chapter 56
Vivienne's POV:
The numbers glared at me from my phone screen, each refresh bringing fresh humiliation.
Fifty thousand new followers in two days. For her. For Elena.
I hurled my phone onto the silk duvet, watching it bounce harmlessly against the imported Egyptian cotton. Even my rage felt impotent these days.
"Onyx." What a pretentious pseudonym.
As if changing her name could erase what she was—a nobody, a charity case who should have stayed buried in obscurity where she belonged.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the phone again, unable to stop myself from diving back into the digital torture chamber. The comments under her latest post had multiplied like a virus:
"Finally, a perfumer with actual talent! Sorry Vivienne, but Midnight Garden makes Madame Flower smell like bathroom freshener."
"Anyone else notice how Vivienne hasn't released anything groundbreaking since she was twenty? Makes you wonder..."
"Team Onyx! At least she doesn't need to sleep with married men to stay relevant."
That last comment had over three thousand likes.
The phone slipped from my grip as I noticed the trending hashtags: #MidnightGarden #OnyxRising #VivienneWho
Two days. It had taken her two fucking days to nearly eclipse years of my carefully cultivated image. The Midnight Garden collection hadn't just sold out—it had caused Harold's website to crash from the traffic. Limited edition bottles were already being resold for ten times their retail price.
I stalked to my vanity, catching sight of my reflection in the triple mirrors. The woman staring back looked haggard, desperate.
My hand swept across the vanity's surface, sending bottles of perfume crashing to the floor.
Madame Flower. That twenty-year-old triumph that had launched my career, that had made me a prodigy, a genius, a star. Elena's design, Elena's vision, with my name stamped on it like a brand of ownership.
If the truth came out now, with her rising star and my recent scandals...
I pressed my palms against my temples, trying to think through the panic. There had to be a way to turn this around. I was Vivienne Sterling, engaged to Lucas Ashton. I had connections, resources, an established reputation—
An idea flickered to life. Master Henri Beaumont, the legendary perfumer who'd trained under the last of the Grasse masters. He rarely took on collaborations anymore, but with Lucas's connections, perhaps...
My fingers flew across my phone screen, composing a message to Lucas:
"Darling, I need your help with something important. Can you arrange a meeting with Henri Beaumont? It's for a special project I'm working on. Please? I'll make it worth your while ."
His response came quickly: "Currently in a meeting. What's this about?"
I bit back my frustration and tried a different approach:
"It's a surprise. Something that will blow everyone away and shut down all those horrible rumors. Please, Lucas? You know how much this means to me..."
Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally: "I'll see what I can do. Tomorrow afternoon work?"
"Perfect. I love you ."
He didn't respond to the message, but I told myself he was probably still tied up in meetings. Lucas had been... distant lately, ever since those photos surfaced. Despite his public declarations of support, despite the carefully crafted statements from his PR team, there was something different in the way he looked at me now.
I threw myself into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. But sleep wouldn't come.
By 2 AM, I'd given up pretending.
The silk sheets felt like sandpaper against my skin, and every position left me more restless than the last. Just one quick check, I told myself. Just to see if the momentum was dying down.
It wasn't.
Elena had posted again—a graceful response to her growing fanbase: "Thank you all for the overwhelming support. In this industry, as in life, time reveals all truths. Quality endures, trends fade. Here's to creating something real, something lasting. As they say, 'the proof of the pudding is in the eating.' "
The comments were nauseating in their worship:
"So classy! Unlike others who need drama to stay relevant ."
"This is how a real artist responds. Take notes, everyone."
"Time reveals all truths... girl we see what you did there ."
She was mocking me. That sanctimonious little bitch was sitting in her ivory tower, subtly calling me a fraud while her sycophants lapped it up.
My fingers moved before my brain could stop them, navigating to her DMs:
"Must be nice playing dress-up in Sebastian Vane's bed. Just remember, darling—when men like him get bored, they don't just leave. They destroy. Be careful, Elena. Pregnancy ages a woman so quickly. And after you give birth? You'll have no value left. Just wait to be discarded. When that happens, even if you come crawling back, I won't let you through my family's door."
The response came almost instantly:
"I'd worry about yourself first, Vivienne. Between the two of us, I'm not the one hanging by a thread."
My vision blurred with rage. She dared—
Another message appeared:
"You should be careful. Stolen things have a way of being reclaimed by their rightful owners. Tick tock, Vivienne. "
I screamed, actually screamed, hurling my phone against the wall with all my strength. The screen splintered into a spider web of cracks, but I could still see her final message glowing through the damage:
"Sweet dreams. -E"
No. No, this wasn't over. Tomorrow I'd meet with Master Beaumont, create something spectacular, something that would remind everyone who the real talent was. And if that didn't work...