|Serena's POV|
The clink of cutlery and low laughter surrounds me like a velvet noose.
Brunch at Marseille is supposed to be casual. Breezy. Where influencers drink overpriced rosé and pretend carbs are a myth. Where you show up with an easy smile and curated trauma, and everyone pretends they don't notice how deep the cracks run beneath the Botox and the Birkin.
I shouldn't have said yes to this.
Gabrielle Beaumont is nice, in that way all socialites with ambitious fathers are—charming, polished, observant. But she's also the kind of woman who remembers everything you say and files it away for later use. We'd worked together briefly on a fundraising gala, and she'd asked to "catch up" after the Closer campaign launched.
I should've known that was code for I want a front-row seat to
