Chapter 147

Chapter 147

Vivian's POV

I was shaking all over.

My legs felt weak, and I didn't even dare breathe too heavily. I stood there frozen like a brittle twig that could snap at any moment.

Tiffany approached Eleanor, swallowing her rage, her posture humble in a way I'd never seen during all my time at the Rivera Estate. Her voice was low, each word an apology for my ignorance, my rudeness, my offense against someone of Eleanor's stature. She groveled. Actually groveled.

I had never seen Tiffany like this.

That ashen expression. Those eyes, cold as blades. Every time they swept over me, the chill cut straight to my bones.

My legs nearly gave out. I could only follow her lead, head bowed, voice trembling pathetically as I apologized over and over to Eleanor and to Serena, who stood nearby watching with detached indifference. I begged for mercy, praying I could survive this disaster.

Eleanor didn't even look at me. The contempt and disgust in her eyes were undisguised. Her tone was frigid, each word a dismissal, making it clear she found my presence revolting.

Tiffany's face cycled through shades of fury and humiliation, but she didn't dare say a word in protest. She gripped my arm hard enough to bruise, practically dragging me out of the tea room and shoving me into the car.

The interior was freezing. No warmth whatsoever.

I opened my mouth to speak—to cry—but Tiffany cut me off sharply.

"That's enough."

I swallowed the sob clawing its way up my throat.

Tiffany's voice was cold and absolute. Right there in front of me, she declared—clearly, deliberately—that I was no longer to call her aunt. I was forbidden from mentioning any connection to her or to the Rivera family. From now on, I was merely a distant, insignificant relative. Nothing more.

I felt like I'd been struck by lightning.

My whole body went cold. My mind buzzed.

The Blackwoods had already kicked me out. If I lost Tiffany's protection now, I'd have nothing left in Manhattan. I'd be completely powerless.

Panic surged. My eyes stung with tears. I brought up my late "mother," my voice breaking, begging Tiffany to remember the old ties between our families.

At the mention of the Rivera family history, Tiffany fell silent.

I thought I saw something flicker in her eyes, but I couldn't read it. I didn't dare look too closely.

After a long pause, she didn't completely cut me off. She closed her eyes in irritation and issued a cold warning: this was my last chance. From now on, I had to keep my head down, stay out of trouble, and never use the Rivera name to throw my weight around. If I stepped out of line again, there would be no forgiveness.

I nodded frantically, swearing I'd never dare, putting on a show of gratitude.

But inside, I was drowning in humiliation and rage.

This was all Serena's fault. Hers and that insufferable Eleanor White's. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be in this position—cornered, powerless, at everyone's mercy.

---

Back at the Upper East Side apartment the Riveras had set me up in, I slammed the door shut behind me.

No one was watching now. I didn't have to pretend anymore.

Eyes burning, I smashed everything I could get my hands on. Delicate porcelain vases. Perfume bottles from the vanity. Crystal wine glasses that were purely decorative. One by one, they shattered against the marble floor, shards scattering, sharp cracks echoing through the empty space.

Watching the wreckage, I felt the knot in my chest loosen. Just a little.

Serena Sterling.

I ground her name between my teeth, chewing it to pieces in my mind.

I would not let this go.

But Tiffany's warning still rang in my ears. I couldn't make a scene. I couldn't use the Rivera name. I had to lie low.

But how could I just accept this?

I sat on the edge of the floor, surrounded by broken glass, my mind racing.

I needed help. Someone bold. Ruthless. Someone who'd do the job for money and wouldn't ask questions.

There was only one person who fit the bill.

Dragon.

He operated in Manhattan's underworld, ruling Brooklyn's underground fight scene with an iron fist. He had no shortage of desperate men willing to do anything for cash. I'd known about him for a while, but I'd never thought I'd actually need him.

Until now.

I pulled myself together and slipped out.

---

Deep in Brooklyn, hidden behind an abandoned auto shop, there was an underground fight club.

I walked in like I belonged there. The air was thick with shouting, grunts, the wet smack of fists hitting flesh. It reeked of sweat, blood, and cheap cigarettes. Neon lights flickered overhead, casting everything in a sickly glow. Violence simmered in every corner.

I made my way to a curtained-off booth in the back and waited.

I'd already planned out exactly what I'd say. Exactly what I'd offer.

The curtain parted. Dragon stepped in.

He was massive, his face scarred, tattoos snaking up his neck and arms. His eyes glinted with menace. He looked me over, his tone crude, tossing out a few lewd comments to test me.

I didn't flinch. I kept my expression soft, played along just enough to lower his guard, then cut straight to the point:

"Serena's been coming after me. She's got Ethan Blackwood backing her, and she's cutting off every opportunity I have. I need you to take care of her. Control her. Make sure she can't touch me again."

Dragon hesitated. He was clearly weighing the risk of going after someone under Ethan Blackwood's protection.

I'd anticipated this. I slid a black card across the table. "One million upfront. Triple that when it's done."

The hesitation vanished. Greed won. He agreed immediately, promising to handle everything personally, keep it quiet, leave no trace.

I finalized the details, made sure there were no loose ends, then left the fight club and returned to my apartment.

On the drive back, cold air seeped through the cracked window.

I leaned back in my seat, a cruel smile tugging at my lips.

Serena.

It won't be long now.

Every humiliation I suffered today—I'm going to make you pay back 'double'.