chapter 58
Elena's POV:
I never imagined my career would take off this suddenly.
One collaboration leads to another, and before I know it, I'm sitting on an invitation from Henri Beaumont himself—the Henri Beaumont, legendary perfumer whose creations have graced royalty.
And here I am, Elena Ross—no, Elena Vane now—about to meet him with my husband, who cleared his entire schedule just to accompany me.
Marcus pulls the Bentley into the converted warehouse's parking area, and my stomach does a little flip. Not morning sickness this time—just good old-fashioned nerves.
I smooth down my cream silk dress, a piece Sebastian picked out that manages to be both elegant and forgiving of my slowly changing figure.
The car door opens, and that's when I see her.
Vivienne Sterling, looking like she's been slapped, frozen mid-step beside a silver Aston Martin. Lucas stands behind her, his expression unreadable.
Of all the people to run into, of all the timing—
Her shock morphs into fury so fast I almost get whiplash. She stalks toward us, her heels clicking against the pavement like gunshots.
"You," she hisses, her perfectly painted lips twisting. "You're the one Henri mentioned, aren't you? The perfumer he chose over me?"
I feel Sebastian tense beside me, his hand moving to my lower back in a gesture that's both protective and possessive.
"Vivienne." I keep my voice neutral, though inside I'm already exhausted. If I'd known she'd be here, I would've suggested coming later. Or tomorrow. Or next year. "Master Beaumont invited me to discuss a collaboration, yes."
"Invited you?" Her voice rises, cracking slightly.
"Do you have any idea how long I've been trying to work with him? And now suddenly you appear and—" She catches herself, aware of Lucas watching. Her tone shifts to wounded victim. "Why must you take everything from me?"
Oh, please. The woman who stole my Madame Flower design and built her entire career on it wants to play victim?
"I'm not taking anything," I say, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "Master Beaumont reached out to me. I simply accepted his invitation."
The pieces click together in my mind—she must have come here seeking a collaboration to salvage her reputation after those party photos surfaced. Smart move, actually. A Henri Beaumont collaboration would've given her the credibility boost she desperately needs.
Too bad the universe has other plans.
"Not taking anything?" Vivienne's voice wavers, tears threatening. She's good, I'll give her that. "Will you only be satisfied when you've pushed me completely over the edge?"
Her voice cracks on the last word, and she sways dramatically, one hand going to her forehead. Lucas catches her as she stumbles backward into his chest, his arms wrapping around her waist to steady her.
The performance is flawless—vulnerable, tragic, perfectly timed.
"Vivienne," Lucas murmurs, his concern evident as he supports her weight.
Then his gaze hardens as he looks at me, and I see real anger there—not just the polite displeasure of before.
"How can you be so cruel, Elena?" His voice is low but sharp enough to cut. "Vivienne and Rebecca opened their home to you out of the goodness of their hearts. They gave you shelter, treated you as family. And this is how you repay their kindness? By stealing her opportunities, her connections?"
The accusation hits like a slap. Goodness of their hearts? The woman who stole my designs and made my life hell? The stepmother who treated me like an unpaid servant?
Anger surges through me, hot and bitter.
If Rebecca hadn't deliberately seduced my father and schemed to get pregnant with his child, my family would still be whole. My mother would still be with me, and I wouldn't have spent years being treated like an unwanted intruder in my own home.
I open my mouth to respond—to tell him exactly what kind of 'kindness' I received in that house—but Sebastian beats me to it.
"My wife doesn't need to steal anything from anyone." His voice is dangerously soft, the kind of tone that makes smart people take a step back. "Whatever Elena desires, I'll procure it for her. The best of everything, hers for the choosing. She certainly doesn't need to compete for scraps from those who've built their careers on theft."
The last word hangs in the air like a blade.
Lucas lets out a harsh laugh. "How generous of you, Vane. So magnanimous, seeing your wife entangled with your own nephew and acting as if nothing happened at all."
The muscle in Sebastian's jaw ticks, but instead of exploding, he smiles—a cold, predatory thing that makes my blood chill.
"Ah, Ashton," he says, voice smooth as aged whiskey. "You know what they say—the filthy-hearted see filth everywhere they look. Though I suppose it must be difficult, having concrete evidence of your fiancée's... activities... and still choosing to play blind. Tell me, is it love or stupidity that makes you ignore what's right in front of you?"
The reference to those party photos—Vivienne surrounded by males, disheveled and clearly intoxicated—lands exactly as intended. Lucas's grip on Vivienne tightens, his knuckles white.
"Lucas," Vivienne says quickly, her hand on his arm. "Please, trust me. You know how easy it is to— fabricate things these days."
She turns those calculating eyes on me, and for a moment, I see something desperate and dangerous there.
"Especially for those with unlimited resources and questionable morals," she adds, loud enough for us all to hear. "Some people will do anything to destroy their competition."
Is she actually—is she suggesting Sebastian manufactured those photos of her? The woman has more nerve than a root canal.
I raise an eyebrow, genuinely impressed by her audacity.
"Doctored," he muses, his voice deceptively soft. "Interesting theory. Perhaps next time I should simply release the audio recordings as well. Those are much harder to claim as... what was your word? Fabricated?"
The threat hangs in the air, unspoken but crystal clear. Vivienne's face goes from pale to ashen.