Chapter 31
Jacob's footsteps halted. His gaze swept coldly over Vivian, like he was looking at a stranger who wasn't worth the breath it'd take to speak.
Elizabeth stopped beside him, arms crossed, watching with detached curiosity. Whatever train wreck Vivian was about to perform, she had front-row seats.
Vivian saw Jacob pause and mistook it for interest. She doubled down on her performance, lowering her voice to a venomous hiss that still carried across the marble floor. "Mr. Smith, do you know who you're really with? She got pregnant at eighteen—couldn't even tell you who the father was. Lost the baby, obviously. She spent years throwing herself at my fiancé Henry, even after we got engaged! And now she sees power and money, and suddenly she's all over you. A man of your stature shouldn't be caught dead with someone like her. She'll destroy your reputation!"
The words came out strangled and desperate, but Vivian was too caught up in her own drama to notice the temperature around Jacob dropping to subzero. His eyes had gone glacial.
The remaining guests who hadn't yet filtered out stopped in their tracks. Whispers rippled through the ballroom like wildfire.
Henry's face drained of all color. He looked like he wanted to tackle Vivian and clamp a hand over her mouth.
You idiot. Did she have any idea who she was talking to?
Elizabeth listened to the familiar accusations—the same ones she'd heard a thousand times in her previous life—and felt nothing. Not even a flicker of anger. Just cold, bitter amusement.
She didn't bother defending herself. What was the point?
Jacob remained silent until Vivian finally ran out of steam, gasping for air. Then he spoke, his voice quiet but laced with bone-chilling disgust. "You done?"
Vivian blinked, thrown off by his reaction. She nodded reflexively.
In the next breath, before anyone could process what was happening, Jacob's foot shot out and slammed into Vivian's abdomen with brutal force.
Vivian's scream tore through the ballroom as her body flew backward. She crashed into a decorative column several feet away, then crumpled to the floor in a heap, curling into herself with agonized whimpers. She couldn't even form words anymore.
The kick was vicious. Calculated. It showed exactly what kind of man Jacob was beneath the expensive suits—someone whose authority could never be challenged.
The entire ballroom fell silent.
Every single person stood frozen, shocked by the sheer ruthlessness of what they'd just witnessed. Jacob hadn't even hesitated.
Henry scrambled over to help Vivian up, his hands shaking, but he didn't dare show the slightest hint of resentment toward Jacob.
Jacob withdrew his foot like he'd just kicked aside a piece of trash blocking his path.
He adjusted his cufflinks with practiced elegance, the motion almost lazy—a complete contrast to the violence he'd just unleashed.
His gaze swept over Vivian's crumpled form on the floor with the disinterest of a king looking down at an ant.
"Leon."
Leon materialized from the shadows like a ghost.
"Handle this." Jacob's tone was flat, bored even. "Medical bills are on the Smith Family."
"Yes, sir."
Without sparing another glance at the wreckage he'd left behind, Jacob turned to Elizabeth, who stood beside him with an expression of eerie calm. His voice gave nothing away. "Let's go."
Elizabeth felt no pity for Vivian. But she'd be lying if she said she wasn't a little unnerved.
This was who Jacob was—someone who did whatever he wanted, consequences be damned.
Cross him, and you'd end up exactly like Vivian: broken and discarded.
At least she knew how to handle him. For now.
She fell into step beside Jacob as they left the ballroom.
In the guest room, Vivian lay curled on the oversized bed, waves of pain radiating from her abdomen. Her face was chalk-white, sweat beading on her forehead.
The doctor had already come and gone, leaving painkillers in his wake. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the humiliation of being kicked across a ballroom in front of everyone.
Henry closed the door behind the doctor and immediately rounded on her, his voice a harsh whisper. "Vivian! Have you lost your mind?! That was Jacob! You actually tried to corner him? And you ran your mouth like that? Do you have any idea you almost got the entire Aiden Family killed?!"
Vivian was already drowning in resentment and self-pity. Hearing Henry pile on instead of comforting her made her blood boil. "Lost my mind? I was telling the truth! Elizabeth is a disaster waiting to happen! I was trying to help Mr. Smith see what kind of person she really is!"
"Help him see?!" Henry's voice rose, panic and fury mixing together. "You think Jacob needs your help? Didn't you see his face? He doesn't give a damn about Elizabeth's past! What he cares about is his own reputation. You embarrassed him in public—you slapped him in the face! You're lucky he didn't kill you on the spot!"
The words hit Vivian like ice water, but instead of sobering her up, they only fueled her hatred.
Jacob was a tyrant. A monster.
Elizabeth had tied herself to a man like that. Sooner or later, she'd pay the price. Maybe he'd even beat her to death one day.
Just then, a soft knock echoed through the room.
Henry tensed. "Who is it?"
"It's Pacquiao." That distinctive, smooth-as-velvet voice filtered through the door. "I heard Ms. Brown wasn't feeling well. Thought I'd check in."
Henry froze. Why would Mr. Parker come here?
But he didn't dare be rude. He quickly straightened his expression and opened the door.
Pacquiao stepped in, still wearing that striking purple velvet suit, his face arranged in a mask of polite concern. He gestured to the attendants behind him, who set down an assortment of expensive wellness gifts on the table.
"Mr. Parker, you're too kind." Henry looked genuinely flustered.
Pacquiao waved him off, his gaze drifting to Vivian, who lay pale and teary-eyed on the bed. He sighed. "I'm terribly sorry such an unpleasant incident happened at my event tonight. I hope Ms. Brown is alright."
Vivian saw Pacquiao—the Pacquiao Parker—personally visiting her, and suddenly felt like she'd salvaged a shred of dignity. Her eyes welled up even more as she choked out, "Mr. Parker, it's not your fault at all. I was careless. I upset Mr. Smith." She made herself sound pitiful and contrite, painting herself as the bigger person.
Pacquiao settled into a chair by the bed, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp and assessing as he studied her.
Vivian's face bore no resemblance to Elizabeth's. Neither did her energy. Elizabeth was a blade forged in ice—cold, distant, untouchable.
Vivian, on the other hand, was a hothouse rose with hidden thorns. Pretty, performative, and painfully transparent. Her ambition and scheming practically glowed in her eyes, but her tactics were laughably amateur.
"Ms. Brown is very understanding," Pacquiao said with a warm smile. "Though I must warn you—Mr. Smith's temperament is well-known in certain circles. You'd do well to tread carefully around him in the future."
He paused, then shifted gears, his tone taking on a layer of intrigue. "Speaking of which... you and Ms. Windsor are sisters, aren't you?"
Vivian's expression immediately morphed into one of wounded resignation. "Yes, she's my older sister. But we've never really gotten along. She's always been so stubborn. Sometimes she doesn't think about how her actions affect other people." She managed to imply Elizabeth was a problem while simultaneously playing the gracious, long-suffering sibling.
Pacquiao knew in his heart that they were indeed on bad terms.
That was exactly what he needed.