On the day of the pivotal meeting with Damien, Vivienne decided to indulge in a moment of luxury. The secluded farmhouse had witnessed more than its fair share of tension, but tonight, she wanted to relax. She loved the woods, the smell of petrichor, moss, and fresh-cut wood, but right now she wanted to pretend. She craved a touch of elegance. Something that made her feel powerful and desirable.
With those thoughts in mind, she rummaged through her limited wardrobe, eager to find the perfect gown for the occasion. She hadn’t exactly packed her bags with the goal of appearing on a runway, but there were one or two dresses she had hidden at the bottom of her suitcase. Not because she’d planned to wear them, but because they were clothes that she’d bought for herself or been given as gifts, and there was no telling what Liam might do with her belongings once she was out of the way. The man seemed to lack object permanence, where if his wife wasn’t in visible vici
The grand ballroom of the Red Moon Hotel unfurled before Marcus and Vivienne like a magnetic dream. The air was infused with the heady aroma of flowers, and the soft strains of music enveloped them as they stepped into the heart of the masquerade. The room glittered with the glow of chandeliers, the marble floors catching the streams of light and tossing them back into the air like teardrops. Couples in elaborate masks twirled on the dance floor, creating a scene straight out of a fairytale. Marcus, dressed in his impeccable black suit, kept a protective arm around Vivienne as they entered the enchanting space. Her scarlet gown swirled with each step, and the mask she wore added an air of mystery to her allure. As they surveyed the festivities, Vivienne felt the fingers around her waist tighten with an almost palpable sense of possessiveness, and she bit back a smile. There was her protector, determined to keep her safe in this sea of unknown faces. However, their idyllic entrance w
After wandering around a bit more, Vivienne finally chose to linger near the walls where someone had set up a gallery. Vivienne wondered if the art pieces were always present, or if they had been set out specifically for the masquerade, decorations meant to adorn the richly decorated space. The artwork seemed to vary widely in style and substance, reflecting the eclectic tastes of the person who had donated them. As she examined the pieces, she couldn't help but be captivated by the wonders that adorned the walls. One particular painting stood out—a masterpiece that seemed to come alive with textured strokes and vivid colours. It depicted a moonlit forest, where shadows and light played in a mesmerizing dance. The impasto technique added depth and dimension, the thick smears of navy and chartreuse making the trees practically leap off the canvas. Vivienne marvelled at the skill of the artist, the brushstrokes revealing a passion and mastery that she was almost envious of. Adjacent to
Red hot annoyance simmered beneath the surface of Marcus's face as he practically dragged Vivienne away from Damien. Luckily she was quite adept at noticing his moods, and simply followed along meekly, not putting up a fight as he led her across the room. Her high hels clicked against the marble floor, before becoming muffled by the soft carpet that covered the exit corridors. As they crossed the border, Marcus's grip shifted, pressing the hard edges of her bracelet into her skin. Vivienne hissed, more out of surprise than actual pain. Marcus, who had all this while been too wrapped up in his thoughts, suddenly halted at the sound. He turned around and looked her over with concern. "Are you okay? Did that bastard-" "I'm fine," she stopped him, and then turned her arm over to show the pale pink imprint left behind by the clear stones. Marcus could tell that they weren't real diamonds, they didn't have the same lustre or the aura of blood that always stuck to precious gems mined in f
Although being an actress certainly had its share of perks, the downsides tended to be far more harrowing. Mostly because they had the tendency to be broadcast throughout the world. There was hardly such thing as personal privacy when one wrong move could get your name and face plastered on every gossip column this side of the west. The high life was a dream, but a fragile one. Appearances were everything, and secrets were the ropes that bound them up. Vivienne knew that better than most because she was hiding several ugly little truths of her own.Like right now. Vivienne Hardison pushed open the door of her manager’s office to a sight that stopped her dead in her tracks. Biting back the gasp in her throat, she braced herself against the expected wave of sadness and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb of her manager’s office; arms folded loosely across her chest as she watched cinema’s newest up-and-coming star bounce away on his lap. From this angle, Vivienne couldn’t see his fac
It took all of her strength not to claw the eyes out of his smug, stupid little face. A little more pressure, and the acrylic tips of her manicured nails would have snapped clean off in her fists. “I’m not going to whore myself out for a movie, Liam!” Vivienne snarled. “No matter how much money it makes at the box office. I’m not some goddamn toy, asshole! What the fuck is wrong with you?”The slap came so quick and so sudden that Vivienne didn’t even register that the impact had happened until the pain came a few seconds later. “You do not raise your voice at me,” Liam hissed in a low, dangerous voice. “This is my office. Bought with the money that I made. I made you who you are. Without me you’d be nothing more than a starving, working-class tramp scraping by on minimum wage to pay the bills. So, unless you want bad things to start happening, I suggest you apologize right fucking now.”Vivienne wanted to scream. Wanted to yell that things were already bad, and how much worse could t
The barista, a freckle-faced teenager with curly brown hair and olive skin, fumbled to raise his head from the mobile badly hidden behind the register when Vivienne made it to the front. Painting on a patented magazine smile, she greeted him politely, “Hi, could I get a black coffee for here? Medium, please.”“Um…” Dark blue eyes went wide behind the round frames of his glasses. The phone slipped out of his hands and clattered very loudly on the ground.Experience allowed her to maintain her grace, though his behaviour confused her. It would be easy to call him starstruck, but Vivienne wasn’t a star. Depeche Mode had been the highest point of her career in terms of attention, but it had been a relatively small role in mid-tier Netflix series. No one stopped her in the street to ask for autographs, and baristas definitely didn’t get tongue-tied in front of her. This kid had definitely recognized her, but probably not for the reason other people normally would.Just as she was about to
“Where the hell have you been?!” Liam snarled as soon as the door opened. He marched across the open-concept room, arm already raised in preparation. “I’ve been waiting for hours! I thought I told you to go straight home woman. Did you think I was joking?!”Vivienne tensed her shoulders and braced for the imminent burst of pain, only to be surprised when none came. When she opened her eyes, she found Marcus standing in front of her, one hand wrapped so tightly around Liam’s wrist that she could almost hear the bones grinding from the strain. Her husband tried not to show how much it hurt, but Vivienne had lived with the man long enough to spot the telltale cringe in his shoulders.The broad planes of Marcus’s back arrested her vision as he planted himself before her. A massive barrier, unfaltering in the face of Liam’s impotent rage. It was like watching a beetle attempting to fight a boulder.“What the hell are you doing, Riviera?” Liam hissed. “I didn’t pay you to defy my orders.”“
Marcus Riviera considered himself to be a good man. At the very least, he tried to be a decent person. A life spent honing his instincts to fit in with normal human society had taught him how to ignore the auditory dissonance of information that bombarded his ears every day, and parse through the mishmash of olfactory sensations that assaulted his nose. Many times, after returning home with a splitting headache he had caught himself wishing that he was a wolf shifter and not a bear, if only to give his brain a break from the odorous overload. In addition to that, society was far more accepting of smaller shifter types. Cats, dogs, rabbits, they all tended to get first dibs when it came to lobbying for public acceptance. Even werewolves, vicious as they could be, were the most common shifter group and were thus better able to argue from a point of statistical significance in the population. Marcus didn’t begrudge them that, but he missed his little hideaway farmhouse. The sma