16. Serena
Serena
My phone buzzed with another text from Jenese right as I pulled up to the party. Like she knew I was already there.
I just had to get into his office. Plug the USB into the laptop. Hand her the USB back.
Be smarter than her, Serena.
“Victimless crime,” I mumbled, stuffing my purse with the little pouch I got from the back of my closet. I stepped out of my car, and a memory hit me like a brick:
I can do this , I repeated to myself. My first time out on my own.
No Mama. No Daddy. Just me. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, casting golden light over the sea of socialites in front of me.
Voices hummed—the low, pretentious laughter, the clinking of champagne glasses, the undercurrent of whispered deals being made.
And me, standing in the middle of it, utterly out of place. I shifted my weight in my heels, smoothing my dress with sweaty palms.
Mama had chosen it for me—sleek, elegant, and just a touch too tight. A dress meant to be noticed. A dress meant to tell the world I belonged here.
But I didn’t.
Laurene was gone, though, so I had to do it.
Six months, two weeks, and four days—no calls, no postcards. Just Erik’s update that she was in Paris and apparently preferred strangers to us. Fine.
Grandpa Ben was gone. Gigi was a wreck. Erik was stoic. Mama and Daddy were fighting.
The King family was crumbling from the inside.
“It’s time you stop hiding in the shadows,” Mama said before I arrived, her tone clipped, assessing. “Your last name isn’t just for decoration. Show them you can be a King.”
I almost fell onto the bar, I was buzzing with so much nervous energy. The bartender gave me a curious look. “What’ll it be?”
“Something strong.”
The bartender raised a brow. Was that the wrong thing to say? A voice said, “Give her a Manhattan.”
I turned to my right, and there was an older Black woman watching me.
She was striking. Not just beautiful, but arranged—like she had chosen each element of herself with intention.
I hadn’t noticed her before, which bothered me. I always noticed people. I could remember the face of a contractor I’d passed once in a hallway when I was eight.
She looked to be in her fifties. Her posture was impeccable—shoulders relaxed but back straight, legs crossed just so, her fingers cradling a glass of red wine like it had always belonged there. Her dress was deep red satin. Not burgundy. Not maroon. Red.
Her jewelry matched—real stones, real gold. Expensive, but not flashy. No labels, but everything about her screamed money.
She smiled back. Not warm. Not cold. Just amused.
“Let me guess—you’d rather be anywhere but here?”
My throat felt tight. “Is it that obvious?”
“Parties like these are a drag. Just big dick investors showing off their money and the women scrambling for it.”
I blinked. That was…blunt.
She reached her hand out. “I’m Jenese.”
I shook it. Firm grip. Polished nails. Diamond ring, right hand. No wedding band.
“Serena.”
The bartender came back with the drink, leaving us alone once again.
“I think you might the most interesting thing here, Serena.” Jenese smiled again, tilting her glass toward me. “Do you have time to chat, or should I let you go about your business?”
I looked over my shoulder. I didn’t even see the investor Mama wanted me to talk to. And maybe talking to this woman would help me loosen up.
“Sure. I have time.”
I didn’t realize I was standing in the grand lobby of the home till someone bumped into my shoulder.
The inside of the building was a big, lively space with people chatting quietly, glasses clinking, and bursts of laughter. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto the polished marble and gilded bits.
I strolled up to the bar. A few people glanced my way, their eyes skimming over me, curiosity piqued but fleeting. That was the trick—blend in just enough to be forgettable, yet carry yourself like you owned the place.
Jenese always said, “Blend in until you don’t.”
Smiling slightly, I leaned against the bar. “Manhattan, neat.”
I scanned the room, my gaze lingering on clusters of people, their conversations animated yet contained. I didn’t see him yet.
But I didn’t need to see him. I knew the rhythm now. I knew what to listen for. What to say. What to withhold.
The first couple of lessons had felt like power. Control. Like I was finally being let in on secrets no one in my family thought I could handle.
I didn’t realize they were hooks.
I’d been so eager to impress her. So starved to be told I was doing something right for once.
Mommy issues could make a na?ve, inexperienced rich girl do strange things. Like follow a woman with a prettier smile and sharper claws. I just wanted to go back to Mama and show her what I knew.
I grabbed the cocktail from the bar, the chilled glass cool against my fingertips.
My lips touched the rim, but I didn’t drink—just held it as a prop. My attention swept the room again as I tried to make my brain work like it did before in times like this, taking in every detail: the rooms, the exits, the security cameras discreetly tucked into corners.
And then I saw him.
Alan Price was leaning casually against a table near the far corner, a drink in one hand and his phone in the other. He was taller than I’d expected, his sharp suit impeccably tailored. His dark hair was slicked back, and he looked exactly like Jenese’s type.
Rich. Married. Emotionally unavailable.
Alan had definitely fucked her, and now she was using me to get back at him.
The ex-lovers who’d crossed Jenese before had been my first examples of how to manipulate and how to get revenge. She was definitely taking me back to the basics.
I told myself I wanted to be better at business. Smarter. Tougher. But the truth was uglier. My mother was too busy running an empire to teach me how to build one.
My grip on the glass tightened as another thought surfaced.
Miles wouldn’t recognize this version of me.
That’s the point.
It was why I hid Jenese, this life, from my family. They could only know me as Serena. The one who already knew how to do everything. Not the one stumbling through this life.
I took my drink and made my way across the room, weaving through clusters of people while keeping Alan in my peripheral vision.
I had to shake off the cobwebs. This wasn’t me being someone else. This was me remembering who the hell I was.
There was an empty spot at the high-top table just a few feet away from him. Maybe I could catch some of his conversation.
I perched on the edge of a barstool, crossing my legs. I pretended to be interested in my drink, my expression neutral but my senses tuned to him like a wire stretched tight.
Before I could decide my next move, a voice cut through the air.
“Well, well. Serena King.”
I froze for half a beat. No. Nobody can know me here. Turning slowly, I plastered on a faint smile, bracing myself. “Do I know you?”
“You should,” he said. “Bryan Royce. We met at the King Foundation’s fundraising dinner last fall. How’s your sister doing?”
“Bryan,” I said smoothly, offering my hand. His grip was firm, lingering just a fraction too long. I didn’t like the clammy feeling of his hands. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And here I thought I’d have to survive this night without a single interesting conversation,” he said, leaning in. “What brings you to Elysian Bluff? I didn’t take your family from straying too far from Lush.”
I laughed lightly, the kind of practiced sound that didn’t betray anything real. “I’m here for the ambiance. And you?”
Deflect. Get him the hell out of my face.
“Oh, you know,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his drink. “Networking. The usual.”
Bryan continued to talk, but I tuned him out, my gaze drifting back to Alan. He’d moved slightly, now angled in my direction as he scanned the room.
“…but enough about me. Your sister said you’re busy these days. I had a property I wanted to get your… expertise on. Is your schedule only filled with business?”
I smiled tightly, the edges of my patience fraying. “Just business. You know how it is.”
“You’re wasted on that stuff, you know. A woman like you should be the center of every room.”
Men like him always thought flattery was currency.
I gave him a bland expression. “Then let’s not waste either of our time pretending this is going somewhere.”
His smile faltered.
“Enjoy the party, Bryan.”
Alan finished his drink, setting the glass down on a passing tray with a casual flick of his wrist. Then, without a word to the people around him, he stepped away from the crowd. I waited a beat, then followed, leaving Bryan standing there gawking.
Alan turned down a hallway. It was quieter here, the low hum of voices from the main room fading into a muffled backdrop.
Once it was safe, I noticed the lighting was dimmer, and the air seemed thicker. Or was I just nervous?
But that feeling bloomed low in my gut, dark and familiar again. I hadn’t felt it in years—the quiet, electric rush of doing something I shouldn’t. The slippery kind of thrill that came from walking a razor-thin edge and knowing I could fall, but still choosing to balance there anyway.
That was the feeling I hated the most. I knew it was bad. But why did it feel good?
I inhaled shakily, flexing my hands and rolling my shoulders back.
It felt like going up to the top of a rollercoaster and waiting for the drop.
Alan stopped in front of a door that I presumed led to another hallway. Then he pushed inside.
I counted to five before following. The door swung open easily under my hand, but as soon as I stepped inside, I realized my mistake.
The room wasn’t empty.
Six men stood in a semicircle, their conversation cutting off the moment I entered. Alan was among them, his posture shifting from relaxed to guarded as he turned toward me. Another man, broader and older, took a step forward .
“Lost?” the older man asked.