Chapter 3 No.3

The drive to The Hamptons was usually a relief, a visual exhale as the concrete canyons of Manhattan gave way to the green, rolling manicured lawns of Long Island. Today, the motion of the limousine just made Catherine nauseous.

She sat in the back, checking her reflection in her compact mirror. She applied another layer of concealer under her eyes. The dark circles were stubborn today. She pressed a hand to her lower back; the dull ache was a constant companion now.

The car crunched over the gravel driveway of "The Breakers," the Vanderbilt family's ancestral estate. It was a massive, intimidating structure of stone and ivy, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

Sebastian wasn't here. He was "working" in the city. It was just Catherine and the Matriarch.

Margaret Vanderbilt was waiting in the rose garden, sitting in a high-backed wicker chair like a queen on a throne. She was eighty years old, sharp as a tack, and the only person in this family who didn't look at Catherine like she was a transaction.

"Catherine, darling!" Margaret exclaimed as Catherine approached. She extended a frail, ring-adorned hand.

Catherine took it, bending down to kiss the old woman's cheek. "Hello, Grandmother. You look wonderful."

Margaret pulled her closer, her cloudy eyes narrowing. "You look thin, child. Too thin. Are you eating?"

"Just a new diet trend, Grandmother," Catherine lied smoothly. "Intermittent fasting. It's very popular."

Margaret scoffed, tapping her cane on the stone pavers. "Starvation is not a trend. Sit. Have some tea."

A maid poured Earl Grey into delicate china cups. Catherine took a sip, the warmth soothing her stomach.

"Where is my grandson?" Margaret asked sharply.

"He's... busy," Catherine said, the excuse tasting like ash in her mouth. "The merger. He wanted to come, but..."

"Men are fools," Margaret interrupted. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, worn velvet pouch. She pushed it across the table.

"Open it."

Catherine undid the strings. Inside was a brooch-an intricate emerald hummingbird with diamond wings. It was heavy, old, and priceless.

"This belonged to my mother," Margaret said softly. "I want you to have it. For the mother of the next CEO."

Catherine's hand froze. The brooch felt hot against her skin. The expectation of an heir again. It was everywhere.

"Grandmother, I..."

"You must seduce him, Catherine," Margaret said, leaning forward with surprising intensity. "Marriage is a job. Sometimes you have to work overtime. Make him forget his spreadsheets. Make him forget... distractions."

Distractions. Even Margaret knew about Serena.

"I'll try," Catherine whispered, pinning the brooch to her dress. It felt like a lie.

"Go," Margaret shooed her. "Go to the kitchen. Bake those scones he likes. The vanilla bean ones. The way to a Vanderbilt's heart is through his stomach, unfortunately. They are simple creatures."

Catherine forced a smile. She went to the massive, industrial-sized kitchen. Baking had always been her therapy. The precise measurements, the chemistry, the smell of vanilla and flour-it was controllable.

She spent two hours kneading dough, the physical exertion making her sweat. She zoned out, pretending for a moment that she was just a normal wife, baking for a husband who would come home and eat them with a smile.

When the scones were golden brown and cooling, she packed them into a wicker basket lined with linen.

One last try, she told herself. I will go to him. I will be the wife he wants. Maybe if I show him I'm still here, he'll see me.

She had the driver take her back to the city, straight to the SV Corp headquarters. The glass tower pierced the sky, a monument to Sebastian's ego.

Catherine walked into the lobby, holding the basket. She felt ridiculous, like Little Red Riding Hood entering the wolf's den.

She approached the security turnstiles, the familiar path she had taken a hundred times. She tapped her platinum-level access card against the reader.

BEEP-BEEP. A red light flashed. "ACCESS DENIED."

Catherine frowned. She tapped it again. BEEP-BEEP. "ACCESS DENIED."

"Excuse me, Ma'am," a security guard stepped forward. He was new, young, with a severe haircut.

"My card seems to be malfunctioning," Catherine said, trying to keep her voice light. "I'm Catherine Vanderbilt."

The guard looked down at his console, then back at her. "I'm sorry, Ms. Vanderbilt. The system shows your clearance has been... suspended. Pending an update."

"Suspended?" Catherine felt a flush of humiliation. "I'm the Chairman's wife. I have a permanent pass."

"I understand that, Ma'am. But the new security protocol requires active employee status or a scheduled appointment for the executive elevators. The directive came down from the VP's office this morning."

The VP's office. Serena.

Serena had revoked her access. She had locked the wife out of the building.

"I need to see Sebastian," Catherine said, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Call his assistant. Lyndon."

The guard hesitated, seeing the look in her eyes. He picked up the phone. He whispered something, eyes flicking to her.

A minute later, the elevator pinged and Lyndon, Sebastian's nervous personal assistant, came rushing out. He looked sweaty.

"Mrs. Vanderbilt! Oh my god, I am so sorry," Lyndon stammered, waving at the guard to open the gate. "System glitch. Total accident. We're switching servers."

Catherine stepped through the gate, her grip on the basket tightening. "A glitch from the VP's office, Lyndon?"

Lyndon paled. He didn't answer. He stepped in front of the elevator bank, effectively blocking her path.

"Uh, actually, he's in a meeting. A very... intense strategy session. High level. No interruptions allowed."

Catherine looked at Lyndon. He was a terrible liar. His left eye was twitching.

"A strategy session?" Catherine asked.

"Yes. Very technical. Boring, really."

"Is Serena Kensington in there?"

The question hung in the air. Lyndon opened his mouth, closed it, then looked at his shoes.

"She... she is part of the strategy team now. Yes."

Catherine felt a cold calmness settle over her. "Move, Lyndon."

"Mrs. Vanderbilt, I really can't-"

"I said move."

She stepped around him and pressed the call button. The doors opened instantly. She stepped inside, leaving Lyndon wringing his hands in the lobby.

She watched the numbers climb. 10... 20... 40... 50.

The elevator was taking her to the sky, but she felt like she was descending into hell.