Chapter 67 Of Pieces and Puzzles
The restaurant was one of those places that didn't bother with signs. You either knew it was here, or you didn't belong. The lights were low, the music soft enough to be a whisper, and the booths were deep enough to make a conversation vanish into the upholstery.
Vivienne had arrived early, claiming the most discreet table in the far corner. She wasn't the type to wait nervously, but there was a sharpness in her posture, a readiness for the game ahead. She had sent Lawrence four messages over the past week, the first polite, the next more pointed, the last two carefully worded to imply one thing: We both want the same thing. We should talk.
Still, Lawrence approached with the caution of a man who knew traps were usually baited with something tempting. He spotted her instantly and hesitated for a fraction before crossing the floor. His smile was polite but controlled.
"Vivienne," he greeted, his tone polite but guarded. He sat opposite her, resting one hand lightly on the table as if prepared to stand and leave at any moment.
"You were hard to pin down," she said, studying him over the rim of her glass.
Lawrence was now extra careful after the last incident with Perry. He still burned at the thought of it, walking straight into Ethan's hands without even realizing it. If Perry had really been Ethan all along, then this meeting with Vivienne could just as easily be another trap. Maybe this was Ethan's way of baiting him again, waiting for him to slip.
"You were... persistent," he said, his voice light but controlled. "Four messages in a week. I don't usually respond to that kind of enthusiasm."
Vivienne didn't blink. "And yet, here you are."
He gave a polite shrug. "Curiosity. But I'll be honest I'm not sure what you think we have to talk about. I don't have any problem with Ethan Sinclair."
The line came out smooth, as if rehearsed, the same shield he had promised himself to use after Perry.
She tilted her head, studying him with faint amusement. "You're cautious. I like that. But let's skip the part where we pretend this is a social catch-up."
His gaze stayed steady. "Go on."
"I have a grudge against Ethan," she said simply. "And I think you do too. We can keep working separately, getting nowhere, or we can stop wasting time and do it together."
Lawrence let out a quiet breath through his nose, still weighing her. Maybe she was genuine. Maybe she was exactly what she claimed to be, someone with a reason to see Ethan fall.
He didn't bite, just let the silence sit until he finally said, "So... what do you want, Vivienne?"
That was the opening she had been waiting for. She leaned in, her voice low, her tone unhurried. "I want him gone. Ethan Sinclair. And I know exactly how to make it happen."
For the first time, Lawrence's guarded mask shifted. There was no hesitation in her tone, no testing the waters, just a clear, deliberate statement. It was enough to make him ease back in his seat, studying her not as a possible threat but as a potential ally.
Lawrence swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his voice taking on a quieter, more measured tone now that he'd decided she wasn't here on Ethan's leash.
"Ethan Sinclair..." he began, "isn't the kind of man you trip up with a careless word or a cheap scandal. He's disciplined, painfully so. Everything he says is calculated, every move rehearsed in his head before it reaches the table. He doesn't let things slip, not in meetings, not in public, not even in those moments where most men would relax."
He took a slow sip before continuing. "He doesn't drink too much, doesn't gamble, doesn't keep... company that could compromise him. He doesn't leave trails, doesn't indulge in anything he can't control. The man is built like a fortress, no windows, no loose bricks. I've tried doors. They don't budge."
Vivienne listened, her expression unreadable, though a flicker of amusement passed through her eyes. "So, You're saying the fortress has no weakness?"
"Oh, he has weaknesses," Lawrence admitted, "but none he leaves lying around for anyone to touch. Which is why... if you want him to stumble, you can't hit him head-on."
Vivienne swirled the wine in her glass, watching the dark liquid catch the light. "Then perhaps," she said softly, "we don't tug at him directly."
Lawrence arched a brow. "Meaning?"
Her gaze flicked up to meet his, steady and deliberate. "If the man won't slip... find someone who will. Someone already walking on ground that doesn't quite fit beneath their feet." She let the words breathe before adding, almost casually, "Lena. She's not part of his world, not really. All it would take is the right... push, and she'll do the rest for us."
Something in Lawrence's expression eased, the calculation in his eyes now meeting hers. He didn't have to ask how Vivienne planned to "push." That was the beauty of people like her, they never lacked imagination.
Lawrence let his gaze drift past Vivienne, but his mind was locked on the seed she'd just planted. Ethan was impenetrable, too controlled, too calculating. He'd spent years building a reputation that not even a whisper could stain. But his wife... Now that was a different story.
He remembered her from the wedding, poised, yes, but not bred for this world. No deep-rooted connections, no bloodline of steel to shield her. Just a pretty face in unfamiliar territory. The kind that makes mistakes without realizing they've made them, the kind that the press would devour whole.
If she slipped, Ethan would bleed. And the beauty of it? No one would trace it back to him.
Lawrence didn't speak for a moment, just let her words hang between them like bait on a hook. Then, slowly, he allowed himself the faintest smirk. "You might be onto something."
Vivienne's lips curled with thin disdain.
Lena never belonged here, not really. Too rough around the edges, too far from the polished life Ethan lived.
A girl from some poor background, trying to play queen in a world she couldn't even understand.
It would be almost laughable to pull her out of this life with just a few whispered truths, a little pressure, and she'd fall apart.
And watching Ethan scramble to pick up the pieces? That was the real pleasure.
Vivienne leaned back in her chair, the faintest trace of a smile playing at her lips as the low hum of the restaurant filled the silence between them.
From across the room, at a shadowed corner table, Vincent sat alone with a half-finished glass of red. The stem of the glass turned idly between his fingers, his gaze fixed on the pair. He caught every small shift in posture, every lean forward, every flicker of expression. He didn't need to hear the words to understand.
Vincent took a slow sip, never breaking eye contact, the faintest ghost of a smile curling at the edge of his mouth.