Novels by Vivi wealth

Camille's pov “Mama, the buildings look shiny,” Ella whispered dramatically from beside the window.I glanced toward her and smiled faintly. “That’s because New York likes showing off.”The first thing I felt when I stepped back into Manhattan was anger. Quiet anger sitting deep inside my chest while black SUVs moved through streets I once ran away from with nothing except humiliation and two unborn babies growing inside me.Noah looked up from his dinosaur book immediately. “Chicago is shiny too.”“Yes,” I said patiently. “But Manhattan thinks it’s prettier.”Both twins burst into offended little arguments defending Chicago while my assistant Natalie tried unsuccessfully not to laugh from the passenger seat.The sound filled the car warmly, softening something tense inside me.Because six years ago, I came back to this city broken.This time, I returned with my children, my company, and enough power that people now fought for invitations into rooms carrying my name.Laurent House’s

Camille's povNothing in my life had ever terrified me more than the sound of my babies crying at the same time while I stood in the middle of a freezing apartment with exactly eleven dollars left in my bank account.I remember staring at the flickering kitchen light above me while one hand warmed a milk bottle beneath running water and the other bounced my son gently against my shoulder.The landlord had threatened eviction that morning. Again.The heater barely worked. Rain leaked through the cracked corner near the bedroom window whenever storms hit hard enough, and the tiny apartment smelled permanently of detergent from the laundromat downstairs.A year ago, I had lived inside a Manhattan mansion with marble floors and staff waiting outside every door. Now I counted coins before buying bread.Life was funny that way.“Mama…”My daughter’s sleepy little voice cracked through the apartment softly from the mattress pushed against the wall.I looked over immediately.Ella sat up slow

~Camille’s POV~ The next morning, I woke to cold gray sunlight spilling through the penthouse windows. Beside me, Asher shifted before sitting upright slowly, one hand pressing against his forehead. For several seconds, he said nothing, and then his eyes swept lazily over me. I watched as confusion hit first, and then disbelief, before horror. Asher’s face was drained of color. it was exactly as I had predicted, and I panicked instantly, while clutching the sheets of the bed tightly, trying to get hold of the little dignity I had left . “What the hell…” He shoved himself off the bed immediately, breathing hard. “You’re not Mabel. What the fuck is this?” The sheer fury in his voice made me flinch. “Asher—” “Where’s Mabel?” “I can explain...” Tears burned my eyes instantly. “I didn’t want this either...” “Then why the hell were you in my bed?” The bedroom doors suddenly burst open before I could answer. My parents rushed inside first, and then...Mabel follo

Camille’s POV “Stand still, Miss Camille.” By the time the third person pinned my veil into place, I had stopped feeling like a bride. The women hired to dress me moved around the room silently, adjusting lace and smoothing silk against my skin. “Done,” one of the servants murmured quietly. I looked at myself in the mirror. The veil covered most of my face, softening my features beneath layers of ivory lace. For a brief second, I didn’t even recognize myself. Maybe that was the point. The bedroom door opened behind me. My mother entered first, perfect in an elegant navy dress, while my father followed closely behind her. Neither of them looked emotional enough to be giving away a daughter today. Beatrice’s eyes swept over me before nodding once. “Good. The Harrison's are already waiting.” I swallowed hard. “Where’s Mabel?” A strange silence filled the room for half a second. My mother recovered first. “She’s resting.” Something about her answer felt rehearsed. Before I

Camille’s POV “You’re marrying Asher Harrison tomorrow instead of your sister.” The words slammed into me so hard I forgot how to breathe. I stood frozen in the middle of my father’s office, fingers curled around my handbag. Less than thirty minutes ago, my father’s assistant had summoned me home with a tone that terrified me. I had spent the drive thinking the bankruptcy rumors were finally true. I hadn’t expected this. The office felt too small. The scent of expensive cigars and polished mahogany clawed at my throat. “I don’t understand,” I said quietly, my voice shaking. “The engagement was always Mabel’s.” Neither of my parents answered immediately. My mother sat elegantly on the sofa, one hand smoothing over ivory lace spread across her lap. I recognized the fabric instantly: Mabel’s wedding dress. The sight made something cold settle in my stomach. “Mabel isn’t emotionally prepared for this marriage,” my mother finally said. “She’s too young.” “So?” I asked impatient