SERENA'S POV
“Hello, Jillian,” I responded, my gaze still fixed on my father.
I vaguely remembered Jill, my assistant, had once informed me about a wedding gown order. She’d said it came in anonymously, but the client had paid a handsome fee for it.
I had sketched for weeks, perfecting the design, then finally sent it to her with instructions to ensure it came out exactly as I envisioned.
Now, looking back, I should have realized it was all an elaborate scheme.
She gave me an apologetic look—though it didn’t quite land. She seemed too happy for her regret to be genuine.
This man, sitting beside me, could give my stepmom a run for her money in the art of craftiness.
“Come on, don’t give me that look. I’m a client, remember?”
“Ahh!” I let out a dry laugh, glancing away—unable to stom
