Chapter 3

"Serena, this is the fifth time this week Mr. Vance has requested a private meeting with you."

"Still refusing to see him?"

I reached out, taking the glass of warm water from Tristan Hayes, and swallowed my medication in one gulp.

"See him? For what?"

"To watch him evaluate me like an quarterly balance sheet? To listen to him 'analyze' our garbage marriage like a failed startup pitch? To sit there like an obedient subordinate while he magnanimously agrees to 'process' our separation?"

"His robotic, transactional bullshit makes me want to vomit. I'm done humiliating myself."

I set the empty glass down and drew a deep breath.

"Besides... Friday's gala is unavoidable."

"Whatever papers need signing, whatever ties need severing—we'll settle it all there once and for all. Clean cut."

"He can rule his Vance Empire, and I'll run my Hart Enterprises."

The sunlight filtering through the window was pleasantly warm, and a heavy drowsiness began to pull at me.

Right before closing the bedroom door, I pulled a sleek black card from my purse and handed it to Tristan standing behind me.

"No PIN. There's five million in it."

Tristan stared blankly at the card in his palm, then at the closed door. A soft, breathless chuckle slipped past his lips:

"She actually meant it when she said she'd keep me as a boy toy."

On the night of the gala, the ballroom was thick with the suffocating scent of expensive champagne, vintage perfumes, and socialite chatter. Since this was my first public appearance after the divorce announcement hit the news, I held a flute of champagne, navigating conversations with longtime family friends and industry titans.

Brandon cut through the crowd, walking straight up to me.

"Serena. We need to talk."

His tone was distinctly softer than usual.

I looked up.

How the tables had turned. It was my turn to look at him as if he were an object up for appraisal.

"Is there business to discuss, Mr. Vance?"

The title 'Mr. Vance' visibly choked him. After a tense pause, his assistant stepped forward, offering a velvet jewelry box. Brandon opened it, revealing a breathtaking, vibrant gemstone necklace.

"I... neglected you in the past."

His voice was stiff and awkward; words of apology and reconciliation clearly didn't come naturally to him.

"Consider this a peace offering. About the divorce, perhaps we could—"

I stared at him.

I couldn't quite fathom what was going through his head. Was he trying to protect our merged market valuation, unwilling to discard such an advantageous 'strategic partner'?

The divorce was happening regardless.

Still, from a purely commercial perspective, there was no need to burn every bridge down to ash.

I had issues with him, not with money.

Just as I weighed my response, a delicate, breathy voice sliced into the space between us.

Laced with perfectly engineered surprise and familiarity:

"Brandon! So this was the necklace you picked out for Serena?"

"If I had known, I would have insisted Serena choose first."

Luna rolled over in her sleek wheelchair, her gaze locking onto the jewels with a petulant, possessive pout.

Draped around her neck was another piece from the exact same luxury collection.

"I told you the other day that I found the design too plain. But seeing it again tonight, it's just so stunning... I really do love it."

As she spoke, she reached out and gently tugged on the sleeve of Brandon's tuxedo jacket.

Brandon's brows furrowed slightly.

He looked at me, then glanced down at Luna in her wheelchair.

His tone slipped effortlessly back into his usual dismissive rationality, as if managing a minor administrative clash:

"Serena, Luna happens to love this piece."

"My firm currently has major joint ventures running with the Miller family. Let her have this one. Tell me what styles you prefer, and I'll have my assistant source—"

I burst out laughing, without an ounce of genuine anger on my face.

"Mr. Vance."

"I acknowledge your intention. But the gift?"

"I am Serena Hart. I have never scavenged for someone else's discarded leftovers."

My eyes swept pointedly over Brandon himself, my voice brimming with cool arrogance:

"Besides, since when do gifts get rescinded on the spot? You've dominated the corporate sector for years, Mr. Vance—are you telling me you don't even know basic etiquette?"

"Since you came here deliberately to slap my face, I see no reason to continue this discussion."

I deliberately raised my voice, ensuring every ear in the vicinity caught every syllable.

"I will instruct my legal counsel."

"We will pick an auspicious date to take you to court for a contested divorce."

*Clink.*

The champagne glass in my hand 'slipped,' shattering violently right at Brandon's polished shoes and splashing expensive liquid all over his trousers.

"My apologies. My grip slipped."

"Some people in this room are simply too sickening to look at."