Serena Bennet Novels & Stories

She was seated at a table with industry elites-and one woman she recognized from a Foundation file. Her name was Margot Lennox. A financial backer, a high-tier operative. Margot offered Serena a warm smile. "I've heard you're the favorite tonight," Margot said. "We'll see," Serena replied. "The industry doesn't favor those who are too outspoken." Margot leaned in closer. "Sometimes it does, as long as it can take credit afterward." Serena took a sip of champagne without breaking eye contact, her gaze steady and unyielding. When the finalists were announced. Serena's name was called last.

Tailored ivory blouse tucked into high-waisted black slacks, a minimalist watch on one wrist, and heels that didn’t scream for attention but commanded it anyway. "Mr. Velmond." Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a sleek, understated bun. Revealing the gentle, flawless contours of a face that didn’t belong in boardrooms. She didn’t look like a businesswoman. She looked like a warning, making William's breath hitch for less than a heartbeat. Familiar, too familiar. But no, that couldn’t be. Selena was dead. He crushed the thought as quickly as it came. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting," Serena greeted with a voice smooth and perfectly poised. Her tone was neither warm nor cold. Jus

whined the woman named Bella. “You know what you've done?? Huh??” Barra looked at Serena with a flame. The girl in the short-sleeved pink shirt shook her head with a thin smile, “Even a GM like you is so easy to fool.” “Are you underestimating this guy??" Bella snapped. "Take care of everything with your own hands,” said Barra who still showed his cold face. "Well, maybe the CCTV in your room has long been broken,” quipped Serena who immediately stepped towards the exit.

(Flashback) "Serena , don't go, just send her a text to remind her." Catherine is lying on the bed to persuade Serena . But Serena didn't stop packing and continued to take a bunch of notes and put them in her book bag saying, "She's not answering her phone, the final exams are next month and Linda doesn't even know when they are. I'm just going to check it out, don't you worry." Linda was the most introverted and quiet of them all.

Probably some guy gave her a fake number in the bar. "I know what it is. But who are you?" She again asks me anxiously. "I am secretary of the President of the Damison Group. My name is Ethan Stone." I reply to her irritatingly, as she is wasting my time. I need to go home and take a lavender bath with my rubber ducks.

All except one. A face that glared at me with a conceited smile. She had waited for this moment, she had waited to look me in the eyes with a calculative stare. Shania, drapes in a red polkadot gown and a black cashmere trenchcoat hanging over her shoulders. She let her ginger hair fall over shoulder with a braid at the two ends of her frontal. “Finally, we thought you were gonna have to cancel this meeting,” She smiled as though our argument yesterday never happened, like this was the first time we were speaking in months.

The door closed behind them. Vivian smiled as she removed her sunglasses. She placed the tip of one arm against her lips, allowing her gaze to travel around the office. After a moment, she gave a small nod. “Quite a design we've got here.” Selena leaned back in her chair, studying her. “Who are you?” “Forgive my manners.” Vivian extended a hand elegantly. “Vivian Voss. Chairwoman and chief executive of Voss Continental Group.” Even her voice carried an unmistakable authority.

Serena's voice trembled. “He said you were never supposed to be the original heir.” Elena froze. “Then who was?” Serena took a shaky breath. “Your daughter.” The call disconnected. Elena slowly turned toward Lily. Across the chamber, the screen changed again. One final message appeared. SUCCESSOR IDENTIFIED: LILY ROSE BENNETT. And beneath it: ORIGINAL HEIR'S CLAIM — UNDER REVIEW.

I kept repeating his confession—You are my reality—like a secret prayer, trying to use it as a shield against the suffocating pressure of this life. Serena, next to me, was a masterpiece of control in emerald green. Her hand rested on the table between courses, a signal, a reminder. She was discussing the current university endowment with Mr. Davies, the board member, and she was effortlessly charming, connecting every piece of social interaction back to our shared future and the strength of the Hayes-Vance union.

"Fifty people? How can I—" "Little by little," Ethan interrupted with a reassuring smile. "We'll start with the ten most important ones first. The ones who interacted with Serena most often." He showed the first photo—a middle-aged woman with elegant white hair. "Margaret Sinclair. Senior curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She and Serena were very close—almost like mother and daughter. She introduced Serena to many important collectors." Alena made a mental note. "What else do I need to know about her?"