Chapter 8
Serena's POV
It was Winston.
Then I heard Leo speak, his voice tight with a barely contained sense of offense. "What's that supposed to mean? Winston, whatever else you might think, Noah is my brother."
"Your brother." Winston repeated the words, then let out a short laugh—brief, but enough to send a chill crawling up my spine.
"If you truly thought of him as your brother," Winston said, "you wouldn't have touched his wife."
The air froze solid.
My heart lurched to a stop, then broke into an uncontrollable sprint. Blood rushed to my eardrums, buzzing and roaring.
He knew.
He had known all along about Leo and Tiffany.
He hadn't learned it from me—I could tell from his tone alone. It was the composure of someone who had held all the answers for a very long time.
Silence hung in the corridor for several seconds before Leo spoke again, his voice dropping colder. "That's a family matter."
"A family matter." Winston's tone carried a note of warning. "But don't forget—Serena was married into your family as an alliance from the Harringtons. She represents the Harrington name."
Leo's voice sank another degree. "Winston, what exactly are you getting at?"
Before Winston could answer, footsteps approached from the other direction. Someone called Leo's name, saying there was an urgent matter that needed his attention.
Leo's footsteps receded.
I didn't hesitate. I turned and rounded the corner of the corridor.
Winston was still leaning against a stone pillar, one hand tucked casually in the pocket of his suit jacket, posture as relaxed as if he were standing in his own living room. When he saw me appear, his expression didn't change in the slightest—only the faintest curl at the corner of his mouth.
"Eavesdropping is a bad habit, Serena."
I looked him straight in the eye. "You've known about Leo and Tiffany all along."
Winston tilted his head slightly. He didn't deny it.
My fingers curled at my sides, nails digging into the flesh of my palms. "And you still agreed to marry me off to him."
"Serena, you were the one who wanted to marry Leo." His expression was unreadable, giving nothing away. "I tried to stop you. You know that."
I faltered.
He had tried to stop me.
Two years ago, when I'd insisted on marrying Leo, Winston had come to see me specifically. He said he didn't want me to marry Leo, told me I should think carefully. I'd lost my temper over it, told him I loved Leo, that I wanted to be with Leo.
I'd even shouted at him: "When you sent me back to Lydia, did you ask whether I was willing? Now that there's something I actually want for myself, who are you to decide for me?"
He was right. Every bit of it had been my own choice.
"But you never told me the one he truly wanted was Tiffany." My voice was shaking, but I couldn't let myself stop. "All you said was that you didn't want me to marry him. You never gave me a reason. You knew exactly what my life would become once I married into that family, and yet you stood by and let me walk straight into it."
Something shifted in Winston's eyes.
But the calm returned almost instantly.
"Serena." His voice dropped half a register. "You don't understand the circumstances at the time. There were things I simply couldn't say."
Couldn't say. That line again.
"Couldn't say?" I laughed bitterly. "Just like when you dumped me back at Lydia's—you couldn't say why then, either?"
"Was it really that you couldn't say, or that you simply couldn't be bothered?"
"You got tired of looking after me, decided I was a burden, and couldn't wait to get rid of me."
"Then for the sake of family business—for your relationship with Leo—you knew full well about him and Tiffany, and still you said nothing."
I stepped forward, lifting my face to look up at him. The distance was close now—close enough to see the faint dark stubble along his jawline, close enough to catch the sharp, cool scent that clung to him.
"Winston, what am I to you, exactly?"
My throat was so tight that every word had to be forced through a crack.
But he gave me no answer. In the end, I let out a hollow laugh. "I used to think you genuinely cared about me. When you brought me to Jonathan, I thought you truly wanted the best for me. But then you pushed me back to Lydia with your own hands, and now you're telling me you knew about Leo and Tiffany all along but simply couldn't say…"
I shook my head, no longer expecting answers from him, and turned to walk toward the rear hall.
In the rear hall, guests were still having tea and pastries.
After I entered, no one went out of their way to speak to me. A few wives from the allied families approached out of courtesy, offered brief handshakes and formulaic condolences, their gazes lingering on the bandage on my forehead for barely a second before flicking away.
A young maid passed by with a tea tray, and the look she gave me carried unmistakable pity. She had probably heard the whispers too.
I found a seat near the edge and picked up a cup of tea, my eyes drifting involuntarily across the hall.
Leo, Tiffany, and Eric were seated on the sofa group by the window.
Tiffany was dabbing at a smear of milk on Eric's mouth with a tissue, her movements gentle. Leo reached over to the side table, picked up a glass of water, and handed it to her. When she took it, her fingers rested on the back of his hand for one second.
Just one second.
But the ease and unspoken understanding in that single second said more than words ever could.
I saw it. And so did Katrina.
She stood on the opposite side of the hall, holding a glass of red wine she hadn't touched, her gaze cutting into Tiffany like a blade. Her expression maintained its propriety, but the knuckles around her wine glass had gone white.
Guests trickled away. The hall thinned out until only the Kensingtons remained.
Someone came to speak with Katrina. She nodded, then led the remaining family elders out through the back door.
Once the hall fell quiet, Tiffany sat on the long bench that connected the chapel to the rear hall, Eric in her arms, and began to cry without any warning.
This time it was worse than during the ceremony. She folded into herself on the bench, shoulders heaving in sharp spasms, her face buried against the top of Eric's head, tears soaking into the child's hair.
Eric was frightened. His little mouth crumpled, and he started crying too, the mother's and son's sobs tangling together.
Leo had been standing a few paces away, giving instructions to the butler. At the sound of crying, he turned immediately.
He walked over and sat down beside Tiffany. One arm wrapped around her shoulders; the other hand stroked the back of Eric's head. His expression shifted—from comfort, to heartache, and then to something I couldn't quite read.
As if he had made some kind of decision.
He stood up, swept his gaze around the chapel, and let it land on me.
He walked toward me.
I watched him approach, step by step, and a terrible premonition took hold—like spotting an obstacle far ahead on the track but going too fast to brake in time.
"Serena." He stopped in front of me, his voice pressed low, as though he didn't want anyone else to hear. "Tiffany is in a very bad state. She's on the verge of a breakdown."
He paused, his gaze passing over my face. "I want her to move into the estate for a while. Having someone around will help her."
