Chapter 2: The Queen with a Tray

Serena's POV

In the dim corridor, Julian blocked the exit, his eyes fixed on the jersey I was wearing.

I tilted my head slightly, meeting his scrutiny.

"Asher knocked over the water bucket and ruined my clothes. I just borrowed this to wear."

Julian walked toward me step by step. He was more than half a head taller than me, and the sense of oppression was overwhelming.

"I'm telling you to take it off."

I raised an eyebrow. "Julian, I'm not wearing anything underneath. Are you sure you want me to strip here?"

"Fine then."

I let out a soft laugh, gripping the hem of the jersey and pulling it upward.

I saw Julian's hands clenched into fists, veins bulging on the backs of his hands.

Just as the jersey was about to slide past my chest, he suddenly grabbed my wrist.

"Enough."

He growled, almost roughly yanking off his suit jacket and wrapping it tightly around me.

He leaned close to my ear, words grinding out from between his teeth.

"Serena, don't let me see you wearing any man's clothes again. Don't disgrace the Kincaid family. You have to attend the banquet tonight sharp — of course, but as a maid."

He turned and walked away, but I noticed his steps were slightly unsteady. I took a deep breath. Fine. Another humiliation waiting for me tonight.

To celebrate Chloe's return after years of being lost, Julian threw a grand homecoming party tonight.

The guests were all Blackwood University trustees, East Coast elite families, family lawyers, charity foundation directors, and several invited university professors.

These people had all once raised their glasses and smiled at me.

They used to call me "the Kincaid family's perfect princess," competing to introduce their sons to me.

But tonight, Chloe stood in the center of the hall, wearing an expensive gown, like a wronged white swan finally found and brought home.

She held a champagne flute, speaking softly.

"I used to work at a catering company, carrying trays." She lowered her eyes, looking aggrieved. "Back then, I always stood in the farthest corner..."

She turned to look at me, her gaze gentle. "Serena, I don't blame you. I just... hope you know how I used to feel."

The Kincaids looked at me with eyes that clearly said, "Look what you've done to your sister."

Julian stood to the side, neither objecting nor looking at me.

"Go ahead," Mrs. Kincaid said softly. "Serve drinks to the guests. Experience what your sister went through."

I looked into Chloe's eyes, glistening with tears yet triumphant.

She very clever. With one flawless victim narrative, she had locked me into the role of perpetrator.

"All right," I smiled at Chloe. "I'd be happy to."

The silver tray was heavier than I expected.

As I walked into the ballroom carrying it, those who had once fawned over me displayed various expressions. Pity. Mockery. Schadenfreude.

"Isn't that Serena?"

"Shh, keep it down. I heard she's actually a fake..."

"Tsk, no matter how well you raise them, breeding always shows."

I ignored the whispers. I carried the tray, moving steadily through the crowd, delivering each glass of alcohol precisely to the right person.

"Mr. Vanderbilt, your single malt, with ice, no water."

"Mrs. Holt, this is the sparkling water prepared for you. You're driving tonight, correct?"

"Congressman Miller, congratulations on your reelection. Your wife prefers rosé champagne. I've had a bottle specially chilled."

I knew every person's name, title, spouse, and remembered their every subtle preference.

When I reached a trustee's wife, I quietly removed the plate of desserts in front of her.

"Mrs. Ashford, these pastries contain macadamia nuts." I reminded her in a low voice. "I remember you're allergic to nuts."

She froze for a moment, then showed a grateful yet complicated expression. "...Thank you, dear."

This skill set was instinct, drilled into me over a dozen years at the Kincaid estate. Every person's preferences, taboos, positions were already carved into my mind.

In the farthest chair in the hall sat tonight's true VIP, old Winthrop, Blackwood University's lifetime honorary trustee, someone even the Kincaids had to stand to toast.

At this moment, he was trapped in an awkward situation. A newly rich tech entrepreneur had enthusiastically approached to make small talk, but the old man squinted, unable to remember who he was.

The air grew colder by the second. No one around dared to help him out, afraid that getting the name wrong would offend this temperamental old man.

I walked over with my tray, as if merely to refill drinks, leaning down to place a glass of port by the old man's hand, my voice low enough for only him to hear.

"Mr. Winthrop, Mr. Kane donated an entire floor of his medical AI company to the medical school just last month," I said flatly. "

You praised his paper at the board meeting last year."

The old man's eyes lit up instantly, seizing the opportunity. "Ah, Kane! That piece you wrote was excellent. Sit, sit down and talk."

Old Winthrop held the port I'd handed him and turned to look at me deeply.

"You're Serena, aren't you." He spoke slowly. "Having you serve drinks here, the Kincaids are wasting your talents."

The direction of the whispers quietly shifted.

"My God, she remembers everyone's preferences..."

"Even something like Mrs. Ashford's allergy."

"Honestly, compared to that one who just came back... Serena seems more like a Kincaid."

"Shame, though. Bloodline is something you can't change."

I carried the tray, catching Chloe in the corner of my eye. For the first time, her delicate expression showed cracks.

"Miss Serena, learning to serve people now?"

A young man blocked my path.

It was the Holts' younger son, who just months ago had been begging me to honor him with a dance.

Now he held an empty glass, deliberately not taking the new one, his gaze brazenly crawling from my wrist all the way to my waistline.

"Being a server, does it suit you better than being an heiress?" He smiled lecherously. "After all, with your figure, carrying a tray... it's quite a sight."

A knowing chuckle rippled through the surrounding crowd.

I calmly withdrew the tray, taking back even the glass I'd offered, and gave him an impeccable smile.

"Staring at a woman's body at someone else's party, Mr. Holt," my volume was just right, loud enough for the surrounding circle to hear, "is far more inappropriate than carrying a tray."

The chuckles stopped abruptly.

Holt's face turned purple, his mouth opening and closing, unable to produce a single word of rebuttal.

I turned with the glass and walked away. It was at that moment of turning that I felt a gaze fall from the second floor.

I looked up. Julian stood behind the railing on the second floor. I didn't know how long he'd been watching.

I raised the glass in my hand toward him and smiled silently.

He turned his head, seemingly talking to someone.

The next moment, the Kincaids' old butler, Bell, crossed through the crowd and approached me. He lowered his voice, his expression somewhat troubled.

"Miss Serena," he said, "Young Master requests that you come see him now."

My fingers holding the tray paused. "Where?"

The old butler glanced quickly at the second floor. "The study."