Perfectly Incompatible

THE STERLING SELECTION

Serena decided the Sterling Fellowship was an excellent way to stop thinking about Sebastian Beaumont.

The strategy worked for forty-three minutes.

“Harcourt.”

Her professor’s voice snapped her back to the room.

“Yes?”

“Would you care to rejoin us?”

Several people laughed.

Serena looked down at the model in front of her and wished she could crawl inside it.

“Sorry.”

Her professor was not cruel, which somehow made it worse.

“We have news from Sterling.”

Now Serena was listening.

Parsons had submitted twelve applications to the fellowship, and only a handful would move into the official first phase. For weeks, Serena had been pretending the result mattered less than it did.

Her professor started reading names.

Serena’s was third.

She did not breathe again until the next name came.

“Congratulations,” someone said.

Chloe, who had been waiting outside the classroom like a relative during surgery, burst in the second the session ended.

“Well?”

Serena tried to keep her expression neutral.

It lasted about a second.

“I got in.”

Chloe screamed.

Nora appeared behind her and hugged Serena before saying, “Good. Now make sure nobody can say it was because of your last name.”

“Thank you for ruining the moment.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

They walked out onto the street.

New York was damp and loud, full of people who had no idea Serena had just earned something she wanted badly.

She loved that.

No photographers. No Harcourt press release. No family name over a display window.

Just her.

Her phone buzzed.

For one ridiculous second, she thought it might be Sebastian.

It was Oliver.

Mom told me. Congratulations, designer.

Serena smiled.

Thanks.

Then another message appeared.

Dominic.

Glad you were selected. We’ll talk tonight about how to leverage the exposure for Harcourt.

Her smile vanished.

Nora looked over her shoulder.

“No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

Chloe leaned in.

“Dominic already turned your accomplishment into a marketing meeting? It’s been twenty minutes.”

“Corporate efficiency,” Serena said, putting the phone away.

She refused to let him ruin the day.

Sterling sent the official materials an hour later. Serena opened the PDF in a cafe while Chloe and Nora split a slice of cake as though they had been selected too.

There was a calendar. Mentor assignments. Intellectual-property rules. Elimination stages. A list of participants.

Serena scrolled.

Parsons.

Pratt.

Columbia.

Her finger stopped.

Liam Kingsley.

“No.”

Chloe looked up.

“What?”

“He got in too.”

“Sebastian?”

“Worse.”

Nora leaned over.

“Liam.”

Chloe put a hand over her heart.

“This is a gift.”

“To you, maybe.”

“To all of us.”

Serena kept reading.

Sterling carried weight even among elite schools. Finalists worked on real commissions, and the winner earned a professional residency, international exposure, and valuable industry access.

To Serena, it meant something simpler.

A committee that said nothing to Dominic Harcourt.

“We need rules,” Nora said.

“For celebrating?”

“For making sure you don’t turn this into another family war.”

Serena raised a brow.

“What do you propose?”

Nora counted on her fingers.

“One: no Harcourt resources other participants wouldn’t have. Two: if your father tries to announce Sterling like it belongs to the company, you shut it down. Three: you do not let Liam waste your time just because he irritates you.”

Chloe lifted a hand.

“I object to number three. Their mutual hatred is one of my best sources of free entertainment.”

“Thank you for the support.”

“Always.”

Serena smiled and returned to the document.

One paragraph outlined intellectual property. Each participant retained ownership of concepts created before the program, while collaborative work would be governed by separate agreements.

She read that section twice.

At Harcourt, even sketches made during an internship could end up archived inside the company system.

For the first time, Serena imagined a future where her work existed outside Harcourt’s glass cases.

She did not know yet whether she wanted her own brand. The idea felt enormous.

But she wanted to keep the option.

“What would you do if you won?” Chloe asked.

Serena thought about it.

“Work somewhere else for a while. Somewhere small. Somewhere nobody knows me.”

“Paris?” Chloe asked with a grin.

Serena flicked a paper spoon at her.

“I said somewhere nobody knows me.”

Nora’s expression turned more serious.

“So Sterling isn’t just a competition.”

“No.”

It was an exit.

Or proof that a door existed.

“This is mine,” Serena said.

Nora understood immediately.

“Yes.”

“Even if I lose.”

“Yes.”

A strange sense of freedom opened inside her.

Chloe raised her coffee.

“Then let’s celebrate the first place Dominic Harcourt can’t slap his logo on without asking permission.”

Serena’s phone buzzed again.

This time, her father was calling.

She considered letting it ring out, then answered.

“Hi.”

“Congratulations,” Dominic said.

“Thank you.”

“I want you at the office tomorrow. We can discuss how to use the visibility.”

Serena glanced at Nora.

“Sterling has independence rules. I’m not presenting the fellowship as a Harcourt project.”

A pause.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were going to in about three minutes.”

Dominic almost laughed.

“You’re my daughter.”

“Exactly. You know me.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“We’ll talk. You won’t decide.”

She hung up before he could answer.

Chloe threw both hands in the air.

“That deserves more cake.”

Sterling’s first phase would divide participants into interdisciplinary teams for short, high-pressure challenges judged by an external panel. The strongest would move into a second phase built around a real project.

At the bottom of the packet was the initial team assignment.

Blue Team: Serena Harcourt.

Copper Team: Liam Kingsley.

Rivals.

Serena smiled.

“What was that?” Nora asked.

“What was what?”

“That face.”

“Nothing.”

“That was absolutely not nothing.”

“I just realized I now have several institutionally sanctioned opportunities to prove Liam Kingsley talks too much.”

Before they toasted, Serena scanned the full list again.

Some last names she recognized. Others meant nothing to her.

She liked that.

Sterling was not Greenwich. Here, she would compete with people who did not care who had designed their mother’s engagement ring.

“Promise me something,” Nora said.

“Depends.”

“If you lose a challenge, you’re not calling your father for information, materials, or contacts.”

Serena frowned.

“I wouldn’t.”

“I know. I want you to know that too before the temptation exists.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow.

“Nora turns every celebration into a contract.”

“Somebody has to.”

Serena looked at her friends.

Chloe understood her dramatics. Nora understood her stubbornness.

She needed both.

“I promise,” Serena said. “If I win, it’s mine. If I lose, that’s mine too.”

Chloe’s phone snapped a picture at that exact moment.

Serena protested.

Chloe did not delete it.

“One day you’ll want to remember the face you made when you decided that.”

“I’m going to look like a woman holding coffee.”

“Exactly. Important moments almost never know they’re important.”

“That sounds alarmingly healthy,” Chloe said. “Now I can toast.”

She lifted her cup.

“To Sterling.”

Nora raised hers.

“To earning it yourself.”

Serena joined them.

“To humiliating Kingsley in a legitimate academic setting.”

Their cups clinked.

For almost an hour, Serena managed to think about Sterling instead of Sebastian.

It lasted until she stepped out of the cafe.

Her phone buzzed.

Can you see me tonight?

Serena stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

Chloe took two more steps before turning around.

“What happened?”

Serena showed them the screen.

“Oh,” Chloe said. Then, louder, “Oh. That’s big.”

Nora came up on Serena’s other side.

“Do you want to see him?”

That was the real question.

Not whether she should. Not whether it was smart. Not what Oliver would think or what Vivienne would advise.

Did she want to see him?

Very much.

And she was tired of pretending otherwise.

She typed:

Yes. But this time I don’t want half a conversation.

The reply came less than a minute later.

It won’t be half.

Chloe hooked her arm through Serena’s and forced her to keep walking.

“Whatever happens tonight, tomorrow you still have Sterling.”

“I know.”

“And us,” Nora added.

Serena put the phone away.

“I know that too.”

At eight ten, she walked into a tiny cafe in Greenwich Village Sebastian had chosen precisely because nobody in their circle ever went there. No photographers. No family names on the walls. No one waiting to discuss a business empire.

Just six tables, an espresso machine that was far too loud, and Sebastian sitting in the back with an untouched cup in front of him.

He had arrived early.

Of course he had.

Serena set her bag on the chair opposite him.

“Ten minutes,” Sebastian said.

“You were counting?”

“I was considering calling you.”

“That would’ve been ironic, considering how quickly you answer some messages.”

Sebastian took the hit without defending himself.

“Congratulations on Sterling.”

Serena went still.

“Oliver?”

“Oliver.”

“I didn’t come here to talk about Sterling.”

“I know. I wasn’t going to let you start there.”

“Then don’t start with the easy part.”

Sebastian looked toward the window. Outside, headlights stretched over the wet street.

When he looked back at her, the polished expression he wore at dinners, meetings, and in photographs was gone.

“What happened in the greenhouse wasn’t a mistake,” he said.

Something tightened beneath Serena’s ribs.

“That isn’t exactly how it looked when you walked away.”

“I walked away because I needed to think.”

“You always need to think right when somebody else needs you to talk.”

Sebastian lowered his eyes for a second.

“Probably.”

The admission disarmed her enough that she stayed silent.

He folded his hands on the table.

“There’s something I should’ve told you sooner.”

Serena stopped hearing the espresso machine.

“Sebastian.”

“It isn’t about you. Or it didn’t start with you.”

“That is not making this introduction better.”

For the first time since she sat down, Sebastian seemed to search for a sentence and fail to find one he could completely control.

“Maison Beaumont needs me to take over part of the European operation sooner than planned.”

Serena frowned.

“What does that mean?”

He didn’t look away.

“I’m leaving for Paris in five days.”