Chapter 13 WHAT HAPPENS IN ROME...
The commotion downstairs jolted Lena from her short nap. Since she and Ethan weren't on a real honeymoon, she had spent most of her time lounging around, quietly appreciating the intricate designs in his family's multi-million-dollar mansion.
She wasn't the type to eavesdrop, but when voices rose from the front hall unfamiliar, loud, and female she paused.
She listened carefully, trying to make out the voices, but couldn't. Curiosity got the better of her, and she walked to the door, peeking down the vast hallway. She made her way toward the stairs, and just as she was about to go down, sharp voices echoed up from below.
"Ethan, I didn't expect you to sink so low as to marry a nobody," Vivienne sneered. "I know this was just a desperate attempt at saving the company, but marrying a nobody is pretty low."
Ethan knew she was only trying to stir trouble. He looked as unbothered as ever, his expression cold and immovable. Frankly, he didn't care that she was here. Lena was merely a means to an end; he felt no emotional connection to her. So he didn't worry about how Lena was perceived or what the public might say. He was married now, and that was all that mattered.
Lena knew Vivienne was bold, but flying all the way to Rome to show up during their supposed honeymoon? That was insane even for her. She held onto the railings, trying to make sense of it, as more sharp words floated up the stairs from the hallway below.
Vivienne's voice was unmistakably sexy, dramatic, full of spite. The insults kept coming, one after the other.
And Ethan? Ethan couldn't be bothered.
He didn't pause his work. He moved through the house with his usual icy composure, barking instructions at the staff, rearranging things, keeping everything tightly in control. He gave Vivienne maybe five percent of his attention just enough to remind her who she was dealing with, and no more.
Then she heard his voice, cutting through the noise like a knife.
"I don't know what possessed you to come here," he said coolly. "But it was a stupid decision. Just like all the other stupid decisions you so casually make."
Lena almost burst into laughter. Cold as ever. Ethan didn't raise his voice, he never had to. His words always did the damage on their own.
He halted all activity and turned, fixing Vivienne with a cold, icy stare. The room seemed to freeze under the weight of his gaze.
"Since you're already here," he said flatly, pausing for a moment. "Genevieve."
The housekeeper immediately stepped forward.
"Take her to the guest room, one of the far ones, away from the main building."
Without question, Genevieve reached for Vivienne's luggage and began wheeling it toward the east wing.
Ethan looked back at Vivienne, his voice low and sharp.
"Stay quiet. If I do so much as notice your presence again, you'll be on the next flight out of Rome dragged there if necessary."
He knew the paparazzi were circling the estate like vultures. Forcing her out now would only stir more noise. She had no private chauffeur in Rome, and if she lingered outside for even a few minutes, someone would catch a photo. He didn't want that not for her, and certainly not for himself.
Without another glance, he turned and walked away as Vivienne cursed under her breath, continuing to mutter nonsense like a bitter child denied attention.
Genevieve kept walking, rolling her luggage silently, while Vivienne followed behind, still complaining and tossing out half-hearted insults that no one cared to respond to.
Across the street, a photographer crouched low behind a hedge, his lens aimed steady. The shutter clicked rapidly.
Twenty minutes later, the first image hit the internet.
ETHAN SINCLAIR FLIES EX-GIRLFRIEND TO ROME DURING HONEYMOON - WHERE'S HIS WIFE?
The image below showed Vivienne stepping past the gates of his family estate, sunglasses on, expression smug. Another photo showed the exterior of the mansion, zoomed in from the street.
The photo went viral instantly.
The comments were brutal. The rumors spread faster than wildfire.
Lena still stood at the top of the stairs, quietly peeking down at the commotion unfolding below. She couldn't believe what she was seeing or hearing. He had actually allowed her to stay. On their honeymoon.
Just as she was about to step away, her phone buzzed in her hand. The sound was soft, but she quickly silenced it, afraid it might catch their attention. Without another glance downstairs, she turned and slipped back into her room, quietly closing the door behind her.
She unlocked her phone, and the screen lit up with notifications.
The headline was everywhere.
"Billionaire Ethan Sinclair Flies Ex-Girlfriend to His Mansion During Honeymoon"
Multiple versions of it, from every major gossip outlet, all plastered with the same photos-Vivienne, strutting confidently through the gates of the Sinclair estate.
She scrolled further, opening one of the trending posts.
The comment section was brutal.
Anonymous accounts flooded the thread, all spinning the same narrative: The marriage was fake. A PR stunt. A cover-up.
Some even suggested Ethan had only married Lena to hide his ongoing relationship with Vivienne. Others didn't bother with theories; they simply tore her apart.
"She's a nobody."
"He'll always love Vivienne. Look who he flew to Rome."
The more she scrolled, the worse it got. So many accounts. It was overwhelming like they were being paid to push the same narrative.
And Lena? She was the target.
It felt like the world had made up its mind and they'd decided she didn't belong.
Vivienne's luggage was wheeled into a distant guest room, tucked far away from the main building exactly as Ethan had ordered. She was still trying to settle in, pacing around the unfamiliar space, when her phone started buzzing.
Without checking the ID, she snatched it up and pressed it to her ear.
"I told you not to call me!" she hissed, "I'll reach out when I need you."
Her tone snapped through the room, but the voice on the other end stayed calm.
"Ma'am, we've already sent the pictures to the major blogs."
Vivienne's anger quickly melted into excitement. Her lips curled into a slow smile. She glanced at her screen, and just like that there they were.
Dozens of notifications.
Trending headlines.
Her name. Ethan's name. The mansion.
Vivienne tapped into the posts and beamed.
Photos of her stepping through the Sinclair gates were everywhere. The captions were dramatic, scandalous exactly as planned.
"Ethan Sinclair Flies Ex to Rome During Honeymoon."
"Who's the Real Wife?"
"Vivienne Back in the Picture?"
"Well done," she purred into the phone. "You did a great job. I'll send the rest of your payment now."
She hung up and tossed her phone onto the bed, sinking down beside it with a satisfied sigh.
Vivienne had hired two personal paparazzi to tail her flight, follow her and capture every angle of her arrival. It worked perfectly.
She leaned back against the pillows, a smug grin on her face.
She had started the fire and she planned to enjoy the flames.