They Made Me Confess To A Bricklayer, Then I Saw The Comments Chapter 04
After that, I stopped chasing him down.
The night before my party, the roses arrived. Nine hundred and ninety-nine blush-pink Ecuadorian roses, flown in through a Dutch florist. I was in the middle of directing the staff to arrange them when someone called my name from downstairs.
I looked over the railing. Preston was down there, leaning against the Maserati I’d bought him, looking furious.
He’d obviously decided the roses were for him. He strutted over like he owned the place.
“Save yourself the trouble, Serena. I already told you I’m not coming to your party. None of this is going to change my mind.”
The audacity actually made me laugh. I stood, brushed off my hands, and just looked at him.
Did every word I’d said go in one ear and out the other? Did he seriously think he was my only option?
I headed down the sweeping staircase to meet them. Chloe slid out of the car and grabbed my arm, sweet concern all over her face.
“Serena, maybe skip the livestream? When Preston doesn’t show, you’ll be standing up there with nowhere to hide, and honestly, the last thing anyone needs is another meltdown.”
I pulled free, rolled my eyes so hard it hurt, and told the butler to show them out.
[The drama queen still hasn’t given up?? Preston already said he’s not going, and she’s STILL ordering flowers.]
[She’s going to cry her eyes out tomorrow, lol.]
[I’m dead, lmao. Can’t wait to watch her crash and burn on the livestream tomorrow.]
The next day, I showed up to my own party dressed to kill.
The second I walked into the Crestview ballroom, every head in the room turned.
The room was packed with family friends, business associates, and classmates. Every last one of them was whispering, waiting for the same thing: to watch me crash and burn.
Rowan was already there. He’d come early.
He was wearing the black suit I’d given him the other day, and it fit like it had been made for him, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. His face was unreadable, but even stone-faced, he outshone every trust-fund guy in the room.
Preston, true to his word, didn’t come. Through the reader feed’s play-by-play, I knew he was stretched out on a lounger at some beachfront resort, Chloe in a bikini beside him, passing him a glass of juice.
Preston’s friend just asked him, “You’re seriously not going? Serena’s already live. She’s past a million viewers.”
According to the feed, Preston smirked and pulled up the livestream on his phone.
“Why would I? I want her to stand up there and humiliate herself. Maybe after tonight she’ll think twice before playing games with me again.”
He tapped into the stream and saw me standing alone on stage. The smirk had already started to form. Then the feed showed him something that froze it in place.
On his screen, I stood with the roses in my arms. I walked toward Rowan, one slow step at a time, and placed the bouquet in his hands with a smile.
“Will you be mine?”