Chapter 146
Chapter 146
Vivian's POV
After Ethan's car disappeared into the night, I stood there for a long time.
He knew.
Ethan knew.
Those last few words he'd said—"living under someone else's glory, enjoying affection and protection that was never meant for you"—that wasn't just a casual warning. That was aimed at me. He knew who I was. He knew I wasn't Tiffany's real niece.
But why hadn't he exposed me on the spot?
What was he waiting for?
I forced myself to breathe.
Maybe he only suspected. Maybe he didn't have hard evidence yet.
That's what I told myself. I shoved that panic down deep, down where I kept everything else I couldn't let anyone see.
---
Inside the Rivera Estate's study, the air felt thick enough to suffocate.
I walked in carefully, setting the cup of hot tea gently beside her hand. My voice was perfectly calibrated—neither servile nor defiant, tinged with just the right amount of guilt: "Tiffany, please don't let this upset you. This is my fault. I'm so sorry for causing you trouble."
She snapped her eyes up at me.
That look cut like a blade.
My heart seized, but I gritted my teeth and held that innocent expression on my face. I didn't let my eyelids so much as twitch.
"This trouble is your fault, isn't it? If it weren't for you—"
I let the heat in my eyes rise, let it spill over. My voice caught in my throat. "Tiffany, I know I was wrong. But I swear, I was only thinking of your dignity—of the Vanderbilt family's reputation! You don't know what it's like. Serena's been so arrogant now that Ethan's backing her. I heard just yesterday that she's been going around, gloating to everyone—saying the Rivera family is nothing, that if Ethan wanted to, he could destroy the Riveras in Manhattan overnight!"
The words flowed out of me, smooth and effortless, as if I were recounting something that had actually happened.
I'd lied so often, even I believed it now.
"She really said that?" Tiffany's voice shot up, sharp and hot. I'd lit the fuse.
"Absolutely, Tiffany! So many people heard her!" I blinked, tears trembling on my lashes, my eyes wide and wounded.
"Serena!"
Tiffany shot to her feet, slamming her palm down on the desk. The teacup rattled. Even I flinched at the sound.
I lowered my head, letting my hair fall forward to hide the flash of satisfaction in my eyes.
Got her.
Whatever suspicion Ethan's words had planted in her mind—it was gone now. Buried under rage. All of it redirected at Serena.
I lifted my gaze just slightly, watching Tiffany's fury, and pressed forward: "Tiffany, she humiliated you in public. She humiliated the Vanderbilt family and the Rivera family. Are we just going to let this slide?"
I let the hatred seep into my voice—real hatred, the kind that came from deep in my bones: "She's too arrogant! I think we need to teach her a lesson she'll never forget. Make her understand that there are people in this world she should never cross!"
Tiffany went silent.
I watched her expression carefully. Behind the anger, something else shifted—something colder, more calculating.
"What kind of lesson did you have in mind?"
My heart raced. I forced my voice to stay steady, confident: "She's riding high on that Crimson Jewelry lawsuit, isn't she? We'll humiliate her in front of everyone. Make her understand what it costs to cross the Vanderbilt family and the Rivera family."
Tiffany narrowed her eyes. She didn't speak.
I added the final piece: "Tiffany, you don't need to dirty your hands with this. Let me handle it! I'll go to her! I'll make sure she learns her lesson—one she'll never forget!"
A beat of silence.
Then Tiffany slowly sank back into her chair, her voice regaining that polished, upper-class elegance: "If you're so eager to defend my honor, then go ahead. Let's see what kind of lesson you can teach her."
"Yes, Tiffany! I promise I won't let you down!"
I bowed my head, hiding the smile tugging at my lips.
---
Eleanor had a tea room in her private Upper East Side townhouse on Park Avenue.
I stood at the half-open door, taking in the scene inside.
Serena sat across from Eleanor, wearing a tailored ivory suit, her hair swept into a flawless chignon. She was laughing softly at something Eleanor had said. Between them sat delicate bone china teacups and a plate of pastries. Sunlight slanted through the blinds, catching on her face. It looked like a perfectly staged photograph.
I pushed the door open. My heels clicked sharply against the oak floor.
"How leisurely, Miss Sterling. Still have time for afternoon tea?"
Serena lifted her eyes to me. Her expression didn't falter—just cooled by a degree, like a temperature-controlled glass door adjusting downward.
I turned my attention to the older woman seated opposite her, adopting what I thought was a suitably imperious tone: "You must be Mrs. White?"
Eleanor set down her teacup. Her brow lifted ever so slightly. "What do you want?"
"Business, of course." I straightened my spine, channeling the condescension I'd learned from Tiffany. "Mrs. White, I'm advising you—if you know what's good for you, you'll cut all ties with Serena immediately."
I pointed at Serena. "She's offended the Rivera family. If you continue working with her, you're making an enemy of the Rivera family—of my aunt, Tiffany Rivera. I'm sure you understand what that means."
My voice was full of confidence.
Tiffany's name carried weight in Manhattan's Upper East Side. This time, Serena wouldn't walk away unscathed.
The tea room went silent for two seconds.
I waited for Eleanor's reaction—panic, hesitation, something.
But there was nothing.
Eleanor rose to her feet. The movement was slow, graceful—and suffused with a coldness I couldn't quite name. It wasn't anger. It was the kind of detached indifference that came from standing so far above someone that they ceased to register as a threat.
She didn't even look at me. She simply turned to the butler standing near the door and said, "Bring me my phone."
A vintage gold-plated phone was placed in her hand. She dialed a number, waited for the line to connect, and spoke:
"Tiffany. You have ten minutes. Come to my tea room immediately and collect your niece—the one who just had the audacity to walk into my home and issue threats on your behalf. If you don't, I'll handle her myself. And I'll make sure everyone on the Upper East Side knows exactly what kind of manners the Rivera family teaches."
She hung up.
Then she picked up her teacup, took a delicate sip, and turned back to Serena as if nothing had happened. Her tone softened: "Serena, try these macarons. They pair beautifully with this Darjeeling."
I stood frozen.
My mind buzzed.
She'd called Tiffany by her first name—no title, no courtesy. She'd ordered her. Like a subordinate. Her tone hadn't even fluctuated.
Who was this woman?
I stared at Eleanor, at the way she'd dismissed me so completely, and felt that arrogant confidence I'd walked in with peel away, layer by layer. A chill crept up from the soles of my feet.
I saw Serena accept a macaron, the corner of her mouth curving upward.
That calm, faint smile made my chest tighten.
She hadn't taken me seriously.
Not once, from the moment I'd walked through that door.
Less than ten minutes later, footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Tiffany appeared in the doorway.
Her face was ashen—not from the rush, but from something worse. The kind of pale that came from being publicly humiliated and swallowing it down with every ounce of self-control she had left. She stepped over the threshold, and Eleanor's gaze swept toward her, cold and cutting:
"Tiffany. What excellent manners. Has the Rivera family's threshold risen so high that even a junior member feels entitled to walk into my home and issue warnings? Telling me to 'know my place'?"
I felt Tiffany's gaze shift to me.
It wasn't anger.
It was something colder—something that made my spine freeze. A recalculation. A penetrating scrutiny that stripped away every layer of pretense and saw straight through to the core.
Just like Ethan's gaze last night.