Chapter 12: She Is No One's Doormat

Vivian had no idea she had already become the subject of someone's very focused interest.

She lay in the guest room of the Harlow Residence staring at the ceiling for most of the night, turning the same thoughts over and over until they wore grooves in her mind. By the time pale morning light crept through the curtains, she had given up entirely on sleep. She sat up, caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror, dark circles, tired eyes, hair that had opinions and decided the night had been a complete loss.

She dressed quickly and slipped out of the room.

"Good morning, Miss Rong." The butler appeared at the foot of the stairs with the punctual cheerfulness of someone who had definitely slept.

"Good morning." She managed a polite smile. A beat. "Has the driver arrived yet?"

The butler kept his gaze diplomatically forward. "It's still quite early, Miss Rong. The young master hasn't risen yet, and the driver typically arrives at nine. Perhaps Miss Rong would like to wait and have breakfast before"

"I'll see myself out."

The butler blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's daylight." Vivian was already moving toward the entrance, bag over her shoulder. "Perfectly safe. Please don't trouble the driver or Mr. Hartwell on my account."

"Miss Rong"

"Thank you for a lovely evening." She smiled, warm and final, and walked out the front door before he could get another word in.

The butler stood in the foyer and stared at the closed door.

Then he stared at the staircase.

Then back at the door.

"She's gone," one of the junior staff whispered unnecessarily.

"I can see that." He pressed his lips together, steeling himself. "Someone has to tell him."

Nobody volunteered.

The butler squared his shoulders and went upstairs.

Outside, the morning was clean and bright, sunlight cutting gold through the trees that lined the private road. Vivian walked the length of the estate path with her bag swinging from her shoulder, breathing in air that smelled like cut grass and early summer, and felt for the first time in roughly eighteen hours like herself again.

She stretched her arms above her head.

Better.

At the gate she flagged a cab and gave the driver a Midtown address.

---

The Stellar Entertainment building rose forty stories above the street, its glass exterior catching the morning sun. Since Rebecca's Golden Star win, the company's profile had skyrocketed, journalists, fans, and industry people cycled in and out of the revolving doors in a constant stream.

Vivian paid the driver, stepped out, and paused at a street vendor's cart long enough to buy a plain baseball cap. She pulled it low over her eyes, found a shaded spot near a cluster of ornamental trees across the street, and settled in to wait.

The sunlight filtered down through the leaves above her, dappling the pavement. Anyone glancing over would have seen an ordinary woman in a cap, leaning against a wall.

They would have missed the eyes beneath the brim.

Sharp. Patient. Watchful as a hawk that had already picked its moment.

She didn't wait long.

A black Mercedes SUV rolled to the curb, and the cluster of paparazzi that had been loitering outside the entrance surged forward like a single organism.

The door opened.

Rebecca stepped out in a flowing Free People dress, nude tulle catching the light, every inch of her a carefully composed portrait of effortless beauty. She moved through the chaos of cameras and shouting voices with practiced ease, her smile calibrated to the millimeter.

"Rebecca! Was the bouquet last night from Daniel Stonewell?"

"Rebecca! Have you and Daniel set a wedding date? Are the families arranging to meet?"

"Rebecca! Will you be joining the cast of Return to Grace? Your fans are dying to know"

Rebecca lifted her hand to signal her bodyguard gently, don't push the fans, her smile never wavering, basking in the warm tide of attention surrounding her like

A figure cut through the crowd.

Fast. Direct. Purposeful.

Rebecca had half a second to register the face before a hand closed around her wrist, pulled her clean out of the circle of cameras and security and adoring fans, and

CRACK.

The slap landed across Rebecca's cheek like a gunshot.

The entire street went silent.

Every camera froze. Every voice died. Even the traffic seemed to hold its breath.

Rebecca stood completely still, one hand flying up to her face, the shock on her features cycling rapidly toward something calculated, the wobbling lip, the glistening eyes, the perfectly assembled expression of wounded innocence that she could produce on demand.

She didn't get the chance to deploy it.

Vivian was already close, inches away her voice dropped to a register that didn't carry beyond the two of them, quiet and cold and absolutely without mercy.

"Rebecca." Her jaw was set. Her eyes were frost. "It's been five years, and your nerve just keeps growing, doesn't it? You used to at least do your dirty work from a distance. Scheming in the shadows, pulling strings where no one could see you." A pause, sharp as the slap had been. "But yesterday you put your own hands on me. You pushed me into the road yourself." Her gaze didn't waver. Not even slightly. "Tell me, are you disappointed? Did it ruin your evening, seeing me standing in front of you right now, completely unharmed?"