Chapter 2

Chloe Davis stood there.

She saw me and flashed an innocent, angelic smile.

"You must be Serena. I'm Chloe." Her voice was soft and sweet. "Finally nice to meet the legendary supermodel."

I didn't answer. I just glared at her.

Richard practically sprinted out of the living room. He saw Chloe. His harsh face instantly softened into a loving father.

"Chloe, sweetheart, you must be exhausted," he fawned. "I already had them clear out Serena's custom closet for you. It has the best light for your rehab."

"My closet?" My fingers tightened around the handle of my suitcase.

"It's Chloe's now," Richard announced without even looking up. "You can move to the guest room upstairs. You're getting married soon anyway. You don't need that much space."

Eleanor glided out of the living room gracefully. She linked arms with Richard. The mother and daughter exchanged a knowing smile.

A cold laugh escaped my lips. "No need."

I turned and went upstairs.

Thirty minutes later, I dragged two massive suitcases down the stairs.

Richard frowned at the sight of me. "Where are you going?"

"Leaving." I didn't look back. "I'm no longer a Vance. I have no reason to stay."

"Serena!" he roared behind me. "Your wedding is in two weeks! Stop throwing a tantrum!"

I pulled open the heavy solid wood door. I took one last look at the place I lived for twenty-two years.

"I'll be in LA," I said flatly. "I'll hold up my end of the deal."

The door slammed shut behind me. I never looked back.

An hour later, I stood in the luxurious lobby of the Waldorf Astoria.

"I want your most expensive presidential suite." I slapped the black card Richard gave me on the front desk. "For two weeks."

The receptionist saw the legendary black card. It had a five-million-dollar limit. She instantly became subservient.

"Of course, Miss Vance. Right this way."

The first thing I did in the suite was pick up the phone. I went on a crazy revenge spending spree.

I called the top couture designers in Paris. I ordered three custom wedding dresses. Two hundred thousand dollars each.

Then came custom Van Cleef & Arpels jewelry. Limited-edition Cartier watches. A full set of Hermès luggage.

In just four hours, I blew nearly four million dollars.

Richard's furious call came quickly.

"Are you insane?! Four million in one day! Who do you think you are?"

I lounged on the velvet sofa. I sipped Dom Pérignon. "What's wrong, Richard? Oh, wait. I should call you Mr. Vance now. I'm about to marry the Hayes heir. I can't look cheap, can I?"

"Do you need that much money to keep up appearances?!"

"Of course." I chuckled softly. "The Hayes family is investing half a billion in your company for this wedding. My few million is just pocket change."

"You ungrateful brat!"

"Mr. Vance, you kicked me out of the family. It's really not appropriate for me to spend your money," I feigned consideration. "Tell you what. Once the marriage funds hit your account, I'll pay you back every cent with interest."

I hung up. I continued my shopping spree.

My plan was simple. Drain Richard's cash flow before the half billion arrived. Let him taste desperation. When he needed that money, he'd have to beg me.

Let's see if he'd still favor that manipulative mother and daughter then.

I was about to make my last round of purchases. My phone screen lit up.

A text from Victor: [Your agency said you haven't shown up in three days. What happened?]

I stared at the message. My heart started pounding wildly for no reason.

I forced myself to calm down.

Victor was just used to controlling everything. He gave me too many fashion resources. He didn't want to see me rebel.

I gave a brush-off reply: [Family stuff to deal with. I'll be back soon.]

Victor didn't reply again.

The next morning, I was heading out to shop. The hotel manager stopped me with an awkward look.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Vance. Your black card has been frozen. You need to settle your bill immediately. Or else..."

He paused politely.

"Or else what?"

"Or else we'll have to ask you to leave."

An hour later, I was standing on the sidewalk outside the Waldorf Astoria. I had my suitcases.

Penniless and nowhere to go.

I thought about selling the luxury goods I just bought. But they were my only weapons for LA.

Without the Vance family name, I needed the packaging to keep my dignity.

I thought about calling my socialite "friends." I quickly realized they only wanted my Vance Media connections.

I was disowned. Who would care about a fallen heiress?

Night fell. A torrential downpour started.

I wandered the streets of Manhattan aimlessly. I dragged my heavy suitcases. I was soaked to the bone.

Finally, I found a broken bench on a deserted corner. I curled up on it.

Rain dripped from my hair. It mixed with the tears I didn't even know I was shedding.

Thirteen days until my flight to LA.

I couldn't live on the streets.

Several vans packed with paparazzi suddenly pulled up. Blinding camera flashes surrounded me like machine-gun fire.

"Serena! Vance Media just disowned you! Is it true?!"

"Your luxury brands dropped you! The internet is canceling you! Say something!"

They closed in. Cameras practically shoved in my face. Haters tried to grab at my soaking wet clothes.

I backed up. I hit a wall. There was nowhere to run.

In that desperate moment, blinding high beams tore through the dark, rainy night.

A black Maybach glided over silently like a phantom.

The door opened. A tall figure stepped out. He held a black umbrella.

Even in the dark, rainy night, I recognized that ruthless, god-like silhouette. Victor.

His suit got wet. His hair was messy. His deep eyes burned with a furious fire I never saw before.

"She's mine."

"If even one photo leaks tomorrow morning, the Sterling Group's legal team will bankrupt your agencies. We will bankrupt every single one of you personally within 24 hours."

The paparazzi instantly turned pale. They packed up their gear and scattered in terror.

Victor strode toward me.

His gaze swept over my soaked clothes. The broken bench. The two suitcases that screamed my pathetic state.

His voice carried a complex emotion I couldn't read.

"You'd rather sleep on the street than make one phone call to me?"