Chapter 6 Morning at the Gregory’s

THIRD PERSON’S POV.

Morning sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow across Trisha’s guest room. The night before felt like a dream, the music, the lights, the drinks , everything felt so light, she had truly felt free. But the morning had a way of stealing freedom

Downstairs,Trisha sat at the breakfast table, hair wrapped in a silk scarf, nursing a steaming cup of coffee.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just text him?” she asked, half-teasing, though her tone was gentler than usual.

Serena sighed, pushing her plate away. “You don’t text my father about an engagement. The man doesn’t even hold his phone himself, he has an assistant for that.”

Trisha smiled, but the concern still lingered behind her eyes.

After breakfast, the two of them stepped out into the crisp morning air. It was still cool, the kind of morning that carried the hush of winter just beginning to form. The drive back to Gregory Estate was quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of the engine and the sound of Serena’s fingernails tapping against her knee.

When the tall iron gates came into view, her heart began to pound. The moment the car rolled in, her stomach dropped. Parked in front of the stone steps was a sleek black Bentley, her father’s.

Her breath caught. “He’s home,” she whispered, voice trembling. “He wasn’t supposed to be back until later in the afternoon. I was supposed to have a bit more time…..” She broke off, pressing a hand to her chest, willing herself to breathe.

Beside her, Trisha frowned. “And of course Clara’s here too,” she muttered, spotting the silver Ferrari parked among the family fleet of cars. “What kind of sister leaves you stranded at a club, doesn’t pick up her calls, and then comes home like nothing happened?”

Serena didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her throat felt tight, her thoughts spinning too fast.

When Mike pulled up to the steps, Trisha reached over and squeezed her hand. “Hey. You’ve got this, okay? Just breathe”. The car came to a stop, “ And remember , confidence. You didn’t rob a bank , you got engaged. Well sort of” she laughed teasingly “call me after you’re done.”

Serena smiled weakly. “Right.” 

The door opened with a soft click, and the estate’s butler greeted her with a polite bow. She stepped inside, trying to move quietly, hoping to reach her room before her father noticed she was back. But before she could take another step, a deep, rumbling voice echoed from the living room.

“Where are you coming from?”

Serena froze. The sound of his voice alone made her flinch. Slowly, she turned. Her father stood by the fireplace, eyes dark with disappointment and authority.

“I….” she began, but her voice faded.

“Answer me,” Horace demanded, his gaze slicing through her. “Where are you coming from….. dressed like that?”

Her pulse hammered in her ears. “I went to the club with Clara,” she stammered. “When I couldn’t find her, I… I slept at Trisha’s place.”

Her eyes darted to Clara, who sat lazily by the piano in her silk pajamas, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. Serena’s silent plea for help went unanswered. Clara didn’t even look up.

“You went out with your sister, but she came home and you decided to sleep out?” Horace’s tone hardened, his eyes narrowing. “I leave for a few weeks, and you start acting like a child without morals?”

Tears gathered at the corners of Serena’s eyes. “Dad…”

“Enough.” He raised a hand sharply, silencing her. “We’ll discuss your behavior later.” His gaze turned colder. “For now, I want to hear about this important conversation Clara says you’ve been waiting to have.”

Serena’s head snapped toward her sister, fury flashing in her eyes, but she swallowed it down. Not here, not in front of him.

Taking a shaky breath, she steadied her trembling hands and met her father’s gaze.

“I’m engaged,” she said softly. “Engaged to be married.”

For a long, heavy moment, silence filled the room. Then Horace’s jaw clenched, the faint crackle of the fireplace the only sound between them.

His voice came low, deliberate, dangerous.

“To who?”

Serena’s lips parted to answer but no words came out. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Every second stretching into silence.

“To who?”. Horace repeated, his voice colder now, more dangerous. 

“Jonathan” she finally whispered. “Jonathan Hales”

Horace’s expression didn’t change, not at first. Then slowly, his jaw tightened, he set his glass of whiskey down with a soft clink, the movements too calm. Then he began moving towards her, slow and deliberate like a predator circling its prey. 

Across the room Clara’s smile deepened, satisfied like she’d been waiting for this day. She knew that tone, that quiet rage. She had grown up knowing the back of their fathers palm all too well, she had felt the sting of his hand too many times, each one a punishment for Serena’s perfection. Every time Serena outshined her, every report card, every achievement. Horace never dared to touch Serena though, she had been their grandfather’s treasure, his egg, and even Horace Gregory knew better than to crack it. But Clara, Clara had always been within reach.

Horace stopped just short of Serena and sank into the armchair, eyes locked on her. “Tell me, Serena,” he said, voice cool, cutting. “Did you think it appropriate to accept such a proposal without my consent? Or even my knowledge?”

Serena swallowed hard, clasping her trembling hands together. “I wanted to tell you in person,” she managed. “I just… I wanted the right moment.”

“The right moment,” he repeated, his tone sharpening. “The right moment was the second you started seeing this Hales boy.” He turned abruptly toward Clara. “Did you know about this?”

Clara shook her head quickly. “No, Father. I only found out yesterday.”

Horace leaned back, taking a long, deliberate sip of whiskey. Back to Serena he said, “Well, since we’re sharing surprises..” he said smoothly, “here’s one of my own.” He leaned forward in his chair and looked Serena squarely in the eye. “As the younger daughter, you cannot and will not be allowed to marry before your older sister.”

Silence.

Across the room, Clara’s finger traced the edge of a piano key. A single note echoed faintly. cruel in its timing.

Serena’s spine straightened. “That’s not fair,” she said, her voice trembling but strong. “I love him. And he loves me.”

Horace’s hand slammed against the armrest, the sound of it echoing through the room. “Love?” His voice thundered. “You think I care about love? You think this family legacy was built on the whims of love?”

Serena stood her ground, though her eyes shimmered with tears. “You can’t do this,” she cried, her voice breaking. Then, turning desperately to her sister, she pleaded, “Clara, tell him you don’t want this, you said it yourself, marriage isn’t for you.”

Clara’s reply came detached “ Serena, we can’t go against years of family tradition.”

Something in Serena snapped. She stormed up the stairs, her heels clashing against marble, fury trembling through every step. The doors slammed shut, their echo rolling through the house like thunder before a storm.

This wasn’t over. It was only the first crack in everything about to break.

For a moment that seemed like forever after Serena’s footsteps faded, the house fell into silence. The echo of the slammed door still seemed to hang in the air, trembling faintly against the marble.

Horace sat motionless in his armchair, his glass of whiskey half empty sat on the table beside him. The fire cracked faintly, the only sound in the heavy, suffocating quiet.

Then his voice tore through the stillness.

“You are good for nothing.”

Clara flinched, the words striking harder than his hand ever had.

“She’s bested you again,” Horace continued, his voice rising, sharper now. “How is it, Clara? How, with all the expensive clothes, all the luxury I’ve poured into you does little Serena still manage to secure a husband before you?”

He stood abruptly, the movement sending a jolt through the air. “You are such a disappointment.”

Clara’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor, her hands curling into fists at her sides. The humiliation burned, but beneath it, something colder stirred, if only they knew that she was the mastermind behind this grand plan. But she couldn’t reveal it to her father yet. She had to share this new information with Jonathan first.

When she finally looked up, her face was blank, her voice steady. “Don’t worry, Father,” she said softly. “She won’t be happy for long.”

Horace stared at her for a moment, then turned away, muttering something under his breath as he reached for his drink.

Clara’s gaze lingered on the stairs. The same stairs Serena had just stormed up, and a thin smile tugged at her lips.