Chapter 10
Serena's Perspective
My heart clenched.
Leo was moving Tiffany into Crimson Tower Manor.
That was our home—mine and his.
I looked at Leo, wanting to refuse, but his eyes told me he wasn't asking for my opinion. He was informing me, and my only option was to accept.
My gaze drifted past his shoulder to Tiffany on the bench.
She lifted her head and met my eyes. Her tears hadn't dried yet, but beneath them I caught something unmistakable—a flash of defiance.
The next morning, I was woken by noises in the corridor. I opened my bedroom door to find cardboard boxes and duffel bags scattered across the hallway carpet, and a large crate of toys stacked against the wall, a name sticker on its side: Eric.
They had already moved in.
Then I heard Gloria's startled cry from downstairs.
I headed toward the staircase, and before I reached the landing, her voice floated up, laced with obvious anxiety.
"Master Eric, put that down! That's the most precious thing Madam Serena owns—you mustn't touch it..."
I frowned and quickened my pace down the stairs.
In the living room, Eric was holding up a photograph.
It was my family portrait.
The only photo of me with my mother and father from before I turned five. I kept it in a frame, wrapped in a cloth pouch, tucked inside the drawer of the entryway cabinet. He must have gone through my things.
Gloria stood beside him, her hand outstretched, trying to retrieve the photo but afraid to pull too hard in case it tore.
Eric heard my footsteps and looked up at me.
His eyes held a malice far beyond his years. Then he smiled slightly, fixed his gaze on mine, and ripped the photograph in half with both hands.
The sound of paper tearing should have been faint, but in my ears it was as though something inside me shattered.
Gloria covered her mouth.
I descended the last few steps, crouched down, and picked up the two halves from the floor.
My mother's face had been torn down the middle. My father's arm and my shoulder were split across two separate pieces of paper.
I pressed them against my chest. My fingers were trembling.
But I didn't cry.
I stood up and looked at Eric.
He seemed to expect me to explode at him—that smug grin still hung on his face, waiting to watch me lose control.
I didn't.
I turned, went back upstairs, and found a brown teddy bear in the toy crate in the hallway.
I'd heard before that Eric couldn't fall asleep without clutching a brown teddy bear—he refused to go to bed without it. I recognized it the moment I saw it.
Eric had followed me upstairs. When he saw what was in my hands, his expression changed instantly, his eyes going wide. "What are you doing with my bear? Give it back!"
I ignored him. I held the teddy bear up in front of him, found the seam, gripped both sides, and pulled.
Stuffing burst from the tear, white tufts scattering across the floor.
Eric froze for about two seconds. Then he let out a piercing scream and collapsed to the ground, sobbing, scooping at the cotton on the floor with both hands, shrieking hysterically between gasps.
"Eric! Eric, what happened?" Tiffany came rushing down from upstairs.
She saw the destroyed toy on the floor and Eric crying so hard he could barely breathe. Shock crossed her face, then she looked up at me and her expression shifted to fury.
"What are you doing?!" Her voice pitched high. "That was Noah's birthday gift to Eric! It's the last thing Noah ever gave him! How could you—"
I took the two halves of the photograph from my pocket and held them up in front of her.
"This is the only family photo my parents left me," I said evenly. "Your son just tore it apart."
Tiffany's mouth opened. Her gaze lingered on the torn pieces for a moment, but she quickly looked away. She clearly had no intention of acknowledging any equivalence.
I put the photo away and looked down at Eric.
He clutched the ruined bear, stuffing leaking between his fingers, tears and snot smeared across his face. He glared up at me, his eyes brimming with hatred.
"Now you know," I said. My voice was quiet, but every word was clear. "You don't touch what's most precious to other people. If you do, you pay the same price."
"I'm telling Uncle Leo!" Eric screamed at me, his voice breaking between sobs. "I'll make him throw you out! This is my house! Get out!"
I looked at him.
A four-year-old, saying "this is my house" and "get out" so naturally—I was certain those weren't words he'd come up with on his own.
"Eric." My voice was low but distinct. "This is my home. You and your mother are guests. If anyone leaves, it will be you—not me."
Tiffany's face went pale.
"He's just a child!" She stepped forward, pulling Eric behind her. "He just lost his father. How can you say something so cruel to a child?"
"This is my home," I said, standing up to face her. "Your son destroyed the most precious thing I own, in my house. What kind of attitude do you think I should have toward you? A warm welcome?"
Tiffany's chest heaved. She clutched Eric tight, her voice taking on a deliberately manufactured tone of wounded dignity. "Fine. Since you're so opposed to us being here, I'll tell Leo. I'll take Eric and move out."
"You don't need to tell Leo," I said. "I'll speak to him myself."
I turned, went upstairs, and pushed open the study door.
Leo sat behind his desk, papers spread before him. He glanced up when I entered.
"Leo, I want a divorce."
He leaned back in his chair and looked at me. "On what grounds?"
"Two years of marriage. No intimacy, no emotional foundation. The woman in your heart is Tiffany. Continuing this is nothing but a drain on both of us."
Leo's lips curved slightly—no trace of amusement. "That's not what you said when we got married. I remember very clearly—you said you loved me."
"And you didn't tell me the one you loved was Tiffany." I met his gaze. "You broke the vows of this marriage first."
Leo was silent for a long time. Finally he spoke. "I won't agree to a divorce. Noah just died. The family is under scrutiny—everyone is watching."
"We can keep it quiet. I'll move out, and publicly we can say—"
"That's even less possible." He cut me off. "You move out, leaving just me and Tiffany here—what will people say?"
I heard those words and let out a cold laugh.
There it was. He'd finally been honest.
What he cared about was the Kensington family's reputation. What he cared about was Tiffany's image. What he cared about was how outsiders would perceive the arrangement.
Not a single word about me.
"But I refuse to be your cover story," I said, looking straight at him.
Leo's expression hardened. He rose from his chair and took two steps toward me. "Serena, if you insist on being difficult, I'll have your grandmother come talk some sense into you."
The mention of Lydia made my heart skip, but I didn't let my expression change.
"Go ahead and tell her," I said, my voice steady. "But when you do, please also mention whose baby Tiffany is carrying."
Leo's pupils contracted.
His lips moved, but before he could speak, the study door swung open.
Tiffany stood in the doorway, holding Eric.
Eric clutched the torn teddy bear, stuffing spilling from the gash. Tear tracks still stained his face, and his lips quivered.
Tiffany's eyes were rimmed with red, her voice trembling with carefully crafted grievance. "Leo... Serena, she... she ripped Eric's toy apart... It was the last gift Noah ever gave him..."
Eric looked up at Leo, his lips shaking.
"Uncle Leo... she's a bad person... make her go away..."
