Serena’s POV
The doctor declared my baby girl perfectly healthy at today’s checkup, sending waves of relief through . I couldn’t stop smiling as the driver took to the International Tower where Ryan had arranged for a fitting of the custom gown he’d ordered for .
"He’s so protective these days," I murmured to myself, feeling the gentle movents of our daughter inside . Two security guards followed closely behind as I stepped out of the car, one carrying my purse while the other scanned the surroundings.
Inside the boutique, a sales associate rushed toward with an overly bright smile. "Mrs. Blackwood! Please follow . Mr. Blackwood has everything prepared."
The dressing room was spacious and elegant—typical Ryan, sparing no expense. The attendant helped slip into a stunning midnight blue gown with intricate crystal embellishnts that caught the light with every movent.
I stepped out and examined my reflection in the full-length mirror, turning sideways to see how my pregnant belly looked in the design. My hands automatically went to the waistline.
"The waist needs to be looser," I said, feeling the fabric pull slightly. "I’m not interested in squeezing my baby for fashion."
The attendant nodded eagerly. "Of course, Mrs. Blackwood. Any other adjustnts needed?"
I shook my head, admiring how the color complented my skin. "Everything else is perfect."
"Wonderful! We’ll deliver it to your residence in a few days."
Just as I was about to return to the dressing room, I noticed a woman approach in my peripheral vision. She wore a gown in a similar shade of blue with design elents that eerily resembled mine. Despite the awkward mont, I offered a genuine smile.
"That gown suits you beautifully," I said, truly aning the complint.
Her eyes narrowed as she gave a cold once-over, her lip curling slightly. "Yours, however, doesn’t quite work... especially in your condition."
I felt my eyebrow twitch at her tone. Who the hell does she think she is?
She turned sharply to the designer behind her, her voice rising with each word. "You’ve given us identical designs? Do you have any idea how much I paid for exclusivity?"
The designer paled. "Miss Vergara, I deeply apologize—"
Vergara? My mind connected the dots instantly. Tiffany Vergara—Kane’s fiancée and daughter of the Vergara family patriarch. The woman Ryan had warned about just yesterday.
Tiffany’s gaze returned to , contempt dripping from every syllable. "If I were pregnant, I’d stick to maternity clothes. Evening gowns really don’t flatter won with..." her eyes lingered on my belly, "...your proportions."
I felt my cheeks flush with anger, but kept my voice steady. "Miss Vergara, I don’t recall asking for your fashion advice."
"Freedom of choice only applies when you have the figure to pull it off," she shot back with a smirk. "You know what they say—when outfits match, it’s who wears it better that matters. And honey, that’s definitely not you."
The boutique staff looked horrified, frozen in place as they watched our exchange.
I took a deliberate breath, squaring my shoulders. "Miss Vergara, I’ve found that true class includes kindness. Your family na is impressive, but your manners certainly aren’t. What a disappointnt."
Her eyes widened fractionally before narrowing again. "A little jewelry designer thinks she can speak to this way? You really have forgotten your place."
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped . "At least my ’little jewelry designs’ are my own achievent. What exactly have you accomplished besides being born into the right family?"
I turned calmly and walked back toward the dressing room, hearing her snap at the designer behind .
"This gown is unacceptable now! Start over completely!"
"Yes, Miss Vergara, please calm down—"
After changing back into my clothes and finalizing details with the designer, who apologized profusely for the unpleasant encounter, I headed for the exit. I had no interest in prolonging this petty confrontation.
But Tiffany wasn’t finished. She intercepted at the door, her perfectly manicured hand gripping the doorfra as if blocking my escape.
"Serena Quinn," she spat the na like an insult, "does having Ryan Blackwood’s protection make you think you’re untouchable in New York now?"
My security imdiately stepped forward, creating a barrier between us. I stayed calm, eting her glare directly.
"Miss Vergara, this ’protection’ you speak of exists only in your imagination. I didn’t seek this conflict—you attacked unprovoked. How exactly am I the one overstepping?"
Her face darkened further, anger practically radiating from her skin. "Serena," she dropped the formalities, leaning closer despite my security’s presence, "I suggest you lose the smug attitude. Blackwood Enterprise’s future leadership isn’t settled yet. What happens when your precious Ryan loses his position? Where will that leave you?"
I couldn’t help smiling. Won like Tiffany were so predictable—always resorting to threats when their egos were bruised.
"Miss Vergara, Blackwood’s leadership isn’t determined by your opinions. If you’re this concerned about corporate politics, perhaps you should develop so skills of your own instead of relying on your family na."
I paused deliberately, watching her face as I delivered my final blow. "Otherwise, history will only rember you as..." I enunciated each word clearly, "the fiancée of New York’s crippled Blackwood."
"You—!" She lunged forward instinctively, only to be blocked by my security. Her face contorted with such fury that for a mont, I thought she might actually try to slap .
I smiled serenely, understanding now why Kane and Tiffany found each other. They were perfectly matched in their toxicity.
"Let’s go," I said to my security team, walking past her trembling form to the waiting car outside.
As we pulled away from the curb, I placed a protective hand on my belly, feeling our daughter kick in response. "Well, little one," I whispered, "that’s your first lesson in standing your ground. Never let anyone make you feel small—even when you’re growing bigger by the day."
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