chapter 85
Vivienne's POV:
Feeling his sudden rigidity, I instinctively looked up to explain—and my carefully arranged hair fell away from my face.
I saw his pupils contract sharply, shock flashing across his features.
"Vivienne, what—what happened to your face?" His voice came out strangled.
I quickly pulled my hair forward again, but it was too late, apparently.
The horror in his eyes shattered something inside me.
My hands trembled as I stopped trying to hide. There was no point now.
"I had a procedure done," I said quietly. "For the Maison Lucent campaign. They wanted... they expected..." I let my voice break, tears coming easily. "I just wanted to be perfect for it. Elena's already cornering me everywhere—she's the darling of every social event, every brand wants her. I'm losing ground every single day."
My fingers twisted in my lap. "Lucas, I just... I needed this win."
He was quiet for a long moment, studying my face. Then he sighed, pulling me against his chest. "Oh, Vivienne."
"I know it looks awful," I sobbed into his designer shirt. "I know I'm hideous. You must be so disgusted—"
"Stop." His voice was firm but gentle. "You're not hideous. You could never be hideous to me."
I pulled back to look at him, hope fluttering in my chest.
"I fell in love with you when I couldn't even see you, remember?" His hand moved to gently pat my back in a gesture of comfort.
"Those months when you took care of me, when you read to me and kept me company... I loved you, your kind heart. That's what matters to me. Not this." He gestured vaguely at my face.
Those words should have been exactly what I wanted to hear—if I were truly the heroine of this romantic tale. But I was just an imposter, a stand-in for the real leading lady.
I gripped Lucas's shirt tighter, resentment burning through me despite myself.
"Then marry me," I said suddenly.
He blinked. "What?"
"If you really love me for my heart, for who I am inside, then marry me. Soon. " I clutched at his hands. "I know we've been engaged for months, but we keep pushing the date back."
Something flickered in his eyes. Hesitation? It was gone too quickly to be sure.
"Vivienne, marriage is a major life decision. We can't just make such a hasty decision—"
"I'm scared," I whispered, and for once, it wasn't entirely an act. "Look at me, Lucas. I'm... I'm disfigured. What if it doesn't heal properly? What if the scarring is permanent? What if you wake up one day and realize you can't stand to look at me anymore?"
"That won't happen," he said automatically, but I'd seen that split-second pause.
"You hesitated."
"I didn't—"
"You did." I let my voice break again. "God, I knew it. I knew this would change things. You say you love my heart, but you can't even commit to a wedding date when my face is ruined. Sometimes I think..."
I paused deliberately, letting a tremor enter my voice. "Sometimes I think I preferred you when you couldn't see. At least then, I knew your love was pure, untainted by appearances."
The calculated cruelty of my words hit its mark. Lucas's face crumpled with guilt, just as I'd known it would.
"Alright." The word came out sharp, decisive. "Alright. Let's do it. I'll take you to meet my parents properly. Not just as my fiancée, but as the woman I'm going to marry. We'll tell them we're not waiting anymore."
"Really?" My voice came out small and hopeful, the perfect blend of surprise and pathetic gratitude.
"Really." He pulled me close again, and I could feel the tension in his shoulders. "If that's what you need to feel secure, then that's what we'll do. I told you, Vivienne. I love you. The real you. Everything else is just... surface."
I buried my face against his chest, my expression hidden from view, unreadable even to myself.
"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you for loving me despite... this."
"Not despite," he corrected gently. "Just... regardless of."
I buried my face against his chest, my expression hidden from view. Through my lowered lashes, I caught sight of Rebecca standing in the doorway, her face bearing that satisfied look she wore when a plan came together perfectly.
Our eyes met for the briefest moment before she slipped away silently, leaving us alone.
---
The following days unfolded exactly as I'd anticipated.
Lucas threw himself into the role of devoted fiancé with renewed vigor, his guilt manifesting as endless patience and gentle care. He personally researched the best dermatologists in the city, drove me to appointments, and held my hand through every consultation.
By the end of the week, the strategic "inflammation" had subsided considerably under expert treatment.
While my face would never return to its pre-surgery state, it had improved dramatically from the frightening mess of days before.
"I think it's time," Lucas said that morning, taking my hands in his. "Go home with me today."
My heart skipped. "Today?"
"If you're ready." He squeezed my hands gently. "They need to know that we're serious about this."
I squeezed his hands back, meeting his gaze as I nodded slowly.
---
Hours later, as his car pulled through the towering gates of the Ashton estate, I found myself gripping the leather seat.
Despite all my scheming, despite knowing this was exactly what I'd wanted, my stomach churned with genuine nerves.
Lucas had accepted me, damaged face and all—but his family was another matter entirely. Would they see past the subtle imperfections? Would they still consider me worthy of the Ashton name?