Chapter 3

The atmosphere in the bedroom became so suffocating that every breath seemed to catch in my throat.

“Seraphina.” Damian's warning came in a low, restrained voice. “I specifically told you to stay at your mother's today.”

“And miss the opportunity to greet my beloved sister after two years?” Seraphina asked, feigning disappointment as she stepped farther into the room. She walked past him and casually ran her fingertips across the surface of my vanity. “Besides, why shouldn't I be here? This is my home too. I chose those curtains, remember? I even picked out the crib for the nursery upstairs.”

She turned toward me, her expression carefully arranged into something that looked like sympathy, although the satisfaction glittering in her eyes gave her away.

“He hasn't told you yet, has he, Vivienne?”

“That's enough, Seraphina.” Damian moved toward her, his voice sharpening.

Instead of backing down, she gave a light laugh that grated against my nerves.

“Why are you so worried about it, Ev? She's bound to learn the truth eventually.” She folded her arms beneath her pregnant belly and looked straight at me. “Did you honestly believe Damian had you committed because you slept with Nathaniel and Adrian?”

My entire body went still.

Seraphina's lips curved upward when she saw my reaction.

“You really were that easy to fool.” Her voice softened with deliberate cruelty. “Damian wasn't angry because you slept with his friends. He arranged it himself.”

The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

“What did you just say?” I managed, barely recognizing my own voice.

“He needed everyone to believe you were unstable, Vivienne.” Seraphina's false sympathy only made her words more vicious. “Your father left you fifty-one percent of the company when he died, and Damian couldn't take control of those shares while you were considered mentally competent. So we created a situation that would make you look incapable of running anything.”

My fingers slowly curled at my sides.

“I slept with him knowing you would catch us,” she continued. “Then Damian paid Nathaniel and Adrian to get close to you when you were already vulnerable and grieving. Once you finally broke down, he had exactly what he needed to convince everyone that you were mentally unfit.”

Her confession struck harder with every word, each revelation echoing inside my head until I could barely think.

I turned toward Damian, desperately searching his face for some sign that she was lying.

There was none.

He wasn't ashamed. He wasn't horrified by what she had admitted.

He simply regarded me with the detached calculation of a businessman evaluating an inconvenient expense.

“Tell me she's lying,” I whispered, my voice breaking despite my efforts to keep it steady.

Damian merely adjusted the cuff of his shirt.

“Don't make this emotional, Vivienne. It was a necessary business decision. Your father's company was collapsing under your management because you were incapable of separating your emotions from your judgment. I stepped in and rescued it. I protected everything we had.”

A tear slipped down my cheek.

“You ruined my life.”

“No. I protected our future.” His tone remained cold. “And now that you know the situation, there are certain conditions you will follow.”

He came closer, his presence towering over me.

“You'll stay here and keep your head down. You'll attend the charity events, smile when the photographers are around, and give everyone the impression that you're recovering and grateful to have been given another chance. In return, you'll have everything you need to live comfortably.”

His expression hardened.

“But if you attempt to leave or tell anyone what you've heard today, I'll make one phone call. I still have medical power of attorney over you. I can have you returned to that hospital and kept there indefinitely. You could spend the rest of your life behind those doors, and nobody would question it.”

He leaned slightly toward me.

“So, Vivienne, are we clear?”

I said nothing for several seconds.

The hospital had taught me something that Damian could never understand. When you're trapped somewhere you cannot escape, fighting blindly only gives the person holding the keys more reasons to tighten the lock.

So I lowered my shoulders and allowed my expression to become vacant, as though his threats had finally broken whatever resistance I had left. Then I wiped away the single tear on my cheek.

“If you've already taken control of my shares,” I said quietly, “why do you still need to marry me? Why not leave me in that hospital permanently and marry Seraphina instead?”

For the briefest moment, Seraphina's confident expression slipped.

Her eyes flicked toward Damian.

Apparently, she had wondered the same thing.

Damian, however, looked almost amused. He calmly straightened his tie before answering.

“Because my dear, suspicious father-in-law made certain you couldn't be removed from the equation so easily. His will states that the remaining forty percent of his private trust, including the liquid assets and offshore accounts, transfers to you only after you marry.”

He paused, watching my reaction.

“If you die without a husband, or remain permanently institutionalized without one, the entire trust goes to charity.”

He stepped closer until I could smell his expensive cologne beneath the cloying sweetness of Seraphina's perfume.

“That is why I need you to marry me, Vivienne. I need the marriage certificate, and the board needs to see a convincing story about your recovery if we're going to keep the company's stock from falling.”

His smile was almost pleasant.

“So you'll wear the wedding dress, stand beside me for the cameras, and say your vows. Once the trust is transferred into accounts I control, you can spend the remainder of your life quietly in the east wing of this house.”

He tilted his head.

“Now, do you understand what is expected of you?”

I lowered my eyes to the floor, carefully concealing the small spark that had begun burning behind my ribs.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I understand.”

Damian smiled as though he'd just won a negotiation.

“That's my good girl.”

He reached out and gave my cheek an affectionate little pat that made my stomach turn.

“Dinner is at eight. Put on the blue silk dress I had delivered for you.”

Then he turned and left.

Seraphina remained behind for another moment, one hand resting possessively over her stomach.

“Try not to keep us waiting, sister,” she said with a mocking smile before following Damian from the room.

The door closed behind them.

Only then did the trembling in my hands disappear.

The pain was still there, but it had changed into something else. Every memory I had treasured of Damian—the kisses, the promises, the future I once believed we were building together—had been manufactured from the beginning.

And strangely enough, knowing the truth didn't destroy me.

It liberated me.

I didn't sink onto the floor or give them the satisfaction of another breakdown. Instead, I crossed the room toward the heavy antique vanity my father had given me for my eighteenth birthday.

I ignored the mirror and crouched beside it, sliding my hand beneath the thick mahogany frame. My fingers searched along the underside until they found the tiny indentation I remembered from childhood.

I pressed down firmly.

A quiet mechanism clicked, and a concealed compartment opened beneath the vanity.

Damian had convinced himself that he had eliminated every advantage I possessed. He believed he had stripped away my money, my independence, my connections, and every possible means of fighting back.

He had forgotten that my father had spent years teaching me never to underestimate the people hiding in the grass.

Inside the hidden compartment was a compact satellite phone that couldn't be traced, along with a silver flash drive.

I picked up the phone.

The battery was still charged.

There was only one number stored in its encrypted memory, and it belonged to the man my father had once trusted to handle the problems no one else could touch.

A ruthless fixer Damian had spent millions trying to locate, destroy, and eventually drive out of the country.

I entered the number.

The phone rang twice before a deep, gravelly voice answered.

“I was starting to wonder whether you'd forgotten about me, Miss Vivienne.”

I slowly rose to my feet and finally met my own reflection.

The frightened woman who had once begged to be believed was nowhere to be seen.

In her place stood someone colder, steadier, and far more dangerous.

“Damian is arranging our wedding,” I said, my voice quiet enough to sound almost serene. “I need your help arranging his funeral.”

There was a brief silence on the other end.

“Whose funeral?”

A slow smile curved across my lips.

“His.”