Page 66 of Lavish
I kept trying to figure out if I was fixing what they broke or just stalling until I could build something that’s actually mine.
What would that even look like?
The Kings had skyscrapers, university wings, whole city blocks with their name carved in stone. They were the legacy. The gold standard.
We were one of the founding families too. Whitmores helped shape this town, just like they did. But somewhere along the line, they kept climbing and we started coasting. Got comfortable.
And now? I was cleaning up the mess. Trying to prove we’re still worth something.
Did I want the company to survive? Of course I did. It was all I had left of my grandfather. Of the version of my family that didn’t fall apart.
But I was starting to think survival wasn’t the goal.
Reinvention was.
And then there was Serena.
I was batting a thousand—married to a woman who hated me, partnering with a family that would rather bury me, and living in a condo that smelled like eucalyptus, espresso, and her skin.
It hadn’t even been a week, and I’d caught her walking around in a silk thigh-length robe, loose at the chest, no bra. A sliver of lace panties peeking when she turned too fast for the oat milk in the fridge. Hair slicked back from the shower. No makeup.
She was doing that shit on purpose. I knew it.
People loved to act like Serena King was all brains and boardrooms. All logic and silence.
But I knew better.
She was a fucking temptress when she wanted to be.
I turned my car toward the gates of Mrs. Fontaine’s place and shot up in my seat.
Victor stood at the edge of the driveway, cigarette dangling, head tilted in thought. He hadn’t changed much—still wore those tailored suits with large-ass handkerchiefs in his pocket.
Stepping out of my car, I looked over my shoulder, hoping none of Mrs. Fontaine’s gardeners were paying attention as I made my way down the driveway. The gravel crunched underfoot, and I tried to steel my beating heart as I drew closer to him.
Fuck, why did I take the money?
“You’ve grown up,” Victor mused. “Last time I saw you, you still had hope in your eyes.”
“Life beats the shit out of you,” I said.
Victor laughed.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, voice low.
“Is that the warm reception I was looking forward to?”
“I didn’t realize we were still on speaking terms,” I said, checking over my shoulder again. Serena was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.
Victor blew out smoke, slow and smug. “We were neveroffspeaking terms. You just stopped answering my calls.”
“Must’ve been bad reception,” I said, forcing a smirk. My hands were still in my pockets, but I curled my fingers into fists. “Or maybe I figured we were square.”
I hadn’t known what I was walking into back then. I was twenty-seven, Pops had just been arrested, the accounts were frozen, and no one in Lush would touch the Whitmores with a ten-foot pole.
Victor was the only one who said yes. No paperwork. Just numbers and a handshake. And I was too desperate to ask the right questions.
“You’re not here just to be a blast from the past. What do you want?” I asked.
