Page 18 of Lavish

“Are you sure it’s about knowing who you are? Or is it about being scared to finally choose for yourself?” She sighed when I didn’t reply. “You’ve always been the most disciplined out of all of us. The most controlled. But sometimes, Serena, control is just another way of following orders.”

I hated how easily she could see it—how fast she cut through the layers I’d spent years perfecting.

That meant other people could see through me.

I wasn’t supposed to be this tired. This angry. This…brittle. And yet, every win felt emptier than the last. Every headline, every closed deal, every fake smile at another industry gala—it all felt like feeding a machine that never noticed I was the one keeping it running.

“Ichosethis,” I said, more to myself than her. “No one forced me.”

Laurene didn’t argue. She just looked at me like she knew better.

“Anyway,” I said, voice cooler now, steadier, “none of that matters. I’m fine.”

It was a lie. But if I said it enough times, maybe I could still believe it.

Laurene sighed and shook her head. “I don’t want you to wake up one day and realize you built an empire forher, not for yourself. I think you’re scared of disappointing her, of disappointing us because you aren’t what we expect. Do you even know who you are?”

“You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“I think you’re great at what youdo,” Laurene said simply. “I just don’t know if you ever stopped to ask if it’s what youwant, or if you’re just eliminating competition, because that’s how Mama raised us to survive.”

The words hit deep, scraping against something I wasn’t ready to acknowledge. “You’re pregnant and suddenly full of wisdom, huh?”

“Motherhood does that to you.”

Regret, regret, regret.It was beating in my heart and mind like a steel drum, and I couldn’t silence it.

Because the truth was, I didn’t know who I was if I wasn’t winning. I didn’t know what I offered if I wasn’t delivering results. If I stopped being useful—stopped beingher—what was left?

Who would stay?

All of a sudden, the doors flew open, and the room immediately went silent.

“Why…why aretheyhere?” I was so shocked, the words came out before I could stop them.

Miles Whitmore had entered the room.

Damn him.

He stood tall, all lean muscle and quiet arrogance. Built like a swimmer. His shirt clung to a chest I once clawed at. Tattoos peeked from his right sleeve, ink curling down the forearm that had once pinned mine to silk sheets. Slacks rested low on narrow hips, hinting at a body I knew far too well.

His skin—golden brown, sun-kissed—held the warmth of summer, of long afternoons spent outside, of a man who never truly stayed still. His braids were pulled tight, framing the sharp lines of his face. That beard, trimmed just enough, only emphasized those full lips. The ones that used to say my name like a promise.

Then his eyes found mine—dark, unreadable, burning.

Mama’s gasp cut through the room, snapping my attention to her.

“What thehellare they doing here?” she hissed through gritted teeth as she came over to us, fixing her glare squarely on Laurene. “They shouldn’t be here!”

“I asked them to come.” Laurene didn’t look back at us as she squeezed my arm before letting it go, turning to go greet Miles and his family.

The room around us seemed to hold its breath as Mama’s gaze remained locked on Laurene’s retreating figure, her expression an open battlefield of emotions—anger burned brightest, but beneath it, there were traces of something harder to define. Pain? Regret?

I kept my eyes on Laurene as she greeted Audrey with a wide, bright smile and a warm hug, Reese quickly joining them with an equally cheerful smile. She was now talking with Miles, his face open and unguarded in a way that I hadn’t seen in years.

He still hadn’t looked at me.

“We can’t just let it go,” Mama said again, quieter this time but no less pointed. “Right, Serena?”