Vivan POV
She looked so happy, but how dare she be happy. And Damien... he’d been different too, until I’d gotten in his head, fed him doubts, made him question everything.
Stop it, I told myself. Stop rewriting history.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling, the nagging doubt that maybe, just maybe, I’d destroyed sothing real.
And for what? A few nights with a man who’d never loved ? Who’d used to avoid his own feelings?
My phone buzzed—a text from an unknown number. I opened it, and my blood ran cold.
It was a photo of outside Aria’s building last week.
The ssage below read: Stay away from Aria. This is your only warning.
I stared at the screen. Who the hell had sent this?
Another ssage ca through: You’ve already destroyed enough. Don’t make destroy you.
I threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor.
Soone was watching . Soone knew what I was planning.
But who?
I picked up the phone—the screen was cracked but still working. I called the investigator.
"Ms. Monroe?" He answered, groggy with sleep. "It’s three in the morning."
"Soone’s threatening ." I paced my office. "I need you to find out who."
"Threatening you how?" He sounded more awake now.
I sent him the photos. "Like that."
A pause while he looked. "Soone’s been following you."
"I know that." I gripped the phone tighter. "I need to know who."
"Could be anyone," he said. "Security guard from your sister’s building. Private investigator she hired. Hell, it could be Blackwood himself."
"Damien?" I stopped pacing. "Why would Damien threaten ?"
"Because you’re going after his son’s mother?" The investigator sounded amused. "Just a guess."
He had a point.
"Find out," I said. "I’ll pay double your usual rate."
"Triple," he countered.
"Fine." I sat down at my desk. "Triple. Just find out who’s watching ."
"Will do." He hung up.
I stared at the photos on my desk—Aria’s success, Noah’s face, the life I’d lost.
Maybe the voice threatening was right. Maybe I should stop.
But I couldn’t. The rage wouldn’t let . Aria had everything, and I had nothing but my hatred.
So I’d use it, burn everything down if I had to.
Even if it ant burning myself in the process.
My laptop pinged—an email from the journalist.
Confird for tomorrow. Looking forward to your story.
I smiled coldly. I was Vivian Monroe, the golden child, the one who always got what she wanted.
And what I wanted was to see my sister fall.
No matter what it cost.
I opened a new docunt on my laptop and started typing—everything I knew about Aria, every secret and weakness.
The child she’d hidden. The father she’d kept away. The lies she must have told.
I would fra it perfectly, make Aria look like the villain, make myself look like the concerned family mber just trying to help.
Public opinion would turn. Business partners would question her. Damien would realize she’d been manipulating him all along.
And I would finally win.
The words flowed easily—three pages beca five, five beca ten.
By the ti the sun rose, I had a complete story that was devastating. I saved the docunt and attached it to an email to the journalist.
My finger hovered over the send button.
This was it. The mont of no return.
Once I sent this, there would be no taking it back. Aria would know I’d betrayed her again.
But she’d betrayed first—by being born, by being smarter, by succeeding where I’d failed.
I hit send.
The email whooshed away.
Done.
I sat back in my chair and waited for the satisfaction to co.
It didn’t.
Instead, I felt... empty.
Like I’d just destroyed the last piece of my soul.
My phone buzzed.
Found sothing on your watcher. You’re not going to like it.
I picked up the phone. "Tell ."
"It’s not Blackwood." He sounded grim. "It’s soone much worse."
"Who?" My heart started pounding.
"Marcus Blackwood." He let that sink in. "Damien’s older brother."
I froze. "I thought he was exiled. Gone."
"He’s back," the investigator said, his voice dark. "And he’s been watching both you and your sister, along with several other people in Damien’s life."
"Why?" I gripped the phone tighter.
"I don’t know," he said, pausing. "But Vivian? Whatever you’re planning with your sister? Marcus Blackwood being involved makes it a hundred tis more dangerous."
"Dangerous how?" My voice ca out shaky.
"Marcus Blackwood doesn’t play gas," the investigator spoke slowly. "He destroys. Completely. And if he’s watching you, it ans you’re part of whatever plan he has."
"What plan?" I stood up.
"That’s what I’m trying to find out," he said, the sound of typing in the background. "But Vivian? If I were you, I’d back away from this—all of it—before Marcus decides you’re more useful dead than alive."
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone, then at the email I’d just sent.
What had I done?
I’d been so focused on destroying Aria that I hadn’t seen the bigger picture.
Marcus Blackwood was back, and if he was targeting Damien’s life, that ant everyone connected to Damien was in danger.
Including .
Including Aria.
Including Noah.
I grabbed my laptop and tried to recall the email, but it was too late—the journalist had already opened it.
My phone rang. "Vivian, this is gold," he said, excitent clear in his voice. "Absolutely gold. I want to run it tomorrow."
"Wait." I pressed my hand to my forehead. "I need more ti."
"Ti for what?" He laughed. "This is perfect as is. Monroe Global’s CEO hiding Blackwood’s heir? The public will eat this up."
"Please." I hated how desperate I sounded. "Just give a few days."
"Why?" His suspicion was clear. "You getting cold feet?"
"No." I lied. "I just want to make sure we have every single detail."
A pause. "Fine. You have three days. But after that, with or without your additions, this story runs."
"Three days." I closed my eyes. "Thank you."
I hung up and sat down hard in my chair.
What was I going to do?
If the story ran, Aria’s reputation would be damaged, maybe even destroyed.
But it would also put Noah in the spotlight, make him a target.
For Marcus Blackwood or anyone else who wanted to hurt Damien.
And despite everything—despite all my hatred and rage and jealousy—I didn’t want to hurt a child.
Especially not my own nephew.
I looked at the photo of Noah again, his little face, his innocent smile.
He looked like Damien, but he also looked like Aria.
Like family.
My family.
I picked up my phone and stared at Aria’s contact—the number I’d deleted and re-added a hundred tis over the past three years.
My thumb hovered over the call button.
I should warn her, tell her what was coming, what I’d done.
But that would an admitting I’d betrayed her again.
That would an giving up my revenge.
The phone slipped from my hand and hit the desk with a thud.
I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t call her. Couldn’t admit I was wrong.
Even if it ant Noah would be in danger.
Even if it ant I was just as bad as I’d always accused Aria of being.
I was a coward—a jealous, bitter coward—and I deserved whatever Marcus Blackwood had planned for .
The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and quick. My hands trembled as I reached for the coffee cup on my desk, the liquid gone cold hours ago with a thin film forming on top. I drank it anyway. Everything tasted bitter these days.
Outside my window, the city was waking up—car horns, the distant wail of a siren, people starting their normal days, going to work, drinking their coffee, not destroying their families.
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, my breath fogging it up. When I pulled back, I could see my reflection—dark circles under my eyes, hair tangled. I looked like soone who’d forgotten how to sleep.
The laptop screen glowed in front of , that cursor blinking.
Three days. I had three days to figure out what to do.
My stomach churned. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, maybe the morning before that. Ti blurred together when you spent all night plotting revenge.
I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, the light hurting my eyes. Inside, nothing but old takeout containers and a bottle of wine. I grabbed the wine and didn’t bother with a glass.
The first sip burned going down, the second one easier. By the third, I couldn’t feel anything at all.
I’d opened a door I couldn’t close, set things in motion I couldn’t stop. The journalist would run the story. Aria’s life would explode. Noah would be exposed.
And Marcus Blackwood would make his move.
Whatever that move was.
I took another drink—the wine bottle was half empty now, or half full, depending on how you looked at it.
I’d always been the glass-half-empty type. Aria was the optimist, the one who saw possibilities where I saw failures.
Maybe that’s why she’d succeeded, why she’d built sothing real while I’d just torn things down.
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