From Their Puppet To His Queen Novel – “Serena, your twenty-second birthday is right around the corner,” Eleanor Whitmore’s voice crackled through the phone, overflowing with excitement. “Have you decided which of the five bachelors you’re going to pick?” Serena stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, her fingertips absently tracing the edge of the frame. Sunlight poured in, drenching her in warmth, but it couldn’t thaw the chill behind her eyes.
“I’ve made my choice,” she said softly. “I knew it!” Eleanor laughed. “You’ve been trailing after Julian since you were a kid. It’s him, isn’t it?” “No.” Serena’s tone was calm—unyielding. “Not him.” There was a beat of silence on the line. “Then…” Eleanor hesitated, “is it one of the others? Miles, Grayson, or Declan?” “I’m not choosing them either.” Eleanor gasped. “That only leaves Wesley. But he’s your childhood nemesis! You two can’t stand each other—” “I’m choosing him.” Serena cut her off, her voice firm and steady.
“Mom, I’m going to marry Wesley Hawthorne.” “What?!” Eleanor’s pitch jumped an octave. “Serena, you and Wesley have been at each other’s throats since you were little! When you were five, you pushed him into a pool. At ten, you spiked his birthday cake with hot sauce. At fifteen, you tossed his rare sneakers into the fountain…” As her mother rattled off the greatest hits of their rivalry, Serena’s lips curved into a faint, unintentional smile. “And just last year,” Eleanor pressed on, “you told me you couldn’t stand the sight of him.
You drove him clean out of the country! So why would you suddenly want to marry him?” Serena lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening slightly around the windowpane. Because in this second life, she knew the truth: of all five suitors, only Wesley had ever truly loved her—and she had never seen it. In her previous life, she’d stood in this same spot, beaming as she told her mother she was going to marry Julian Blackwell. She couldn’t have known that the refined, aloof heir of the Blackwell family would fake his own death to run off with another woman—leaving her in agony for the next twenty years.
Serena had been born into the Whitmore family, one of the most powerful dynasties on the East Coast. Her mother and the mothers of the Blackwell, Carrington, Hale, Price, and Hawthorne families had all been pregnant at the same time. Five sons. One daughter. When Serena was born, the other women had cooed over her porcelain cheeks and delicate features, jostling for a turn to hold her. They even joked—half-seriously—about who would get to be her mother-in-law. Exasperated, Eleanor had made a promise: Serena would choose her future husband from among their sons when she turned twenty-two.
And in that first life, Serena had chosen Julian without hesitation. She’d chased him all through her youth, certain that loving him meant she would be loved in return. But the night before their wedding, his plane went down. No body was ever found. She searched obsessively, refusing to accept his death for two full decades. Miles Carrington, Grayson Hale, and Declan Price stayed by her side through the grief. They offered warmth, patience, and love, hoping to pull her from the wreckage of her heartbreak. She’d been grateful—but her heart still belonged to Julian. Until that rainy night in London. She saw him.
Julian. Alive. He had Evangeline Hart—the impoverished student Serena had sponsored—pinned against a wall, kissing her like no one else existed. Miles, Grayson, and Declan stood nearby. When the kiss ended, they rushed forward, one draping a coat over Evangeline’s shoulders, another offering her fruit, their voices soft with concern. “That kiss must’ve hurt your lips,” they murmured. “Evie, don’t worry,” they soothed. “Stay abroad with Julian. We’ll keep Serena distracted. She’ll never find you.” And just like that, everything shattered.
Julian had never loved Serena. He’d faked his death to run away with Evangeline. And the other three? They’d never loved her either. They were just decoys, keeping her in the dark so she wouldn’t ruin their shared fantasy. Blindsided by betrayal, Serena fled into the night—only to die in a car crash. Across the street, the four men stood still and watched her die without lifting a finger. In the end, it was Wesley Hawthorne— The man she used to loathe, the one she’d insulted and mocked for years—who collected her remains and stood alone at her gravestone, eyes bloodshot with grief. “Serena?” Eleanor’s voice snapped her back to the present. “Are you still there?” Serena took a steadying breath, her fingers trembling slightly. “Mom, I’ve made up my mind.
At my twenty-second birthday gala, I’ll announce Wesley Hawthorne as my fiancé.” She hesitated, then added gently, “It might be best if you and Dad tell him in person. He probably won’t believe it otherwise.” Eleanor didn’t understand—but she loved her daughter