13. The Beauty of Betrayal

Vivienne

The glass of champagne swirls in my manicured fingers, golden bubbles catching the faint light of the private jet. The skyline of New York glitters beneath me like a jeweled necklace as the plane begins its descent, and I can’t help but smile at my reflection in the window.

Still flawless. Still breathtaking. Years pass, scandals come and go, but Vivienne Westwood? She doesn’t age. She only becomes more dangerous.

I press a fingertip to the corner of my lips, smirking at the thought of him—Aaron King. The man who once held my body as if it were his universe, the man whose touch set me on fire. The man who walked away after I made one mistake. A slip. A night where I let desire rule me. He never forgave me for it.

His absence stung, but I didn’t bleed for long. No, I rebuilt myself into something stronger, sharper, untouchable. And yet, the flame I thought was dead still flickers inside me. Only this time, it’s not love that feeds it. It’s revenge.

When my car pulls up to King Enterprises the next day, I step out in my black stilettos, my tailored dress hugging me like a second skin. Heads turn the moment I enter the lobby. They always do. I’ve never needed an introduction; I’m the introduction.

I glide through the corridor with practiced grace, heels striking like the beat of a war drum. But as soon as I step into Aaron’s office, my confidence meets his eyes. Those eyes—stormy, unreadable, dangerous.

“Vivienne.” His voice is calm, too calm, the kind that hides heat beneath layers of control.

Aaron.” I let my lips curve into a smile, the kind that suggests I know secrets he wishes I didn’t. “It’s been a while.”

He doesn’t invite me to sit, but I do anyway, crossing my legs elegantly. His office hasn’t changed—minimalist, powerful, cold. Just like him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, leaning back in his chair.

“And yet, here I am,” I purr. “I came to see for myself… if the rumors were true.”

His jaw tenses. “What rumors?”

“Oh, don’t act innocent. You know very well. That assistant of yours—Lena Moore.” I tilt my head, letting his silence confirm what words won’t. “Funny thing, Aaron. I saw a woman entering your mansion last night. She never left. Was it her?”

His gaze sharpens. “Whatever you think you saw, Vivienne, it’s not your concern.”

I laugh, soft and mocking. “Not my concern? You’re forgetting, darling—I know you. I can smell a lie before it leaves your lips. If she is just an assistant, why do you look at me like that? So defensive.”

He stands, and for a moment, the intensity in his eyes drags me back years, to when his passion was mine alone. But this time, his anger isn’t for me—it’s for her.

“There’s nothing between us,” he says flatly.

“Liar.” I rise too, letting the faint scent of my perfume drift between us like poison. “You may fool the world, Aaron King, but you can’t fool me.”

I leave his office with the same grace I entered, but inside, fury churns. He thinks he can dismiss me? Deny me? No. He owes me. And if he won’t give me what I want, I’ll take something from him.

As I stride through the corridor, my gaze falls on a woman fumbling with a stack of files. She looks… ordinary. Mousy brown hair, oversized glasses, soft features that scream of simplicity. Useless, naive.

Perfect.

When she looks up, recognition flashes in her eyes. “Are you—Vivienne Westwood?”

I smile. Ah, so she knows me. “Yes, darling. And you are?”

“Colette,” she says, blushing. “I—I work here. I’ve admired your work for so long.”

Of course she has. Everyone does. Her awe is almost too easy to exploit. I soften my tone, leaning in like we’re girlfriends sharing secrets. “Tell me, Colette… do you have time for a coffee? I find myself in need of… company.”

Her face lights up like a child offering candy. “Of course!”

Hook, line, sinker.

Later, at the café across the street, Colette chatters nervously while I sip my espresso with practiced elegance. I steer the conversation toward Aaron, toward Lena, dropping hints of curiosity laced with just enough feigned innocence.

And Colette? She spills without even realizing.

“She’s always with him,” she says, pushing her glasses up. “Late hours, closed doors… People talk, but nobody dares say anything. You know how powerful Mr. King is.”

I lean back, smiling as though her words are harmless gossip, but inside, victory thrums. Confirmation. Proof that my instincts were right.

Still, rumors aren’t enough. I need evidence. Something concrete. Something that will destroy her.

“Colette, darling,” I murmur, my voice low, conspiratorial. “You seem clever. Perhaps you can help me with something.”

Her curiosity bites instantly. And by the end of the week, she delivers—access to surveillance footage.

When I finally watch the recording, my chest tightens, not with heartbreak, but with fury. There he is—Aaron King. The man who once swore he’d never forgive me for betrayal. His hands tangled in her hair, his lips crushing hers, passion spilling like wildfire.

My nails dig into my palm. Hypocrite. Liar. Fraud.

But as the anger simmers, a slow smile spreads across my lips. Perfect. This is exactly what I needed.

Back in my mansion, silk robe brushing against my thighs, I sink into the velvet sofa. Around me, music thrums low as strippers—male and female—move their bodies for my amusement. I barely glance at them. The footage plays on the massive screen, and with one sip of my vintage champagne, satisfaction floods me.

A male stripper kneels at my feet, offering me another glass, but I wave him away. I’m not in the mood for distractions now. Tonight is about strategy, about vengeance.

Aaron King may survive a scandal. But his precious assistant? Her career, her dignity, her reputation—all will burn. And when she falls, he will know it’s because of me.

“Enough,” I say lazily, waving a hand. The dancers freeze, exchanging confused glances. “The party’s over.”

They leave one by one, and silence fills the space. Alone, I watch the screen again, pausing at the moment his lips meet hers.

“You lied to me, Aaron,” I whisper. “And now, you’ll pay.”

Tomorrow, the world will know.

The screen glows in front of me, pixelated images rolling like a silent movie of victory. Aaron King, the untouchable, the arrogant, the man who once left me shattered without a second glance—caught red-handed. And not just in business numbers or secret contracts, but in something far more scandalous: his lips on his secretary, Lena Moore.

I sip my champagne slowly, letting the golden liquid coat my tongue, enjoying the delicate burn. The taste of triumph is always sweeter when it’s paired with ruin.

Some women need validation from men, from lovers, from family. Me? I prefer validation through power. And power is exactly what I’m holding in my manicured hands.

I laugh softly, twirling my glass. “Oh, Aaron. You haven’t changed at all. Still blinded by your own need.”

My heels click against the floor as I wander to the glass windows, gazing at the glittering skyline of New York. Once upon a time, this city applauded me, worshipped me.

Then it turned its back on me, calling me reckless, shameless, because of one mistake. One night.

That night ruined me. Aaron’s cold departure was only the knife twisted deeper. But tonight—tonight, I will ruin him, even if it’s not directly him who suffers. Because I know his weak spot now. Her.

Lena Moore.

The assistant who dares to warm his bed, who dares to smile up at him with those naïve eyes, as though she belongs there. She doesn’t. And I’ll make sure she remembers that.

I upload the footage with a single motion, my perfectly manicured finger pressing down with cruel satisfaction. Within moments, the virus of scandal begins to spread. News outlets, gossip blogs, anonymous social accounts—all of them will latch onto this. Aaron King kissing his secretary.

The King of business caught in a moment of desire that doesn’t belong in polished boardrooms.

I feel like a queen again, the orchestra of chaos already playing out in my head. By morning, it will be everywhere. Her face, her name, her career—burnt to ashes.

And I’ll watch it all with champagne in hand.

Morning comes golden and merciless. The sunlight slices through my sheer curtains, but I don’t mind. I welcome it like a spotlight, revealing the glory of my stage.

The scandal is everywhere. My phone buzzes endlessly—notifications, gossip alerts, media headlines. I scroll lazily through them, my lips curling into a satisfied smile.

Aaron King caught in passionate affair with secretary!”

“The fall of the perfect CEO: scandal rocks King Enterprises.”

“Lena Moore—homewrecker or victim?”

Oh, this is better than I ever dreamed. The media has always loved me, hated me, but mostly—they’ve always wanted me. And now, through Aaron, I’m back in their mouths again.

I wrap my silk robe tighter around me as I sit down for breakfast. The table is already set by staff: fruit, croissants, steaming coffee. Luxury is a given, but today, luxury tastes like vengeance.

I scroll again, watching as different outlets replay the grainy footage on loop. Aaron doesn’t look humiliated, no. He looks almost too composed, too dignified. As I expected. Scandals can’t touch him the same way they touch others. But Lena—poor, fragile Lena—her name is dragged, dissected, judged.

Strangers are already picking apart her photos, her LinkedIn profile, her history.

A single scandal for him. A career-ending firestorm for her. Exactly the balance I wanted.

I chew slowly, eyes half-lidded, already planning the next move. Because this—this is only the beginning.

Later, as the day wears on, I stand in front of my mirror. My reflection greets me with perfection: lips painted a sharp red, hair cascading in waves, robe clinging to my curves. Beautiful, untouchable, dangerous. That’s what I’ve always been.

But even as I admire myself, there’s a flicker in the air—a strange sense of unease. My instincts, sharp as knives, whisper that something is shifting. The scandal may have wounded her, but Aaron is not a man who bends easily. He will fight back. He will protect her.

The thought gnaws at me. I pace the room, heels tapping, mind racing. If Aaron shields her too much, if he proves to the world that he doesn’t care, then what? The footage won’t matter as much. My revenge would lose its flavor.

I pour myself another drink, swirling it slowly. That’s when my phone rings. A private number.

I answer, pressing it to my ear, voice smooth. “Vivienne Westwood.” The voice on the other end is calm, deep, unsettling. “You’ve made a very bold move.”

My pulse spikes, though I keep my face composed. “Who is this?”

A pause. Then a quiet chuckle. “Let’s just say… you’re not the only one who enjoys watching Aaron King burn.”

I freeze. The glass in my hand stills. Someone else? Someone playing a game parallel to mine?

The line goes dead before I can reply.

For the first time in years, a chill slithers down my spine. I stare at my reflection, lips parting slightly.

Did I just gain an ally? Or did I awaken a predator far worse than myself?

I glance at the screen one last time, at the headlines dancing across it. My smile returns, though faint this time, touched with intrigue.

“Oh, Aaron,” I whisper softly, fingers tracing the glass of champagne, “you thought you left me behind. But I’m always closer than you think.”

The city hums outside, but my mind hums louder.

The scandal is only step one.

But now, I wonder—who else is moving in this game?

And as the thought lingers, the taste of triumph turns sharp, metallic.

Because for the first time, I realize: maybe I’m not the only one stalking him in the shadows.