Chapter 18

Serena's POV

I can practically see the rest of the relatives eyeing us, ready to gossip. My stomach churns. Nina's act drives me insane; it's all part of her ploy to stay in everyone's good graces. But I force a polite nod.

I barely step away from Nina when someone else calls out to me in a mocking tone. I glance over and recognize Margaret Sinclair, my father's younger sister, standing among a cluster of Sinclair relatives. Her perfectly styled hair and glittery jewelry reflect her usual thirst for attention. She points at me with her champagne flute.

"Serena," Margaret says, loud enough for everyone to hear, "did you really come empty-handed to your grandmother's birthday? What happened-too broke to buy a gift?"

I bite my lip. A wave of tension washes over me. Before I can speak, Beatrice makes a dismissive sound from across the room. "Even if she did bring something," she mutters, "it'd probably be cheap junk."

Their contempt is practically suffocating. I straighten my posture. "I don't recall you asking for gifts, Grandmother."

Nina sidles up, wearing that fake smile she's perfected. "Oh, Serena, don't blame Grandma. She just wants to see if you're finally ready to take responsibility. Didn't you splurge at that fancy restaurant with friends a while back? Yet now you claim you have no money to honor Grandma on her big day?"

I clench my fists, breath hitching. "Well, Nina," I say, my tone measured, "at least I pay for my own meals instead of ripping off other people's designs."

A flicker of panic crosses her face. "What... what are you talking about?"

I nod at the outfit draped over a mannequin in the corner-clearly meant for Beatrice. "That dress you claim to have designed for Grandma? It's from Whitmore's SW spring collection. A leftover from last year that nobody wanted."

Nina's cheeks flush. "That's nonsense. I simply drew inspiration-"

"Knock it off," I cut in, my voice cold. "You changed the collar, maybe added a different belt, but it's the same pattern. You can fool everyone else, but I worked in Whitmore. I know exactly where it came from."

An uneasy stir ripples through the Sinclair relatives. A couple of them step forward to peer at the garment. Nina tries to laugh it off. "Well... it's just that Grandma's unique style deserved a classic piece."

Beatrice narrows her eyes, torn between scolding Nina and maintaining her own dignity. Margaret quickly fans the flames. "Serena, you're making a scene. It's a family gathering, not a battleground."

I shrug. "Tell that to the person who started the fight."

An awkward hush settles, broken only by the occasional whisper. That's when I decide it's time to drop my own surprise. I pull a small velvet pouch from my purse and hold it up. "Since you're all so concerned about whether I brought a gift... maybe you'll appreciate this."

Inside is a stunning ruby necklace, set in ornate filigree that dates back to medieval Europe. The gemstones catch the light with every subtle movement, sending red sparks across the marble floor. A hush falls over the room, sharper and more profound than before.

Margaret's eyes widen. She's known to dabble in antique jewelry, and I can see her struggling not to look impressed. "That can't be... This piece was sold at a Manhattan auction for over a million dollars." She sounds reluctant, but she's forced to admit the truth. "It's genuine, isn't it?"

I raise a brow. "You tell me." Her silence is enough. I turn to Beatrice, extending the necklace with a flourish. "Would you like this, Grandmother?"

Her eyes gleam with greed-just for an instant. But then she sets her jaw. "What makes you think I'd accept this from you?"

"Right." I pocket the necklace again, ignoring the collective gasp from the relatives crowding closer for a better look. "No sense in forcing an unwanted gift."

Beatrice's expression darkens, and Nina's face contorts with jealousy. I almost feel a perverse sense of satisfaction at their frustration.

More relatives trickle in, and soon the living room is bustling. Lawrence announces we'll move to the backyard for a special presentation in Grandma's honor. He leads everyone to a makeshift open-air cinema, beaming like he's orchestrated the biggest surprise.

"I have prepared a video tribute for Mother's birthday," Lawrence declares. "A series of precious memories."

I hang back near the projector, catching the eye of one of the tech crew I spoke with earlier. My instructions were crystal clear: play my piece first, then switch to Lawrence's. I watch him nod, and a flutter of anticipation stirs in my chest.

The screen flickers on, and a hush falls over the crowd. Everyone expects some sentimental slideshow of Beatrice's photos or something equally cutesy. Instead, the first image is a selfie of Lawrence with April Carter-my so-called secretary-wrapped around him in a motel room. The angle is raunchy and leaves no doubt about what they're doing.

A collective gasp sweeps the crowd. Some relatives stifle cries of shock or mutter curses under their breath. A second photo flashes on screen: Lawrence leaning in for a kiss, April wearing next to nothing. Then a string of messages, full of cheesy romance lines and explicit undertones. I catch glimpses of phrases like "I'll make you head secretary for life" and "no one can replace you in my office". My stomach twists at the sheer sleaziness.