Shadows of Rivalry

Sebastian and Natasha stayed in the corridor, the silence stretching between them. The polished walls held the tension, old rivalry, old memories, and something darker neither wanted to name.

Natasha tilted her head, giving a practiced smile. “Well,” she said, her voice sweet but sharp, “our prodigal doctor knows how to take over a room, doesn’t she? She shows up, impresses everyone, then slips out before anyone notices. Very… dramatic.”

Sebastian's face tightened. He was still looking where Alina had gone. "It wasn't drama. It was real skill. There's a big difference."

Natasha's smile didn't break. "Skill, maybe. But you have to admit, she knows how to get attention. People like her live for praise. It’s… predictable.”

"Not everything is an act, Natasha." Sebastian turned to her, sounding annoyed. "Some people earn respect just by being themselves."

The words bothered her more than she’d admit. She gave a flat laugh. “Careful, Sebastian. Being impressed is a weakness.”

He didn’t answer. Natasha stepped closer. “Enough with the hospital,” she said softly. “Let’s get dinner. There’s a new quiet place. Let’s forget all this tonight.”

Sebastian shook his head. "You go. Not tonight, I have something I need to do."

His refusal was sharper than he meant, but he didn’t take it back. Natasha’s smile faltered for a moment, then she let out a light laugh. “Of course. Always busy, always important.”

She walked away, her heels clicking, each step hiding the ache in her chest.

The Fairfax villa glowed with soft, perfect lights. Inside, everything was polished, elegant, and meant to impress, just like its owners.

Celeste Fairfax sat in the sitting room, calm as always. Once a beauty queen, now a philanthropist, her looks had settled into something sharp and timeless.

“You’re home early,” Celeste said, her smile polite, her eyes sharp.

Natasha set her bag on the chaise, her calm slipping the moment she saw her mother. “Early, late, doesn’t matter. Sebastian just has no time for dinner.”

Celeste raised an eyebrow. “Sebastian? Again?” Her voice held both interest and warning.

Natasha sat across from her, crossing her legs smoothly, though her fingers twisted in her lap. “He barely looked at me. But her, Alina Hart, she had all his attention. Like she never left. Like I wasn’t even there.”

Celeste’s face didn’t change, but her eyes hardened. “So she’s back.”

Natasha let out a bitter laugh. “She ruins everything. Always has. He didn’t care before, but now he seems unsure. He won’t admit it, but it shows. I won’t let her ruin what I’ve built, not with Sebastian, not with the Vaughn's.”

Her voice trembled, then grew firm. “Do you see how this looks? He divorced her, and now that she’s back, it’s like nothing ever ended. And me? I’ve stayed by his side for years. Years, Mother. I’ve been patient, loyal, always there. Everyone already sees me as Mrs. Vaughn, and he still won’t commit. I’ve waited, and now she comes back and ruins that too?”

Celeste leaned forward slightly, her voice calm. “Then don’t act rashly. You’re smarter than that. Your father always said visibility is currency. Your presence, your charm, your connections. You win by staying important.”

“Being important doesn’t matter if he’s looking somewhere else,” Natasha muttered.

Celeste placed a cool hand on hers. “Then turn his attention back to you. Be strategic. Don’t fight Alina where she’s strongest, you can’t match her skill. But there are other things. Social. Personal. Public.”

Natasha’s eyes darkened, her frustration forming into something clearer. “Get rid of her, like before.”

Celeste didn’t answer directly. She only smiled faintly. “You’ve always known how to protect what’s yours. But Natasha…” Her voice softened. “The Vaughn's want something lasting. Arthur especially. They want an heir. Maybe it’s time you give them one.”

Natasha blinked, her composure cracking. “An heir? A child?” She laughed sharply. “And what about my career? My body? I worked hard for this. I can’t just throw it away.”

Celeste’s face grew serious. “Then decide what matters more: a baby and Sebastian, or your image. You’re not getting younger. Wait too long, and Alina could give him what you won’t, youth, a fresh start, a future.”

Before Natasha could respond, the study door opened. Gideon Fairfax stepped out, calm and steady. Investor, strategist, master of influence, he knew how power moved before anyone else.

He had clearly heard everything. “Your mother is right,” he said firmly. “Arthur Vaughn thinks about legacy. That means an heir. Without one, you’re just Sebastian’s companion, someone he can replace whenever he wants.”

Natasha stared at him. “So I’m replaceable?”

Gideon lifted a brow, firm but not cruel. “Not if you make the right moves. Beauty fades. Fame fades. Real power comes from something permanent. A marriage. A child. A tie even Alina Hart can’t break. Vaughn Enterprises doesn’t run on emotion, it runs on bloodlines.”

Celeste took a sip of wine, her eyes pleased. “And Alina doesn’t have that tie. Not yet. She has skill and respect, yes. But those don’t matter when a family chooses blood over everything.”

Natasha gripped her glass, her voice low and angry. “Alina has nothing. She shouldn’t even be here.”

Gideon walked closer and placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “Then make sure she doesn’t stay. Secure your place. You were raised to handle these things. Don’t let emotion ruin your plan.”

Natasha looked at both of her parents, her mother calm, her father certain. Slowly, she smiled. A thin, cold smile filled with promise.

“Then I’ll make sure she never gets the chance,” she said. “Not with Sebastian. Not with the Vaughn's. Whatever it takes.”

Celeste leaned back, satisfied. Gideon nodded. The air in the villa carried a quiet agreement.

Later, Natasha went upstairs and closed her door with a soft click. Alone, she picked up her phone. Her thumb hovered over a number she hadn’t used in months.

A press contact. Discreet. Hungry for stories that could be twisted and sharpened.

She looked at herself in the mirror, straight posture, perfect skin, a face the public trusted. Slowly, her lips curved into a thin, cold smile.

The first strike was ready.

And this time, Alina Hart wouldn’t just be surprised.

She would pay.