Thirty Nine

Thirty Nine
VIVIAN’S POV

Sebastian was back to being unbearable.

If anything, the small truce we had after that night only gave him more energy to act like a jerk.

He’d walk past me in the hallway with that smug smirk, make stupid comments under his breath, or toss something just close enough for me to notice.

Finn wasn’t as bad—he mostly stayed quiet—but the atmosphere in the house was still as cold as ever.

It wasn’t a school day, so there was nothing to distract me. I’d already gone through the usual routines—breakfast, pretending not to hear Sebastian’s snide remarks, and walking the garden path just to get out of the suffocating air inside.

By noon, I gave up trying to find something useful to do.

I went to my room, grabbed my sketchbook, and sat by the window.

Drawing usually helped me focus—helped me quiet the noise in my head—but today, my mind wouldn’t cooperate.

Every time my pencil touched the page, it moved on its own, tracing out lines I didn’t plan.

Before I knew it, I had drawn Kade. Again.

The outline of his face came easily—the sharp jaw, the cold eyes, the slight tilt of his mouth like he was mocking me even on paper.

The pencil moved faster, adding shadows to his expression, until I realized what I was doing. My hand froze.

Why him? Out of everyone I could have drawn—why always him?

I stared at the sketch, hating how alive it looked. I could almost see the tension in his stare, the quiet threat in the way he always looked at me, like I was a puzzle he intended to solve by breaking it apart piece by piece.

With a frustrated sound, I ripped the paper out of the sketchbook and tore it in half, then in half again. The sound was sharp and final, but it didn’t make me feel any better. I threw the pieces into the trash, my chest tightening with something I didn’t want to name.

“Pathetic,” I muttered to myself, brushing the pencil dust off my hand. “You can’t even draw without thinking about him.”

I was about to start another sketch—something simple this time, maybe the view outside—when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I said, expecting it to be one of the maids with a tray or a message from Mrs. Langley.

Instead, a nervous-looking maid stepped in, bowing slightly. “Miss Vivian,” she said, her voice low. “Mr. Falcone requests your presence in the study.”

My stomach dropped. Mr. Falcone. Kade’s grandfather. The real power in this house.

“Now?” I asked.

“Yes, miss. He said immediately.”

I nodded, setting the sketchbook aside. “Thank you.”

As the maid left, I straightened my dress, smoothing the wrinkles that had formed while I sat. My palms were already damp. Mr. Falcone rarely asked to see me, and when he did, it wasn’t casual. The man had an aura that made even the walls go quiet.

Walking down the hall toward his study, I could feel my heartbeat pick up with every step. The corridors were dim, the air heavy. By the time I reached the large double doors, my throat was dry.

One of the guards standing nearby opened the door for me. I stepped inside, forcing my shoulders back.

Mr. Falcone sat behind a massive desk, a dark glass of something amber beside his hand. His eyes lifted from a file to meet mine. Even sitting, his presence filled the room.

“Vivian,” he said, his voice deep and calm, but there was something cold beneath it. “You’re awake early.”

“Yes, sir.” I clasped my hands together to keep them from shaking. “You asked for me?”

“I did.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.”

I obeyed, trying not to stare too long. He looked nothing like Kade or his grandsons. His hair was steel gray, his face cut from stone, his eyes sharp and assessing. Every word from him felt deliberate—measured, dangerous.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he said, setting his glass aside. “How have my grandsons been behaving?”

The question caught me off guard. Of all things he could have asked—about my stay, about Kade’s progress with whatever this… arrangement was—it was that.

“They’ve been…” I hesitated, remembering Sebastian’s glare that morning, the way he’d called me a “charity project” under his breath. But I also remembered the fear in his eyes that night when I warned them their grandfather was home.

“They’ve been good, sir,” I finally said. “A little… energetic at times, but respectful.”

One of his brows lifted slightly, like he could tell there was more I wasn’t saying. “Energetic,” he repeated, leaning back in his chair. “That’s a polite way of putting it.”

I gave a small, cautious smile. “I try to see the best in people.”

His gaze lingered on me for several seconds. “Hmm.” He reached for the glass, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. “Kade speaks highly of your discretion. I expect the same level of loyalty here. You understand that, don’t you?”

The way he said it—it wasn’t a question. It was a warning wrapped in civility.

“Yes, sir,” I said quietly.

He nodded once, apparently satisfied. “Good. That’ll be all, Miss Jensen.”

I stood, my legs slightly unsteady. “Of course. Thank you.”

He didn’t look up again as I left the room. I could feel the tension leave my shoulders only once the heavy door clicked shut behind me.

Back in the hallway, I let out a shaky breath. That man was terrifying. Not in the way Kade was—Kade’s danger was quiet, intimate, like a secret that could ruin you. Mr. Falcone’s was absolute. It filled the air around him. It was power that didn’t need to prove itself.

By the time I reached my room, my nerves were still frayed. I pushed the door open, already planning to sit down and draw something else—something calm, something that didn’t remind me of anyone in this cursed family.

But then I froze.

Kade was lying on my bed.

Not sitting. Not standing by the window like he sometimes did. Lying there, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting loosely across his chest, like he belonged there. Like it was his bed, not mine.

My breath caught in my throat. “What—what are you doing here?”