The iron gates of the Sterling estate in Bel Air swung open with a silent, hydraulic smoothness that always made Serena feel small. She drove the Porsche up the long, winding driveway, the gravel crunching beneath the tires like grinding teeth.
The house loomed ahead, a sprawling French chateau that looked more like a museum than a home. Every window was ablaze with light.
She parked by the fountain. Her hands were still trembling as she unbuckled her seatbelt. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her skin was pale, her lipstick bitten off, her eyes wide and frightened. She looked guilty.
Mrs. Higgins was waiting at the front door before Serena even reached the steps. The housekeeper's face was a mask of professional neutrality, but her eyes darted to Serena's disheveled hair.
"Mr. Sterling is in the study, Mrs. Sterling," she said.
Serena nodded, unable to speak. She walked into the foyer, the marble floor clicking sharply under her heels. The house smelled of lemon polish and old money-a scent that was crisp, cold, and intimidating.
Her phone vibrated in her clutch. A long, sustained buzz.
She ducked into the powder room off the hallway and locked the door. She pulled out her phone.
Dad.
She pressed answer and held the phone away from her ear.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Richard Vance's voice was a distortion of rage. "I have Bloomberg on the other line. The Sterling merger covenant has a morality clause, Serena! Our primary investors are already calling to pull their capital. The stock has been in freefall for an hour! Do you know how much money that is?"
"It was a setup, Dad," Serena whispered, leaning her forehead against the cool mirror. "Harrison set me up."
"I don't care if he held a gun to your head!" Richard roared. "You were seen touching him. You were seen crying. The narrative is that you're leaving Julian. If this merger falls through because you can't keep your legs closed to your ex, I will cut you off. Do you hear me? Your mother's care facility-I'll stop the payments tomorrow."
Serena felt a sharp pain in her chest. "You wouldn't."
"Try me. Fix this. The family dinner is this weekend. You bring Julian. You make him smile. You make him hold your hand. Or your mother is on the street."
The line went dead.
Serena stared at her reflection. She looked like a ghost. She turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face, ruining what was left of her makeup. She dried her face with a monogrammed towel, took a deep breath, and unlocked the door.
She stepped out and slammed directly into a wall of grey wool.
She gasped, stumbling back.
Julian Sterling stood there. He was tall, looming over her, one hand in the pocket of his tailored trousers. He wasn't looking at her face. He was looking at the phone clutched in her hand like a weapon.
"You're late," he said. His voice was deep, devoid of any inflection. It wasn't angry. It was just... factual. Like he was reading a stock ticker.
Serena hid the phone behind her back. "Traffic," she lied. "On the 405."
Julian's eyes moved up to hers. They were dark, impenetrable. He reached out a hand.
Serena flinched. She squeezed her eyes shut, her shoulders hunching up defensively.
She felt the brush of his fingertips against her temple. It was a feather-light touch, startlingly gentle.
"You blink when you lie," he said softly.
Serena opened her eyes. Julian was studying her, his expression unreadable. He dropped his hand and turned away, walking toward the dining room.
"Dinner is served."
The dining room table was long enough to seat twenty people. They sat at opposite ends, a vast expanse of mahogany between them. The silence was heavy, broken only by the clinking of silverware against fine china.
Serena pushed a piece of asparagus around her plate. She couldn't eat. Her stomach was in knots. She watched Julian cut his steak with surgical precision. He hadn't mentioned the photos. He hadn't mentioned Harrison. It was torture.
"Julian," she started. Her voice sounded small in the cavernous room.
He didn't look up. "Yes?"
"My father... the Vance family dinner is this Saturday."
Julian took a sip of his wine. "I have a conference call with Tokyo."
"Please," she said. Desperation leaked into her tone. "I need you to go. Just for an hour. Just to show face."
Julian set his wine glass down. He looked at her then, really looked at her, with a gaze that felt like it was stripping the skin off her bones.
"Why?" he asked. "So your father's stock rebounds?"
"Because..." Serena swallowed the lump in her throat. "Because it's important to me."
Julian stood up. He picked up his napkin, folded it neatly, and placed it on the table. He walked down the length of the table, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He stopped behind her chair.
Serena froze. She could feel the heat radiating from him. He placed his hands on the back of her chair, leaning down so his mouth was close to her ear.
"You want a favor," he murmured. The vibration of his voice traveled down her spine. "But marriage is a partnership, Serena. An exchange. What are you offering?"
Serena gripped the edge of the table. "I... I don't have anything."
"You have yourself," he said. His voice dropped an octave, rougher now. "Fulfill your obligations as a wife, and I'll consider it."
