Chapter 42 Chapter 42: When Triumph Meets Retribution
Sera’s POV
I knew the moment I stepped into the lounge outside Miss Elara’s suite that something was different. The air felt lighter, brighter, charged with a kind of excitement that didn’t belong to quiet afternoons in this house. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows and spilled across the marble floors, catching in the glass décor and making the entire room glitter. Laughter floated out through the half-open doors—high, delighted, and unrestrained. It made me slow my steps without meaning to, because laughter like that usually meant someone else had become the subject of entertainment.
When I pushed the door open fully, the scene inside looked like a celebration. Miss Elara sat at the center of the sofa like royalty surrounded by her court, her posture relaxed but commanding. Tiffany lounged beside her with effortless elegance, Bethany leaned forward eagerly with sparkling curiosity in her eyes, and Gloria perched on an armchair clutching a glass as if she were afraid to miss a single word. Their designer bags lay scattered across the table, forgotten, because the only thing that mattered in that moment was whatever story Miss Elara was telling.
“You’re skipping the best part,” Tiffany protested dramatically, waving her hand. “No, start from the beginning. You said he sent something this morning. You cannot just jump to the ending.”
Bethany nodded quickly. “Yes! We deserve the full story. What did he send? Flowers? Jewelry? Please don’t tell me it was just flowers.”
Miss Elara tilted her head, letting the suspense stretch deliciously. “A dress,” she said at last, her lips curling with satisfaction. “A very expensive dress.”
Gloria’s jaw dropped. “Of course it was expensive. Men like him don’t apologize in small gestures. So what did you do? Did you send it back unopened? Ignore it for a week? Make him beg?”
Miss Elara leaned back against the cushions as if she were settling into a throne. “Oh, I didn’t ignore it,” she said slowly. “I gave it the attention it deserved.”
Tiffany grabbed her arm. “Elara, stop being dramatic and tell us already. What did you do?”
Miss Elara leaned forward, lowering her voice so they had to lean closer to hear. “I burned it.”
All three of them shrieked at once.
“You did NOT!” Bethany gasped.
“Elara, that is insane!” Gloria laughed breathlessly.
Tiffany slapped the cushion beside her. “No, no, you’re lying. You wouldn’t actually burn it.”
“I lit it myself,” Miss Elara replied calmly. “I watched every inch of it catch fire.”
The room erupted into chaotic laughter and disbelief, their excitement bouncing off the walls like fireworks. I stayed near the doorway, hands clasped tightly together, pretending to be invisible while every word pressed heavier against my chest.
“What did his note say?” Gloria demanded eagerly. “There had to be a note.”
Miss Elara rolled her eyes. “A polite apology. Carefully written. Thoughtful. As if words erase humiliation.”
Bethany shook her head, half shocked, half thrilled. “And you just destroyed the gift? Completely?”
“Completely,” Miss Elara confirmed. “And when the flames died, I had the remains sent back with a note that said, ‘Apology not accepted.’”
Tiffany burst into laughter. “That is ruthless. Absolutely ruthless. He must be furious right now.”
Miss Elara’s smile grew slow and sharp. “Good,” she said. “He should be furious. He should understand that he doesn’t get to fix things whenever he feels like it.”
Gloria clapped softly. “Honestly, Elara, that is iconic. I wish I could have seen his face when he opens it.”
Miss Elara lifted her chin, eyes shining with pride. “So do I.”
Miss Elara’s laughter was still echoing through the room when her gaze drifted toward the doorway—and stopped. It landed on me with sudden sharp focus, like a spotlight snapping into place. The shift in her expression was subtle but immediate; the amusement softened into something more deliberate, more pointed. My heartbeat stumbled before quickening, because I knew that look. It meant I had just become part of the conversation.
“Sera,” she called smoothly, lifting her hand and curling her finger in a silent command for me to step closer. “Come here.”
Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward me at once. I forced my feet to move, each step feeling louder than it should against the marble floor. The laughter quieted into curious silence as I stopped beside the sofa, folding my hands together to hide the nervous tension in my fingers.
Miss Elara tilted her head slightly, studying me with an unreadable smile. “Tell me,” she said, her voice soft but expectant, “did you send the package back?”
For a second, my throat felt dry. I swallowed before answering. “Yes, Miss. I did.”
Her smile deepened, satisfaction flickering in her eyes. “Good. And?”
“And it should be delivered by now,” I finished carefully.
The reaction was immediate.
Tiffany clapped her hands together with delight. “Perfect timing!”
Bethany leaned forward eagerly. “Which means he’s probably opened it already.”
Gloria covered her mouth as if trying—and failing—to hide her excitement. “I wish we could see his reaction right now.”
Miss Elara leaned back slowly, crossing her legs with quiet elegance, her expression glowing with triumph. “So do I,” she murmured, almost to herself.
Elara’s laughter was still echoing in the lounge when she lifted her glass and took a slow, satisfied sip, her eyes glittering with pride. “Sera,” she said suddenly, turning toward me with a bright, triumphant smile, “bring wine. Proper wine. If we’re celebrating, we’re doing it right.”
Tiffany clapped lightly. “Yes, please. This story deserves champagne at the very least.”
Bethany leaned back against the cushions, grinning. “I still can’t believe you actually burned it. You didn’t even hesitate?”
“I didn’t even blink,” Elara replied, voice rich with satisfaction. “I told you, if he thought an apology gift would fix everything, he clearly doesn’t know me.”
Gloria laughed softly. “You’re terrifying.”
“I prefer unforgettable,” Elara corrected smugly before her gaze flicked back to me. “Sera? The wine?”
“Yes, Miss,” I said quickly, nodding before turning toward the doors. I turned before anyone could notice the hesitation in my eyes and began walking toward the suite doors, the sound of their chatter rising again behind me like the start of a party I didn’t quite belong to.
As I stepped into the hallway, the laughter faded into a muffled echo, replaced by the quiet hush of the private wing. The air here felt cooler, calmer, untouched by the excitement I’d just left behind. My footsteps slowed despite myself. Delivered by now. The words repeated in my head, heavier each time. I tried to shake the thought away and focus on the task. Wine. Glasses. Simple. Normal.
I reached the suite and pushed the door open gently. The room greeted me with its usual soft stillness, sunlight spilling across the polished floor and catching on the edges of the furniture. For a brief second, the quiet wrapped around me like a shield. I exhaled slowly and moved toward the cabinet where Miss Elara kept her collection, trying to steady the strange tension humming beneath my ribs.
I had just reached for the handle when a sudden sound cut through the silence behind me.
A phone ringing.
I turned instinctively, my gaze landing on the coffee table near the sitting area. Miss Elara’s phone lay exactly where she had left it earlier, the screen glowing brightly against the glass surface. The sharp, steady ringtone filled the room, louder in the quiet than it ever seemed before.
I hesitated.
I wasn’t supposed to touch it.
But it kept ringing.
The sound echoed in the stillness, persistent, insistent—like it refused to be ignored. My feet moved before I could stop them, drawn by something I couldn’t explain. I stepped closer, my heartbeat beginning to pick up for reasons I didn’t fully understand.
The screen lit up as the call continued.
And then I saw the name.
Auren.
My breath caught so suddenly it almost hurt. The air felt thinner, tighter, as if the room itself had shrunk around me. For a moment I just stared, frozen in place while the phone continued to ring in my hand.
“He’s calling…” I whispered to the empty room, the words barely leaving my lips.
My mind raced, thoughts colliding into each other faster than I could sort them. He’s calling her. He’s calling now. He already received it. The realization spread through me in a slow, sinking wave.
The phone kept ringing.
I swallowed hard, my fingers hovering uncertainly over the glowing screen. “Miss Elara is in the lounge,” I murmured under my breath, as if reminding myself of the obvious would make the decision easier. “I should take it to her.”
But my feet didn’t move.
Instead, I stood there, staring at his name while the sound echoed louder and louder in the quiet suite—each ring tightening the knot in my chest, each second stretching longer than the last.