Chapter 19

Serena's POV

The crowd stands there, completely stunned by the intimate photos and explicit messages flashing on the big screen. I see several cousins shielding their eyes, and more than a few older relatives muttering curses under their breath.

I cross my arms, my pulse hammering in my ears as I watch the chaos unfold. Margaret seems torn between wanting to tear the projector down and sprinting out of this nightmare. Beatrice, my grandmother, looks like she might faint. Her face is white, her mouth slack-an expression I've never seen on her before. And Nina? She's hovering near the snack table, half-hidden, looking like she'd rather vanish than be associated with any of this.

Finally, Lawrence steps out of the house, gift bag in hand, wearing a self-satisfied smirk. His eyes lock on the images for half a second, and his face goes ghostly white.

"What the-" he stammers, voice cracking in raw panic. He drops the gift bag, the wrapped box clattering onto the grass. A shocked hush ripples through the crowd, and then he bolts forward, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Turn it off!" he roars, jabbing a finger at the stunned staff. "TURN IT OFF RIGHT NOW! Fuck-"

His voice is shaking with rage, and I can practically see the veins bulging in his neck. The rest of the family stands there, dumbstruck, as he flails around, frantically yanking wires in a desperate attempt to kill the feed, until the machine finally shuts down.

After a long breath, Lawrence, panting with rage, scans the sea of wide-eyed Sinclair relatives. "I-I'm sorry for the confusion," he finally sputters. "Everyone, let's just... let's just focus on Mother's birthday. Please go enjoy dinner. This-this is a setup. Someone's trying to sabotage me. This is all fake, AI nonsense!" But the hush that's fallen over the crowd tells me nobody's buying the AI excuse.

He practically chokes on his words. The man is drowning in humiliation and can't even find a rope to cling to. I stand off to the side, feigning disinterest, but inside, I'm savoring every second of his downfall.

People shuffle around, clearly rattled, but Lawrence claps his hands and forces a shaky smile. "Let's all return to the dining hall," he says. "Don't let these ridiculous, uh, photos ruin the evening."

No one believes him, though. I see Sinclair relatives muttering among themselves, throwing side-eyes at him. A few cast suspicious looks my way, like they're guessing I'm behind the big reveal. I just shrug, adjusting the bandage on my finger and ignoring their stares.

Beatrice catches sight of the explicit pictures on the screen. Her face goes dangerously dark. She looks like she's ready to burst a blood vessel.

Angela steps forward, tears streaking her made-up face. Her voice trembles as she looks up at Beatrice with sheer desperation. "Mother," she pleads, "this is humiliating-Lawrence's affair with that woman... I can't bear it. Please, you have to help me."

Beatrice's jaw set rigidly and her eyes ablaze with anger. She places a hand on Angela's shoulder, trying to steady the younger woman. "Stop your crying," she orders softly, though her tone is ice-cold.

Beatrice narrows her eyes, the muscle in her jaw jumping as she exhales. "That secretary," she says, practically spitting out the word. "I want her to learn her lesson. And I want her gone. Permanently. Understand?"

Angela nodded slightly.

Inside the dining hall, I find my assigned seat. A man I don't recognize-fat, wavy blond hair, mid-thirties maybe-sits down next to me. He gives me a stiff nod, but I barely acknowledge him. My mind is already halfway out the door. I can't stand these events and their fake civility.

Eventually, the main course arrives, and the room hums with whispered conversations. When dessert finally comes, I set my fork down, my appetite long gone.

I push back my chair and head for the exit, weaving around tuxedoed men and overdressed women. But before I can escape the suffocating atmosphere, two figures block my path: Nina Sinclair and Ian Whitmore. Nina's wearing her usual plastic smile, while Ian hovers awkwardly behind her.

Nina's voice drips with false concern. "Serena, leaving so soon? Are you okay? After all the chaos, we just wanted to check on you."

Ian tries to look sympathetic. "Yeah, we... we were worried. It's been a while since we talked."

I roll my eyes so hard I nearly see the ceiling. "Worried? About me? Right." I can practically taste the poison in the air. "Please, spare me the act. I'm done pretending we're chummy."

Nina's smile wavers. "Serena, we're just trying to be nice-"

"Nice?" I snap, cutting her off."Don't insult my intelligence."

Ian opens his mouth, but I stare him down, daring him to speak. He shuts it again.

I sidestep them and keep walking, my heels echoing on the marble floor. But before I can actually make it out, I hear Lawrence's enraged bark from somewhere behind me.

"Serena! Get back here, now."

I clench my teeth. Great. Another round. With a sigh, I turn around and follow his voice up a winding staircase to the second-floor garden terrace. The night sky hangs overhead, the city lights twinkling in the distance. If this weren't a Sinclair-owned property, it'd almost be beautiful.

Lawrence stands there, hands balled into fists at his sides, jaw clenched like he's trying not to explode. "You," he hisses, "did you do this? The video, the photos... you think you can humiliate me like this?"

I cross my arms over my chest. "What are you talking about? You're the star of that production, not me."

His eyes narrow. "Don't play dumb. Only you would have any reason to sabotage me in front of the entire family."

I let out a dry laugh. "You're giving me too much credit. Maybe the universe finally decided to expose you."

He exhales, a cruel sound. "Fine. Keep denying. But you owe this family a debt, and you're going to repay it."

"Repay it?" I snap. "After what you pulled tonight, you still think you get to order me around? Don't make me laugh."

His mouth twists into a scowl, but he forces his voice to stay calm. "I have someone I want you to meet. A man named James Chapman. You saw him at dinner-he was sitting next to you. Well, he's from a respectable branch of the family and works at Harrington International Holdings."

I raise an eyebrow. "So, you want me to be his wife? Why don't you marry him off to Nina? She loves anything with a big wallet."

Lawrence's nostrils flare. "Don't test me, Serena. This arrangement could benefit us all. You're not getting any younger, and if you continue this rebellious streak-"

I cut him off, pure fury rising in my chest. "I don't care who he is. I'm not a chess piece you can move around."

Lawrence snarls under his breath but doesn't press the point. He knows better than to argue when I'm like this. He storms off, mumbling something about "that damn girl" and "ruining everything." Typical.

No sooner has he disappeared down the stairs than I hear footsteps behind me. I turn to see James Chapman, that stranger from dinner, approaching. Under the terrace lights, I notice he's actually not bad-looking-a polished, corporate vibe, maybe 35, wearing an expensive suit. But the sneer on his face makes my skin crawl.

He looks me up and down, like I'm an item for sale. "So you're Serena Sinclair," he says, voice dripping with condescension. "I heard you've been stirring up trouble. What are you, some rebellious little princess with no real assets?"

My jaw clenches. "Excuse me?"

He shrugs. "Just calling it like I see it. Your reputation... not exactly stellar. And rumor has it, you're strapped for cash. Why else would your father be so desperate to marry you off?"

I glare daggers at him. Every cell in my body screams to knock that smug grin off his face. But I hold back-barely. "You don't know a thing about me. And frankly, I don't give a damn about your opinion."

James laughs, a low, patronizing sound. "Well, if your father wants to arrange something, I might consider it... for the right price. But let's be real-someone like you? Hardly first-class material."