Page 15 of I'm sorry, Princess

“Ian’s busy at work today,” John finally says, breaking the tension while casually reaching for his glass of wine. His tone is cool, indifferent.

We all take our seats. My father, of course, claims the head of the table, the king of his castle, in his tailored suit, polished cufflinks, and false sense of control.

To his right, my mother, poised and perfect, sits with her practiced smile and rigid posture.

To his left? John Archibald. Right where he wants to be.

I lean over, press a soft kiss on my father’s cheek. “Hi, John,” I greet him politely, pretending not to notice the way his eyes flick down my body for just a second too long. Typical.

I slip into the seat next to my mother, my spine straight, my face neutral. Perfect daughter. Perfect family.

Perfect façade.

The conversation shifts quickly to business. Deals, meetings, partnerships. I don’t really listen, my ears tuning in only when my father’s phone starts buzzing in his pocket. His jaw tightens slightly, his lips a flat line, but he doesn’t break character. My mother notices though, her eyes flick to his phone, then back to his face. She smiles wider, leans in, touches his shoulder.

It’s almost… affectionate. Too affectionate for my mother.

John sits quietly, chewing his steak like nothing is happening, but I see the way his eyes flicker.

“Are you excited for Monday, Serena?” John’s voice cuts through the tension as he dabs his mouth with the linen napkin, pretending this is all normal.

I force a polite smile.

“I am, actually,” I reply, my tone smooth, controlled. I give him exactly what he wants to hear. “A fresh start is exactly what I need. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

Translation: Thank you for pulling strings to get me the job so I’ll owe you later.

He nods approvingly, like I passed a test. His lips curve into a satisfied smile while he compliments my mother’scooking, knowing damn well she ordered everything from one of Manhattan’s finest caterers. But no one mentions that.

My father’s phone vibrates again, longer this time. His gaze hardens, and he excuses himself with a clipped, “I have to take this.”

The second he leaves, John leans back, swirls the red wine in his glass like he’s enjoying the finest entertainment. His eyes are sharp, assessing.

“It’ll be good for you to work close to Ian,” he says, his tone casual but his words heavy.

“You two are such good friends,” he adds with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’ll have an ally at your side. Always.”

An ally or a leash?

I nod, swallowing the acid that rises in my throat.

“Of course,” I say, forcing my lips into a polite curve as I finish my salad, trying not to stab the fork into my hand just to feel something else.

When my father returns, the conversation slides right back into business like nothing happened. They make plans, shake hands, seal whatever deals were silently made during lunch. My father kisses my mother on the cheek like a man proud of his perfect wife and his perfect life. John gives her a lingering glance before saying his goodbye, and my mother beams like she just won a prize.

As soon as the door closes behind them, she practically floats around the kitchen like she’s accomplished some grand victory.

“I’m heading to the mall,” she says, grabbing her purse. “I need a new wardrobe. And you do, too, darling. You should come.”

I shake my head softly.

“Maybe another time, Mom. I’m exhausted.”

Her smile is tight, but she lets it go. She leaves with the same elegance she walked in with, heels clicking on the floor, perfume trailing in the air like a ghost of the woman she used to be.

When the house finally falls silent, I sink into the couch, pulling my phone out for a distraction. My notifications explode with Sienna’s updates from Japan, she looks gorgeous, radiant, genuinely happy in every picture. I double tap the photos, forcing a smile, pretending for a moment that my life is as light and carefree as hers.