Legs elegantly crossed, her designer Birkin bag resting like royalty on the seat beside her, Vivian fixed Ethan with a stare sharp enough to peel layers.
"So…" she began, her voice calm but laced with suspicion, "how did you celebrate?"
Ethan didn't meet her eyes. "It was good. Usual stuff."
Vivian arched a brow, unimpressed. "Usual stuff?" She leaned back in her chair, tapping a manicured nail on her glass. "The cabin sofa would disagree, I suppose."
Ethan's silence was confirmation.
"Who was she?" Vivian's voice was casual, but her eyes burned with intent.
Ethan feigned confusion. "Who was who?"
"The girl you spent your birthday with. As your attorney and legal advisor, I have the right to know… or should I say, the responsibility to keep you from walking into messes."
"Know who?" Ethan's tone was flat, evasive.
Vivian smirked. "I called your home. No answer. Odd for someone who's usually surrounded by staff. Then I called the maid's chamber." She tilted her head, letting the next part hang like bait. "They said your wife—sorry, your fake wife—was being escorted in one of your private cars."
Ethan didn't flinch. "She's a nobody."
"She's not," Vivian corrected him smoothly. "Not anymore. You don't hand nobodies your keycard to the cabin and let them sleep in your bed."
"I didn't hand her anything."
Vivian narrowed her eyes. "Ethan, you know I can find out whatever I want if I try. But I'm not here to pry. I'm here to warn."
"Good luck with that," he muttered, almost dismissively.
But Vivian leaned forward, not letting go. "She's young. Naïve. Bound to mistake all of this—the house, the press appearances, your attention—for something it's not. Something real."
Ethan didn't respond, but his jaw clenched.
Vivian's tone turned colder. "You think you're protecting her by staying quiet? You're doing the opposite. She's not like the others. She doesn't know how to read you… or survive you."
"The contract said public appearances, light affection when needed, nothing more," she continued. "Not intimacy. Not whatever happened that night."
Ethan gave a short nod, barely listening.
Vivian stood abruptly, her heels striking the marble like thunder. "I'm going to talk to her."
"Vivian—" he started.
But she was already gone, fury masked beneath elegance, jealousy tucked beneath every step. She hated that he was trying to protect this girl. Ethan didn't protect people. He used them, like everyone in their world. Vivian had waited years for him to see her, to even consider her beyond strategy. Now he was giving that softness to someone else?
Her hands shook as she fumbled with her phone.
Vivian: Hey, can we talk?
---
Lena was sipping tea on the balcony of Ethan's house, admiring the view. For once, things felt almost peaceful. Then her phone buzzed.
Unknown number: "Hey, can we talk?"
She squinted. It wasn't unusual to get odd messages lately, but this one didn't feel like a prank.
Lena: "Who, please?"
Vivian.
Her stomach dropped.
Lena: "Where?"
I'll send the address. Be ready in an hour.
The message was curt. Professional. Like a summons. Her mind reeled—Did she know? Had she found out about the night in the cabin?
She hadn't even processed it herself. Had decided not to. If Ethan didn't want to talk about it, she wouldn't either. He had gone back to his cold, unreadable self since then, unpredictable as ever.
Lena called her bodyguard, who was already on standby. Ethan had insisted on the protection.
The address led to a private upscale restaurant—quiet, shielded from public attention.
Vivian was already there, waiting in an all-black ensemble. Legs crossed like she owned the room, sunglasses still on indoors. Her heels gleamed. Her entire appearance screamed power and control.
"You're here," Vivian said, not bothering with pleasantries. "I ordered us wine. Hope you don't mind."
"I don't," Lena replied, guarded.
The waiter poured for them, and then Vivian waved him off. The bodyguard, sensing the tension, stepped back but remained in view.
Vivian wasted no time.
"You were with Ethan on his birthday."
It wasn't a question. Lena said nothing.
"I'm not here to accuse you," Vivian continued, "I'm here to give you clarity."
She took a delicate sip of her wine before speaking again. "You're involved in something that has a shelf life. Don't let it ruin you. Ethan… he's charming, yes. Seductive when he wants to be. But none of it is personal. None of it lasts."
"I know what the contract says," Lena said quietly.
Vivian's lips curled. "Then stick to it. Because the moment you start thinking he sees you—really sees you—you're already losing."
Lena stared at her. "Is that what happened to you?"
Vivian didn't flinch. "This isn't about me. It's about you not becoming collateral."
A tense silence stretched between them.
Vivian stood. "I have clients to attend to. You can go now."
As Lena rose and turned to leave, Vivian's voice called after her, quieter now.
"Oh, and Lena?"
Lena turned halfway, their eyes locking.
Vivian pulled off her sunglasses, finally letting her eyes speak. Cold. Wounded. Calculated.
"You may not know it yet, but this game you're playing?"
She paused.
"It doesn't end with love'
---
Vivian stood. "I have clients to attend to. You can go now."
Lena rose, clutching her bag tighter than she meant to. She gave a small nod, turned, and walked out with the bodyguard trailing behind.
But as the restaurant doors closed behind her, the wine, the perfume, and Vivian's voice still lingered—he doesn't care... he never notices... he just takes what he wants.
Lena slid into the car, the leather cold against her back. Her heart pounded, but not with fear.
With confusion.
What if she's right?
What if I'm just another story he won't finish reading?
Her fingers curled tighter around her bag.
She thought she could handle this. Thought she could keep it physical. Keep it smart. Keep it safe.
But her mind betrayed her with a single, awful question:
Was she already falling for him?
And if so—
Was he already halfway through breaking her without knowing it?
The car pulled off, the city lights passing in a blur she didn't see.