chapter 83
Vivienne's POV:
My heels clicked against the marble floor as I paced the length of my bedroom, each step echoing the mounting panic in my chest.
Twenty-seven steps from the window to the door. Twenty-seven steps back. I'd been counting them for the past hour, my phone clutched in my hand like a lifeline.
The text from Susan at Maison Lucent burned behind my eyelids every time I blinked: Final decision pending. Board meeting at 3 PM.
They were going to replace me.
Ever since Elena's Madame Flower series had exploded onto the scene, transforming her from nobody to the industry's darling overnight, my own star had been steadily dimming.
Those damned photos from the charity gala months ago—the ones showing me in compromising positions with married industry executives, looking far too intimate for professional networking—had already cost me three major contracts.
My resources were dwindling, my influence waning, and Maison Lucent was my last major luxury brand partnership.
I needed this contract. I was desperate for it.
A week ago.
When Susan had casually mentioned over lunch that the brand was planning to launch a new fragrance line with the perfumer as the face of the campaign, asking if I knew any suitable candidates, I'd seized the opportunity.
"What about me?" I'd said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. "We already have an established working relationship."
Susan had paused, her fork hovering over her salad. "Oh, Vivienne. That's sweet, but... well, you know how unforgiving the camera can be. We need someone who really photographs well from every angle."
The diplomatic way of saying I wasn't photogenic enough. But I'd pushed, insisted, worn her down with my persistence until she'd finally sighed.
"Fine. I'll give you a screen test. One chance, Vivienne. But the standards for this campaign are incredibly high."
That's when I made the appointment at the most private clinic in the city.
If Susan wanted someone who photographed beautifully, I'd make sure the camera had no choice but to love me. Dr. Brenner had promised subtle enhancements—just enough to ensure I'd be undeniably photogenic.
I'd walked out feeling invincible, knowing I'd show Susan and the entire board exactly how committed I was to earning this opportunity.
The screen test had been a triumph. Susan's eyes had widened when I walked into the studio, her usual professional mask slipping for just a moment.
"Vivienne, you look absolutely radiant!" She'd circled me like a shark scenting blood, but this time it was approving. "What have you been doing? You're positively glowing."
"Just some new beauty treatments," I'd said casually, touching my newly refined jawline. "You know how I am about skincare."
"You must give me the name of your aesthetician," Susan had pressed, already pulling out her phone. "Whatever they're doing, it's working miracles. The camera absolutely loves you today."
I'd deflected with vague promises about exclusive waiting lists and membership requirements, riding high on the photographer's enthusiasm and the crew's compliments.
The contract renewal seemed assured—Susan had practically guaranteed it before I'd even left the studio.
Then I got home and removed my makeup.
Something felt off—a slight tightness around my jaw, a tingling that hadn't been there before. But I dismissed it, too high on my triumph to pay attention to warning signs.
I'd just booked the most important campaign of my career. A little post-procedure sensitivity was nothing.
The next morning, I woke to a face that wasn't mine.
The swelling was grotesque, my skin angry and inflamed, with welts rising along every injection site. I stumbled to the bathroom mirror and nearly screamed at the monster staring back at me.
My hands shook as I called Dr. Brenner's emergency line. After being transferred three times, I finally reached someone who would talk to me.
"Yes, we've had several similar cases," the nurse admitted in a hushed tone. "There seems to have been an issue with a batch of fillers. But you understand, Ms. Sterling, that you signed a comprehensive waiver—"
"I don't care about waivers!" I shrieked. "Fix this!"
"I'm afraid that's not possible. The clinic's position is that all procedures carry inherent risks. And given the... sensitive nature of our clientele, we trust everyone will handle this matter with appropriate discretion."
The meaning was clear: they knew none of us would dare go public. We were all public figures who'd secretly sought cosmetic enhancement. Exposing the clinic meant exposing ourselves.
My phone hadn't stopped buzzing. Susan's messages grew increasingly impatient:
Final fitting tomorrow at 10
Where are you? The photographer flew in from Milan specifically for this
Vivienne, this is unacceptable
If you're having second thoughts, tell me now so I can find a replacement
I crafted excuse after excuse. A family emergency required me to leave town. A severe case of laryngitis made public appearances impossible. Food poisoning from bad sushi.
Each lie bought me another day, but Susan's patience was wearing thin.
Finally, the ultimatum came via voicemail, her usually polished voice sharp with fury: "Vivienne Sterling, if you are not in my office by 3 PM today, consider our partnership terminated. "
I had no choice left. With trembling hands, I wrapped a silk scarf around my face and made my way to the Maison Lucent offices.
"I need to explain," I began the moment Susan's assistant showed me in.
"Your excuse better be good this time," Susan said coldly, her arms crossed as she leaned against her desk. "I've had to apologize to a photographer who flew in from Milan, postpone an entire crew, and explain to the board why our new campaign face has been mysteriously unavailable."
I met her gaze, knowing there was no more room for lies or delays.
With deliberate movements, I reached up and slowly unwound the silk scarf from my face.
The silence that followed was deafening. Susan's expression shifted from irritation to shock to something that looked almost like horror.
"Oh my God, Vivienne. What happened to you?"