Chapter 26: The Glee of Getting Rid of Her
The morning after the engagement party dawned grey and cold, but inside Amelia's private sitting room, the atmosphere was warm with satisfaction.
Amelia reclined on her favorite chaise, a cup of steaming tea in her hand, her lips curved in a smile that held none of the performative warmth she displayed in public. Across from her, Ava lounged in an armchair, still in her silk dressing gown, examining her engagement ring in the pale winter light.
"I still can't believe it," Ava murmured, turning her hand this way and that, watching the diamond catch the light. "Ethan Leo is mine. Actually mine."
"Not just Ethan," Amelia reminded her, setting down her teacup with deliberate precision. "The Leo fortune. The Leo name. The Leo connections. You've secured all of it, darling."
Ava's smile widened. "And the best part?" She leaned forward, her eyes glittering. "Serene has to watch. Every party, every event, every family dinner—she'll be there, serving canapés, invisible as always, while I have everything she ever wanted."
Amelia laughed—a genuine sound, rich with pleasure. "Speaking of our dear Serene..." She reached for a letter on the side table, holding it up like a trophy. "I had a very interesting conversation with your father last night."
Ava's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"
"Clive Marcer." Amelia savored the name, letting it hang in the air between them. "He wants to marry Serene."
Ava's mouth dropped open. Then she laughed—bright and incredulous and utterly delighted. "Clive Marcer? The Clive Marcer? The one with the connections throughout Europe? The one who's worth—" She named a figure that made even Amelia's eyes widen.
"The very same." Amelia set down the letter. "He approached your father at the party. Made his interest known. And apparently—" her smile turned vicious "—he spoke to Serene directly as well."
"No." Ava was practically vibrating with glee. "She actually talked to him? She can't talk to anyone."
"She can't speak, but she can listen. And apparently, she can nod and smile well enough to attract the attention of one of the most eligible bachelors in the country." Amelia's tone was light, but something flickered in her eyes—jealousy, perhaps, or the faintest trace of resentment that even invisible Serene could attract such a man.
Ava waved it away. "It doesn't matter how it happened. It matters that it's happening. Serene, married to Clive Marcer, living somewhere far away from here." She clasped her hands together. "Mother, do you realize what this means? She'll be gone. Actually gone. We'll never have to see her face at every meal, never have to pretend she exists, never have to deal with her silent judgment ever again."
Amelia nodded slowly, her smile returning. "Your father tells me she's agreed to it. No protests, no tears, no scenes. Just... acceptance."
"That's Serene for you." Ava's voice dripped contempt. "Always so accepting. So passive. So willing to be whatever anyone wants her to be." She paused, a thought striking her. "Wait. Clive Marcer is... what, forty? Forty-five? She's twenty-one. That's—"
"—a perfectly acceptable age gap for a man of his standing," Amelia interrupted smoothly. "And Serene is hardly in a position to be picky. A mute with no dowry, no connections, no future? She should be grateful anyone wants her at all."
Ava considered this, then nodded. "True. Very true." She stretched like a cat, luxuriating in her victory. "So Serene marries an old man and moves far away. I marry Ethan and become mistress of Leo Industries. And you, Mother, finally get the life you deserve—surrounded by wealth and influence, with no inconvenient stepdaughters to drag you down."
Amelia's smile was radiant. "It's more than I ever dreamed, darling. More than I ever dared hope for."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in visions of a future finally free of Serene Frost's silent, accusing presence.
"I almost feel sorry for her," Ava mused. "Almost. Married to a man old enough to be her father, living in some foreign country, never seeing anyone she knows ever again."
"Don't waste your sympathy," Amelia advised. "She made her choices. She could have fought harder, been more visible, made herself matter. Instead, she chose to fade into the background and let life happen to her." She shrugged elegantly. "This is what happens to people like that."
Ava nodded, satisfied. "When do we tell Ethan?"
"Your father wants to inform him personally. Tonight, I believe." Amelia's eyes glittered. "It will be interesting to see his reaction."
"Do you think he'll care? He's marrying me, after all. Why would he care what happens to Serene?"
Amelia considered this. "He shouldn't care. He has no reason to care. But men are strange creatures, Ava. Sometimes they hold onto the past longer than they should." She paused. "Either way, it doesn't matter. Serene will be married and gone before anyone can do anything about it."
Ava rose, crossing to the window to look out at the grey winter garden. Somewhere out there, the greenhouse stood empty and cold—a monument to a childhood none of them spoke of anymore.
"I can't wait," she said softly. "To have this house to ourselves. To never see her face again. To finally, finally be rid of her."
Amelia joined her at the window, slipping an arm around her daughter's waist.
"Soon, darling. Very soon."
---
The Glee of Telling Ethan
Dinner that evening was a subdued affair.
Ethan had joined them, as he did most nights now, sitting at Samuel's right hand while Ava chattered about wedding plans and Amelia offered opinions on every detail. Serene was present as always—silent, invisible, serving and clearing with mechanical precision.
But tonight, there was an undercurrent to the conversation that hadn't been there before. A tension. An anticipation.
Samuel waited until the meal was nearly finished before speaking.
"Ethan," he said, setting down his fork with deliberate care. "There's something I need to discuss with you. A development that affects our families."
Ethan's green eyes lifted from his plate, sharp and assessing. "Oh?"
"Clive Marcer approached me at the engagement party." Samuel's voice was calm, measured. "He's expressed interest in marrying Serene."
Across the room, Serene's hands stilled on the serving platter she was carrying. She didn't look up. Didn't react. But something in the air shifted—a tension that hadn't been there moments before.
Ethan's expression didn't change. "Clive Marcer. The financier?"
"The same." Samuel nodded. "He's made his intentions clear. And Serene..." He paused, glancing toward his eldest daughter. "Serene has accepted."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Ethan's face remained perfectly composed, but something flickered in his eyes—there and gone so fast it might have been imagined. His hand, resting on the table beside his wine glass, tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I see," he said evenly. "Congratulations are in order, then."
Ava watched him like a hawk, searching for any sign of distress, any crack in the polished surface he presented to the world. She found nothing.
"Clive is quite a catch," Amelia offered, her voice light and conversational. "Older, of course, but settled. Established. He'll provide well for her."
"I'm sure he will," Ethan replied. He raised his wine glass in a small salute toward the end of the table where Serene stood frozen. "Best wishes for your future, Serene."
The words were perfectly polite.
Perfectly appropriate.
Perfectly empty.
Serene inclined her head in acknowledgment, her face as blank as his. Then she resumed her duties, moving around the table, collecting plates, disappearing into the kitchen as she always did.
No one stopped her.
No one followed.
No one noticed that Ethan's wine glass remained untouched for the rest of the meal, or that his eyes kept drifting toward the door through which she'd vanished.
---
Later, in the study, Samuel and Ethan sat across from each other with glasses of brandy and the careful formality of businessmen discussing a transaction.
"She accepted without hesitation?" Ethan asked. His voice was casual, curious—the tone of someone making polite conversation.
"Apparently so." Samuel swirled his brandy. "Clive spoke to her directly at the party. She didn't object when I raised it with her afterward." He paused. "I was... surprised, honestly. I expected tears, protests, something. But she simply agreed."
Ethan nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "And Marcer? What does he want with someone like her?"
The question was careful, but Samuel caught the edge beneath it.
"Someone like her?" he repeated.
"Quiet. Reserved." Ethan shrugged. "She's not exactly the typical society wife."
Samuel considered this. "Clive was quite clear about his reasons. He wants a wife who won't demand attention. Who understands that marriage is a partnership of convenience, not romance. Who will be content in the background while he pursues his business interests." He paused. "In that sense, Serene is... perfect."
Perfect.
The word hung in the air.
Ethan's jaw tightened for just a fraction of a second—a micro-expression that would have been invisible to anyone not watching closely.
"Well," he said, rising and setting down his glass, "I wish them every happiness." He extended his hand to Samuel. "Thank you for telling me. And for the brandy."
Samuel shook his hand, studying his face. "You're taking this well."
Ethan's smile was smooth, practiced. "Why wouldn't I? Serene and I have no connection anymore. She's free to marry whomever she chooses." He paused at the door, his hand on the handle. "Goodnight, Samuel."
He was gone before Samuel could respond.
---