Chapter 32
"I see." Pacquiao nodded, his voice carrying a thread of sympathy. "Sounds like Ms. Brown's position in that family wasn't exactly easy."
The words hit exactly what Vivian wanted to hear. Instantly, she felt Pacquiao understood her—so much better than that cold, brutal Jacob ever could!
"Mr. Parker." She lifted her tear-stained face, deliberately tugging the blanket lower to expose her neck and collarbones, glistening with a faint sheen of pain-induced sweat. Her voice dropped to something softer, laced with invitation. "Thank you for your concern. If it weren't for you tonight, I honestly don't know what I would've done."
Pacquiao watched her clumsy performance—the calculated vulnerability, the amateur seduction—and something mocking flickered behind his eyes.
He'd seen this type countless times. All ambition and pretty packaging, with nothing substantial inside. Compared to someone like Elizabeth, with her thorns and secrets, Vivian was painfully boring.
Still, his charming smile never wavered. He even reached out, seemingly thoughtful, to tuck the blanket around her, his fingertips grazing her skin with deliberate casualness. "Rest well, Ms. Brown. If you ever need help with anything, or just want someone to talk to, feel free to reach out."
He'd extended what appeared to be a friendly olive branch.
Vivian's heart soared. She was convinced she'd successfully caught Pacquiao's interest—maybe she was in an even better position than Elizabeth!
Elizabeth could only cling to that savage Jacob, but she might actually win Pacquiao's favor!
And Pacquiao was so gentle, so refined—infinitely better than that brute who'd actually lay hands on a woman!
"Really? Mr. Parker, you're so kind." Her eyes sparkled with anticipation and calculation.
"Of course." Pacquiao rose gracefully, his smile unchanged. "I'll let you rest then. Mr. Aiden, take good care of Ms. Brown."
With that, he left the guest room with practiced elegance.
The moment the door clicked shut, Vivian allowed a triumphant smile to spread across her face, despite the throbbing pain in her abdomen.
She grabbed Henry's hand, whispering urgently, "Henry, did you see that? Mr. Parker definitely has a thing for me! He's so much more refined than Jacob! That bitch Elizabeth thinks she's scored a sugar daddy? Being with a violent psycho like Jacob? She's going to suffer! Probably end up tortured to death eventually!"
Henry stared at Vivian's oblivious expression, cold dread settling in his gut.
Who was Pacquiao, exactly?
A dangerous old shark who never made a losing deal. His sudden kindness had to be hiding some trap.
But looking at Vivian's excited face, he knew she wouldn't listen to anything he said right now. He could only sigh in frustration.
Meanwhile, Pacquiao's smile vanished the second he left the room, replaced by cold calculation.
Vivian? A useful pawn, nothing more.
Perfect for needling Elizabeth, or irritating Jacob at opportune moments.
As for her delusional crush?
Pacquiao scoffed quietly, adjusting his velvet suit cuffs.
Compared to conquering someone like Elizabeth—that ice queen with her walls and mysteries—Vivian was laughably easy pickings. No challenge meant no interest.
Still, keeping her around might prove useful later.
Inside the car, heading back, the air pressure dropped to suffocating levels.
Jacob leaned against the seat with his eyes closed, but his pressed lips and the uneven rise of his chest betrayed his turbulent thoughts.
Vivian's venomous accusations played on repeat in his mind like a hissing serpent.
"She was already messing around with some man at eighteen and got knocked up!"
"She used to throw herself at my fiancé, Henry, shamelessly!"
"She's nothing but a loose woman who spreads her legs for anyone!"
Every word jabbed viciously into his nerves, already frayed from Pacquiao's provocations and his own suspicions about Elizabeth's identity.
Of course, he'd known about the rumors. His initial investigation had revealed everything.
Back then, he'd simply dismissed her as beneath consideration—only his father's dying wish and certain strategic considerations had made him look twice.
But now, he opened his eyes, his dark gaze landing on Elizabeth sitting quietly beside him.
She faced the window, neon lights streaming across her delicate profile, illuminating eyes that held the still surface of a frozen lake.
That look came from surviving tremendous trauma and despair, then emerging with ice and apathy—not the confusion of an innocent girl or the brazenness of a promiscuous woman.
Yet she was the one who made him lose control repeatedly.
A scorching emotion constantly burned in his chest. He recognized it as rage.
Rage at that unknown man who'd claimed her at eighteen, taken her innocence!
Rage at that useless Henry, who'd once been her legitimate fiancé, who'd once possessed her dependence and possibly even her affection.
Even knowing she and Henry now shared only hatred, even understanding she was using him now, that nameless fury still churned uncontrollably in his chest—mixed with fierce possessiveness and a sense of violated territory.
He needed release. Needed confirmation. Needed to brand this woman completely as his, to quell this infuriating loss of control.
The car rolled into Smith Manor and came to a smooth stop.
Jacob shoved the door open without a word, striding toward the main house with an aura that screamed danger.
Elizabeth followed behind, acutely aware of his suppressed fury.
She hesitated briefly, then continued after him.
Some things couldn't be avoided.
Jacob headed straight for the study, pushing the door open.
Elizabeth paused at the threshold rather than following immediately, silently watching his tall, rigid frame.
Jacob walked behind the massive desk but didn't sit down to handle paperwork as she'd expected.
Instead, he turned around, arms braced against the desk edge, his gaze locking onto her with predatory focus.
Under the amber lamplight, twin flames flickered clearly in his eyes—undisguised desire mixed with lingering anger and the need to dominate.
Elizabeth's pulse quickened with wariness. She understood her situation instantly.
Jacob caught the flash of comprehension in her eyes, followed by restored calm and even a trace of resignation, and that dark fire inside him blazed hotter.
Was she this composed? Facing what was about to happen with no fear, no anticipation—as if merely completing a task?
It irritated him more, made him want to rip through that mask of composure.
He'd actually planned to handle some urgent business first, cool down.
But seeing her like this changed his mind.
Why denied himself?
He circled back around the desk but didn't approach her. Instead, he sank back into his high-backed chair, body angling slightly backward, his gaze tangible as it traveled over her. Then he commanded: "Come here."