Vivienne's POV
The boardroom smelled of polished wood and cheap ambition. I could feel it pressing against my skin, thick and suffocating, even before Victor arrived. The investors were in clusters, whispering, glancing at me and Victor with subtle judgment that cut sharper than knives. Every glance felt like a spotlight on my inadequacy. I hated it. Hated every flicker of doubt that crept into my chest.
Victor arrived late, as usual, his tailored suit perfect, but the stiff lines of his shoulders told the story I already feared. He was tense, tightly wound, like a coiled spring ready to snap at the slightest touch. He didn't even glance at me when he strode to the head of the table. That was my first warning.
"Vivienne," he said finally, his voice carrying that fake calm I'd learned to hate. "Are you prepared to speak, or will you let everyone else see how indecisive you are?"
I gritted my teeth, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Of course I'm prepared. But maybe we should address the elephant first." My words were polite, precise, but I felt the tremor underneath—the panic Adrian had ignited the night of the gala still lingered. He had shown me, without touching me, how fragile my control really was.
Victor's lips thinned, and I felt the storm in him before it broke. "The elephant?" he snapped. "Do you mean Adrian Hale? Do you mean the man who has no stake, no loyalty, no right to your attention? He is irrelevant, Vivienne. You know this. I know this."
I could feel my hands clench into fists under the table. His confidence—his assumption that Adrian's presence in my life was insignificant—was infuriating. But more than anger, a deeper unease settled into my chest. Every whisper I had overheard, every casual glance Adrian had thrown my way at the gala, replayed like a warning. I swallowed hard. "You're wrong," I said carefully, voice steady but sharp. "He is very real. Very relevant. And… I can't ignore the threat he poses. To us, to everything we've built."
Victor slammed his hand onto the table, rattling glasses. "Threat? You sound ridiculous! You sound like a child imagining monsters under the bed. Adrian Hale is nothing but a former convict trying to claw his way into a world he'll never belong in. You—" His voice cracked for a fraction of a second, revealing more than he intended. "You're allowing him to unsettle you, to make you doubt yourself. And I will not stand for it."
The words hit me harder than I expected. My chest tightened, my throat closing, not from fear but from that sharp, sinking realization. The man I had thought was my protector—my partner, my golden shield—was terrified. Terrified that someone like Adrian could expose all the cracks, all the weaknesses we'd been carefully hiding. And for the first time, I saw the truth clearly: it wasn't me. It was him. Victor wasn't the pillar I had imagined. He was brittle.
I pushed myself forward, leaning across the polished oak, letting my voice carry the weight of something I hadn't admitted even to myself. "Victor, you're not as untouchable as you think. You built a façade around your strength, around your control. But cracks show. And if you can't see them, you're the first to fall."
He froze, his eyes widening, disbelief and fury dancing in dangerous, erratic sparks. "And what," he said, voice dangerously low, "do you expect me to do? Stand by while this… this ex-con walks into our lives and threatens everything we've earned?"
I could feel the board's attention shift subtly, the investors leaning in just enough to hear, to register the tension. It was intoxicating, knowing that our private war was on display, that Victor's fragile composure was cracking where everyone could see.
"I expect you to recognize reality," I said, and I felt the cold, hard steel of the words settle into the room. "Adrian Hale is capable. He moves with precision. He knows exactly what he's doing. And right now," I let my gaze sharpen, directly at Victor, "you're failing to keep up."
The sound that left his mouth wasn't a shout—it was a strangled, horrified exhale, a mix of anger and fear, and the silence that followed was deafening. I felt the board shift, the subtle exchange of glances, the small, almost imperceptible movements of investors quietly reevaluating where their allegiances should lie.
Victor's face twisted, half with rage, half with desperation. "You think you understand him. You think you know what he's capable of. But you're wrong, Vivienne! You are letting him worm into your mind, into your decisions, and I will not allow it."
I stared back, calm but ruthless. The moment had passed when I needed him to approve me. "Victor, this isn't about Adrian anymore. It's about you. Your empire is cracking because you can't see what's coming. You've been choosing fear over strategy. And now," I let a slow, deliberate pause linger, "people are seeing it too."
The boardroom shifted again, subtle but undeniable. Phones tapped messages, subtle nods between investors, whispered reassessments. The veneer of our "golden couple" was fractured, and I was seeing it, feeling it, savoring the revelation that we weren't untouchable at all.
Victor's jaw clenched, his knuckles white on the table, and I felt a strange, unfamiliar twinge—not admiration, not desire, but relief. I wasn't powerless. I had made the right choice leaving Adrian—not for love, but because he had shown me the only standard that mattered. Strength. Precision. Control. And Victor, for all his posturing, was slipping beneath my fingers.
I rose slowly, letting the tension stretch to the ceiling, letting every observer see the truth before me. "This is over," I said, voice steady. "Not for Adrian, not for me. For you. Your arrogance has finally caught up to you."
Victor's lips moved, but no words came. His grip on the empire—and on me—was slipping, the first threads unraveling, and I knew the moment had arrived. Investors would quietly shift, quietly distance, quietly watch as the golden couple crumbled.
And for the first time in months, I didn't regret Adrian. I only regretted ever choosing Victor.
Outside, the glass walls reflected my image: strong, unflinching, and finally unafraid. The reflection was mine alone. Adrian was no longer a threat; he was a standard. A reminder of what strength really looked like. And Victor… Victor was a warning.