Chapter 3 No.3

Brenda snatched the card up. Come on, she barked at Serena. And put a hat on. I don't want the neighbors seeing your roots.

They went to the mall. Not the high-end boutiques on Fifth Avenue, but a sprawling outlet center on the edge of the island. Kayla came with them, wearing dark sunglasses to hide her hangover, her wrist wrapped in an Ace bandage she didn't need.

Brenda dragged Serena into a store that smelled of cheap polyester and desperation. She started pulling things off the racks. Bright pinks, neon greens, animal prints. Clothes that screamed "new money" and "no taste."

Try this, she said, shoving a tight, sequined cocktail dress at Serena. It looked like something a disco ball would wear to a funeral.

Serena went into the changing room. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. She pulled the dress on. It was itchy. It was tight in the wrong places. It was perfect for the role.

She stepped out. She let her shoulders slump. She chewed the gum she had popped into her mouth earlier with her mouth open. She walked awkwardly, stumbling a little in the heels they had given her.

Kayla snickered. She had her phone out, snapping pictures. Look at her, she whispered to Brenda. She looks like a hooker on clearance.

Brenda nodded, satisfied. It fits her personality. We'll take it.

Serena saw the salesgirl watching them. She had a look of pure disdain on her face. Poor white trash trying to play dress-up, her eyes said.

Serena caught Kayla's reflection in the mirror. She was typing furiously on her phone, posting the photo to her private group chat. Wait until you see what my cousin is wearing to meet the Sterlings. CharityCase.

Serena made a mental note of the timestamp. That photo would be useful later. Evidence of their cruelty, if she ever needed to burn them down publicly.

After the shopping, there was the hair salon. Brenda instructed the stylist to bleach her hair platinum blonde. Not a nice, honey blonde. Platinum. White. Fried.

Make it bright, Brenda said. She needs to pop.

The stylist looked at her hair, which was healthy despite the bad dye job she'd given it herself for cover. Are you sure? This will damage the cuticle...

Just do it, Brenda snapped.

Two hours later, her scalp was burning, and her hair felt like straw. She looked in the mirror. She looked exactly like the stereotype they wanted her to be. A gold-digger. A bimbo.

The final stop was a "manners consultant" Frank had hired for a two-hour crash course. Mrs. Gable was a stern woman with a British accent that sounded fake.

She tried to teach Serena how to walk with a book on her head.

Chin up, shoulders back, she commanded.

Serena took two steps and let the book slide off. She bent down to pick it up, bending at the waist instead of the knees, giving Mrs. Gable a view of her underwear.

She gasped. Oh, good heavens! No!

Serena did it again. And again. She spilled tea. She used the salad fork for the cake. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

By the end of the hour, Mrs. Gable looked ready to retire.

Mr. Vance, she told Frank, who had come to pick them up. She is... unteachable. She is a liability.

Frank looked at Serena with pure hatred. She's not going there to talk politics, Mrs. Gable. She's going there to sign papers and breed.

Serena stood there, popping her gum, looking vacant. Inside, she was smiling. They thought she was stupid. Stupidity was the best camouflage in the world.

She needed to use the restroom before they left. She went into the stall and locked the door. A moment later, she heard Brenda and Kayla enter.

I can't believe we have to give that idiot two million dollars, Kayla complained. That's my inheritance, Mom.

Shh, Brenda said. It's a signing bonus. Frank has to transfer it to get her to sign the prenup. But don't worry. Once she's in that house, once the trust fund is unlocked for us... who cares what happens to her?

But two million?

She won't live long enough to spend it, honey. You know what they say about Julian. He's killed two nurses already. Why do you think they're accepting her? They need a body count that doesn't sue.

Serena sat on the toilet lid, her breath held. Two million.

They were going to pay her two million dollars to walk into a trap.

She waited until they left. She walked out of the stall and washed her hands. She looked at the platinum blonde stranger in the mirror.

Two million dollars. That would buy a lot of neurotoxin antidote on the black market.

She dried her hands. She wasn't just going to survive Julian Sterling. She was going to use their own blood money to save him.