Chapter Six
Serena
I step into the room, my nerves a tangled mess.
This is it, my first job as a psychologist working for the FBI.
It still feels surreal, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m truly ready for this. What if I fail? What if I say the wrong thing? The thought sends a shiver through me, but I push it aside.
The room is exactly how I imagined it, or at least how my mom described it so many times in her stories. A big, sterile space, the kind that feels more clinical than welcoming. The walls are a dull, oppressive grey, and in the center is a simple metal table with two chairs on either side.
The most unnerving part is the glass. The enormous, one-way window that spans an entire wall. I can’t see them, but I know the detectives are on the other side, watching and listening to everything that happens here.
It’s intimidating.
My mom never described the feeling of it, though. She made it sound glamorous. Powerful.
She would know. She’s one of the most renowned forensic interviewers in England, a national hero after helping expose a traitor to the crown. To so many people, she’s a role model, an icon.
To me, she’s… complicated.
I love her, I truly do. I see everything she’s done for me, the sacrifices, the endless ways she’s tried to hold our world together, and I appreciate it more than she’ll ever know.
But sometimes… sometimes it feels like I’m nothing more than a shadow trailing after her.
Like I’m constantly trying to earn her love, her approval, her recognition.
All I want is for her to see me, not as a burden, not as a mistake, not as the girl who stole the man she loved most. I want her to see me as her daughter, flesh of her flesh, not the enemy who ruined her life.
Because I can feel it, buried in the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not watching: that tiny flicker of resentment, that unspoken reminder that I was the one who took everything from her. Her husband. Her career. Her happiness.
And so I try harder. I bend myself into shapes I think will please her, fight battles I shouldn’t have to fight, just for a taste of what I crave most, her love.
Not the dutiful affection of a mother carrying a wound she can’t forget, but love that’s real and whole and unconditional.
A love that doesn’t make me feel like I’m constantly apologizing for existing.
What I really love, what I’ve always loved, is literature. Books were my escape, my sanctuary. I wanted to be a writer, to create worlds with my words, to live a life full of stories.
But my parents had other plans.
My mom, with her sharp precision and unrelenting expectations, saw me as her protégé. And my dad? He was no better, pushing the idea that I’d marry a rich, powerful senator and carve out a future built on influence and prestige.
It was never about my dreams. It was about their vision for me.
And now, here I am, standing in this cold, grey room, wearing the career they planned for me like a second skin that doesn’t quite fit.
I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the doubt. This is my life now, whether I chose it or not.
They know exactly how I feel about arranged marriage, but for now, they’ve left me alone.
At least for now.
I know it’s only a matter of time before they find someone they deem suitable and start pushing. They’ve always controlled me, my choices, my life.
I’m 24 years old, and I’m working for the FBI. How? Because I’m the daughter of Thomas and Lauren Beaumont.
I understand how privileged I am. No one in their right mind could get this kind of job straight out of graduation, not without connections. But that’s how the world works, and I’ve learned to accept it.
Am I grateful for what my parents have given me? Of course. But sometimes, I catch myself wishing for something simpler. Something normal.
Even if this career wasn’t my first choice, I’ve grown to enjoy it. Studying psychology opened a door I didn’t expect. I’ve developed a quiet passion for understanding how people think, for peeling back the layers of their minds and finding what lies beneath.
If I’d followed my father’s advice and studied politics instead, I’d probably be bored out of my mind. Psychology, at least, gives me something to hold onto.
I graduated from Princeton University, top of my class, with the highest grades they’d seen in years. I’m prepared for this job because I spent six relentless years preparing for everything.
But it wasn’t just the university, it was my parents. They groomed me to be perfect. To be their perfect daughter.
I studied. I excelled. I never caused problems.
Because I knew how much it mattered to them to have the perfect family. To maintain the image they’d built.
And for the most part, I played along.
But it cost me.
There are moments when I feel like I’ve lost myself entirely, buried under the weight of their expectations. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be outside of the person they’ve shaped me to become.
Even though I’m prepared for this job, nerves are still gnawing at me.
My first client is supposed to be a powerful man. I imagine some old senator who got himself into trouble, the type of guy who thinks his money and influence can shield him from consequences.
I can almost hear Sienna’s voice in my head, playful and full of sass: “Why’re you nervous, girl? You’re gorgeous, and every man in trouble would spill it all if they saw your fine ass.”
The thought makes me laugh quietly to myself. Sienna has always had a way of lightening my mood, even if she doesn’t realize it. She’s the one who always pushes me to lean into my “beauty privilege” when dealing with men, whether I want to or not. According to her, it’s my secret weapon.
She’s not wrong, though.
I know I have the knowledge and skills to get inside their heads, to unravel their defenses and uncover their darkest secrets. It’s what I’ve trained for.
But why not use every asset at my disposal?
It’s not like I’m blind to how men react to me. I see the way they look, the way their eyes linger, the way their egos falter when I give them just the right amount of attention. If a little charm and confidence help me break through their walls faster, why shouldn’t I take advantage of it?
Knowledge is power, they say.
But I know better, sometimes, it’s the subtle things that tip the scales.
“Serena, we’re ready,” Ian says, his deep voice pulling me from my thoughts.
Ian has been the closest friend I’ve ever had. We’ve known each other since childhood, our fathers being close friends. He’s been a constant in my life, someone I’ve always been able to rely on.
Of course, my mom had her own ideas about our relationship. She always envisioned Ian as my future husband, and for a while, I think he was her perfect candidate.
But I could never see him that way.
Not that he isn’t attractive, far from it. Ian is gorgeous in a way that makes heads turn. His whiskey-colored eyes could make any girl melt, and at 6’2” with a gym routine he never skips, he looks like he stepped out of a Greek myth. His short beard only adds to his serious, mysterious allure.
He’s had more girlfriends than I can count, each one more stunning than the last.
As teenagers, we were always close, and I sometimes wondered if he had a soft spot for me. There were moments, quiet glances, unspoken things, but he never said anything outright, and he never crossed that line.
I think part of me shut the door on that possibility long ago. Maybe it’s because of my mom’s constant pushing, her endless hints about how we’d be perfect together. The more she forced the idea, the less I could see him as anything but a friend.
Perhaps it was just my rebellious streak, a quiet way of pushing back against her plans for me.
Whatever it was, it worked.
Ian is attractive, sure. He’s everything most women would want. But to me, he’s just Ian, a close friend.
Ian is one of the FBI’s best detectives, and it shows. At 25, he’s already built a reputation for being sharp, relentless, and impossible to outmaneuver. His father groomed him for this career from a young age, and Ian took to it like he was born for the role.
“Serena?” he says again, his tone shifting to one of confusion. His whiskey-colored eyes narrow slightly, studying me. “Are you okay? Can we go?”
I snap out of my thoughts, realizing I’ve been staring at the floor, lost in my head again.
“Yes,” I say quickly, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “I’m sorry. Let’s go. I just… got distracted.”
He doesn’t press further, but the concern lingers in his expression as I gather myself.
“I’m stressed about this meeting,” I admit as we start walking. “I don’t want to disappoint my parents, but I also don’t want to come across as the stupid rich girl who only got this job because her father is the Attorney General.”
The words tumble out, a mix of frustration and self-doubt.
Ian doesn’t respond right away, but I can feel his presence next to me, steady, grounding. He’s always had a way of making things feel less daunting, even without saying much.
I let out a shaky breath, trying to push aside the weight of expectations and focus on what’s ahead.
This is my chance to prove myself, not just to my parents or the people watching me through the glass, but to me.
I’m on my way to meet my first client, my first real client.
I made sure to dress the part. My white dress fits perfectly, hugging my curves in just the right way.
My blonde hair is down, styled with soft curls that frame my face.
My mother’s voice echoes in my mind as I adjust my Valentino heels.
“Presentation is everything, darling, especially when you’re beautiful. ”
She’s always emphasized the importance of dressing well, of using every advantage to make an impression. And while I don’t always agree with her approach, I’ve learned the value of it.