full of glossy bags and ribboned boxes stacked so high they wobbled dangerously. One slid forward, tipping toward the edge.
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed at it like it had intent. I hurried over and caught the box just before it fell.
“Careful,” I said, bracing the stack. “These look expensive enough to scream if they hit the ground.”
Neille straightened, pushing her hair back with the heel of her hand. “Oh, they absolutely would,” she said. “And Carol would hear it from three rooms away.”
“Here,” I added, reaching in again. “Give me some of those.”
“Take them. Please. Before I throw myself into traffic,” she replied, handing over two bags and a square box tied with a silk bow. “Do you know how many times I had to carry these in and out of the car already? I swear they’re multiplying.”
“They’re gifts,” I said.
“They’re weapons,” Neille corrected immediately. “Don’t confuse the two.”
As she slammed the trunk shut, she launched straight into it, breathless but energized.
“So—tonight’s dinner?” she said, lowering her voice even though we were still outside. “A disaster waiting to happen. The Draven family is arriving like royalty. Not just Auren—his father is coming, which means extra security, extra seating, extra rules.” She rolled her eyes and started walking. “Apparently his stepmother insists on a specific brand of mineral water. Glass bottles only. Imported. Carol rejected the first shipment because the labels were ‘ugly.’”
“That sounds… normal,” I murmured.
Neille snorted. “Oh, don’t worry, it gets worse.”
She didn’t slow down, barely glanced back to see if I was following. “There’s also a cousin coming in from New York. She owns every room she enters. Simon already hates her, which means I’ll probably be asked to smile at her all night.” She made a face. “And there’s an aunt. Or maybe a great-aunt. No one’s sure. All I know is she’s been married four times and once dated a senator.”
“Did it end badly?” I asked absently.
“She left him because he talked too much,” Neille said gleefully. “Which, honestly? Fair.”
I adjusted the bags digging into my wrists, nodded at the gravel path instead of looking at her. My thoughts kept drifting, slipping past her words like water through my fingers. Dinner. Dravens. Auren. I hated how his name surfaced without permission. Neille kept talking anyway.
“And guess who’s been running around all morning because of it?” she continued. “Me plcing seating charts. Place cards. Centerpieces that are ‘too symmetrical’ and then ‘not symmetrical enough.’ Carol made me redo the entire arrangement because she decided the flowers felt ‘aggressive.’”
“Aggressive?”
“Yes,” Neille said firmly. “Apparently hydrangeas can be threatening now.”
She shot me a look. “You’re quiet. That’s suspicious.”
“I’m listening,” I lied.
“Mm-hmm,” she said. “That’s what people say when they’re absolutely not listening.”
We reached the side path toward the service entrance, the house looming ahead of us like it always did—perfect and waiting. Neille lowered her voice again. “Between us?” she said. “She’s convinced tonight seals everything... Engagement... Alliance. Legacy all of it.”
I felt something twist in my chest. “And him?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Him?” she repeated, then smiled knowingly. “Auren Draven?” She hummed. “From what I hear, he hasn’t officially agreed to anything. Which is making Elara absolutely feral.”
I swallowed and said nothing.
Neille mistook my silence for interest and leaned into it. “She’s been practicing smiling in the mirror,” she added. “The soft one. The mysterious one. The ‘I already own you’ one.” She shuddered. “I walked past her room earlier and she didn’t even see me. That’s when you know it’s bad.”
“Maybe she’s nervous,” I said quietly.
Neille barked a laugh. “Elara doesn’t get nervous. She gets focused. There’s a difference.”
We reached the door, and Neille shoved it open with her shoulder. “Welcome to pre-dinner madness,” she announced. “If you hear screaming later, just assume it’s intentional.” She glanced at the bags in my arms. “You’re lucky. You’ll be stuck in her wing. At least you won’t have to serve them.”
I wasn’t sure if that was luck.
“Seriously,” she said. “You okay?”
I nodded, forcing my grip to steady. “Just tired.”
Neille didn’t move right away. She just stood there in the doorway, one hand still on the doorframe, studying me in a way that made my skin prickle. Not the casual glance she gave everyone, not the amused flick she usually reserved for drama—but a quiet, assessing look that told me she’d already decided something was wrong. “You always say that,” she said finally. “Just tired. Just fine. Just another day.” Her eyes dropped briefly to my hands tightening around the bags, then lifted back to my face. “But you’re gripping those like they’re going to run away. So—again. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, too quickly. I shifted the weight again, trying to look normal, to feel normal. “Really. It’s just… today’s been long.”
Neille exhaled through her nose, unimpressed. “Sera,” she said, lowering her voice, “I survived this house by noticing things. And right now? You’re doing that quiet thing where you disappear behind your eyes and that only happens when something’s actually wrong.” She stepped aside to let another staff member pass, then leaned closer. “Did Elara do something?”
“No,” I said immediately. “This isn’t about her.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “That’s worse.”
She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Talk to me,” she said. “Or at least don’t insult me by pretending nothing’s wrong.”
I hesitated. The house hummed around us—footsteps, voices, the low pulse of preparation—but suddenly it all felt too close. “If I tell you something,” I said slowly, “you can’t tell anyone.”
Neille didn’t even blink. “I live on secrets,” she said. “Try me.”
“No,” I insisted. “I mean it. Not Mickey. Not Lucinda. Not the kitchen. No one.” “Okay,” she said. “You have my word.”
I swallowed, my throat tight. “It happened earlier,” I said. “When I went out for the Elara dress.”
Neille’s eyes sharpened instantly. “The red one,” she said. “The one Elara nearly lost her mind over.”
“Yes,” I said. “I was at the boutique. DuVall’s.”
“And?”
“And he was there.”
Neille’s breath hitched. “He?”
“Auren Draven.”
Nielle's mouth fell open just slightly before she caught herself. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I was.” My pulse thudded in my ears as I continued. “He was holding the dress. Like it was nothing. Like it already belonged to him.” I let out a short, humorless breath. “I told him not to buy it.”
Neille stared. “You what?”
“I didn’t think,” I said. “I just—said it. And he turned around and looked at me like…” I shook my head. “Like I wasn’t supposed to exist in his world.”
“And then?” she prompted, barely breathing now.
“And then he said something,” I said quietly. “Something smug. Something that made me feel small.” My hand curled reflexively. “So I slapped him.”
Neille made a sound halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “You—Sera, you—” She clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “You slapped Auren Draven?”
“Yes.”
“In public.”
“Yes.”
“Barefoot.”
“Yes.”
She stared at me for a long second, then whispered, “Holy shit.”
“I didn’t plan it,” I said quickly, heat flooding my face. “It just happened. My hand moved before my brain could stop it.” I looked down at the bags. “He didn’t even get angry. He just looked at me like… like I’d surprised him. Like he was amused.”
Neille lowered her hand slowly. “That’s somehow worse,” she murmured. “Did anyone see?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Probably.”
“And Elara doesn’t know?”
“No.”
Neille nodded once, decisively. “Good. And she won’t. I promise.”
She stepped closer and lowered her voice even more. “Sera,” she said, “you do realize that man is walking into this house tonight.”
“I know.”
“And Elara worships him.”
“I know.”
“And you—” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “—are now someone he remembers.”
That settled heavy in my chest. I nodded. “That’s why I needed you to promise.”
Neille’s gaze softened just a fraction. “You have it,” she said. “I won’t say a word. Not to anyone.” Then, after a beat, “But if he so much as looks at you wrong tonight, you come find me. Deal?”
Before I could answer her suddenly, sound reached us before the sight did—a low, synchronized purr of engines rolling up the drive with deliberate slowness, like a procession meant to be noticed. Neille stiffened beside me. We both turned instinctively toward the front driveway just as the first black SUV came into view, followed by another, then Elara’s car in the center—sleek, expensive, polished to a mirror shine that caught the late sun and threw it back like a challenge. The convoy eased to a stop with theatrical precision, security already moving, doors opening in practiced sequence. “Well,” Neille muttered under her breath, straightening instantly, gossip wiped clean from her face. “Speak of the devil,”