Chapter 163
Aveline
I took another careful look at Vivian, and the raw vulnerability in her expression was unmistakable. Her forced smile had completely crumbled into something that resembled barely controlled devastation, making me feel an unexpected pang of sympathy.
"You know what?" I said, making a split-second decision, "I think I'll just tell him this isn't a good time. We're having a family dinner."
Grandma Eleanor's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline. "Seriously? Aveline, sweetheart, I'm starting to wonder what it would take for a man to actually get through to you. He just spent ten million dollars and declared war on half of Manhattan's business elite, and you're going to send him away because of dinner etiquette?"
I shot her a look that clearly said not helping. "Grandma, what kind of person do you think I am? I don't play games like that. I'm not into manipulation tactics and—"
"Hard to get," Vivian said suddenly, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.
The words hung in the air like a challenge, and I turned to look at her more closely. She was sitting rigidly in her chair, her hands clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white. But it was her grip on her skirt that really caught my attention—her fingers were twisted into the fabric so forcefully that the material was starting to wrinkle and crease.
"When you have a mother," Vivian continued, her voice taking on a bitter edge that I'd never heard from her before, "whose first lesson after you turn eighteen isn't about independence or building a career, but about the seventeen different ways to capture and keep a man's attention..." She paused, her laugh hollow and sharp. "Well, let's just say you learn all about playing hard to get whether you want to or not."
The resentment in her voice was so raw, so genuine, that it caught me completely off guard. I found myself really looking at her—not as the scheming stepsister who'd made my life difficult, but as someone who'd been shaped by the same toxic family dynamics that had once suffocated me.
Monica, I thought with a mixture of understanding and disgust. Of course that's what she would teach her daughter.
"Vivian..." I started, but she was already shaking her head.
"It's fine," she said quickly, her grip on her skirt tightening even further. "Really. I understand completely."
But I could see it wasn't fine. Nothing about this was fine.
"I'm going to go see what he wants," I said finally, standing up from the table. "It'll just take a minute."
Grandma Eleanor immediately brightened, completely missing the undercurrent of tension that had just played out. "Oh wonderful! Ask him to join us for dinner! There's more than enough food, and I'd love to get to know him better."
I patted her shoulder affectionately. "We'll see, Grandma."
Then I turned to Vivian, who was still sitting there looking like she was holding herself together through sheer force of will. "You should eat something," I said gently. "Mrs. Patterson made that chocolate mousse you always liked."
But as I headed toward the door, I heard Grandma Eleanor's voice behind me, lower now but still perfectly audible.
"Actually, Vivian, sweetheart," she said, and there was something almost conspiratorial in her tone, "you might want to consider leaving through the side entrance tonight."
I paused at the doorway, a cold knot forming in my stomach.
"It's just that... well, with the whole Dwayne situation," Grandma Eleanor continued, her voice gentle but utterly devastating, "I'm sure Orion knows you were involved somehow. And even if he's not planning to confront you about it, your presence might... complicate things. You understand."
I turned around slowly, and what I saw made my chest tighten with unexpected emotion.
Vivian's head had dropped so low that her chin was nearly touching her chest, and her shoulders had begun to shake slightly. The hand that had been gripping her skirt was now trembling, and I could see she was fighting to maintain even the pretense of composure.
"You're worried about... his mood," Vivian said, her voice barely above a whisper. Each word seemed to cost her something. "About me affecting his... his mood."
"Oh, darling, it's nothing personal," Grandma Eleanor said quickly, clearly not understanding the impact of her words. "It's just that tonight should be about celebration, not... complications."
That's when I saw something break in Vivian's expression. The carefully maintained facade of resigned acceptance cracked, and underneath it was something that looked like pure, concentrated hurt mixed with the kind of anger that came from years of feeling invisible.
She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor, and I could see her hands shaking as she smoothed down her skirt where her fingers had been digging into it.
"Of course," she said, her voice taking on a mechanical quality. "You're absolutely right, Grandma. I wouldn't want to... affect anyone's mood. I have somewhere else to be anyway."
She moved toward the side door with the kind of careful control that suggested she was holding herself together by the thinnest of threads.
"Vivian, wait—" I started, but she was already at the door.
"It's fine, Aveline," she said without turning around. "Really. Enjoy your... celebration."
The door closed behind her with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than a slam.
Grandma Eleanor sighed, shaking her head with the kind of fond exasperation usually reserved for misbehaving children. "That girl has always been too sensitive for her own good. But she'll come around—she always does. Now go!" She made a shooing motion with her hands. "Don't keep that poor man waiting any longer!"
I looked at the side door where Vivian had disappeared, then at Grandma Eleanor's expectant face, feeling caught between competing loyalties and emotions I couldn't quite name.
She'll be fine, I told myself. She always lands on her feet.
But as I headed toward the front door, I couldn't shake the image of Vivian's hands twisted in her skirt, or the way her voice had broken when she'd talked about affecting someone's mood.
---
The moment I stepped outside, my complicated feelings about Vivian evaporated, replaced by immediate irritation at the sight waiting for me in the driveway.
Orion was leaning against his sleek black car with the kind of calculated casualness that suggested he'd positioned himself for maximum visual impact. He'd loosened his tie and undone the top button of his white dress shirt, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder in a way that showed off the perfect fit of his vest. His hair was slightly mussed—whether from the evening's events or deliberately styled that way, I couldn't tell.
But it was his expression that really got under my skin. He was wearing the most insufferably self-satisfied smirk I'd ever seen, like a cat who'd not only caught the canary but had done it in front of an audience and received a standing ovation.
The look on his face clearly said: So, how'd you like my little performance tonight? Pretty impressive, right?
All the sympathy I'd been feeling for Vivian, all the complex emotions from dinner, all of it was immediately burned away by a surge of pure annoyance.
Of all the arrogant, presumptuous—
"Well," I said, crossing my arms and fixing him with my best withering stare, "you certainly look pleased with yourself."