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VIVIAN stared at her phone long after the call with Adrian ended, her fingers still lingering on the screen as if reluctant to let go of the moment. Only a few seconds ago, her lips had been curved in a radiant smile, her laughter spilling freely as Adrian told her he misses her too over the phone. His voice had been warm, casual, and filled with that gentle charm that always made her heart skip a beat. But now, as the line went dead, her smile melted into something unreadable, an emotion carefully hidden beneath layers of practiced composure.

There was sadness in her eyes, faint but undeniable, lurking beneath the surface like a shadow that refused to be ignored. She hated this feeling. The bittersweet tug in her chest each time she remembered that Adrian wasn’t hers, not completely, not openly.

As if on impulse, her hand twitched, and she tapped her phone on again. The screen lit up, bathing her face in a pale glow. She went straight to her gallery, scrolling through with determined fingers until a particular set of pictures appeared, pictures she had saved from her social media handle, pictures of Amelia, Adrian’s wife.

Vivian’s chest tightened the moment Amelia’s face stared back at her from the screen. A surge of emotions welled up, so strong it nearly overwhelmed her. Jealousy. Resentment. An aching longing that she tried so hard to bury. Her face darkened, the corners of her lips tightening as though each image mocked her very existence.

“Perfect little Amelia,” she muttered under her breath, though her voice cracked slightly. She zoomed in on one of the photos: Amelia at a charity gala, dressed elegantly, her smile effortless, her posture graceful. Amelia had the kind of beauty that commanded admiration without trying, the kind that drew people in without words. Vivian knew it, and Adrian knew it.

Her grip on the phone tightened. Why did Amelia have to be the one? Why her, of all people?

Vivian’s eyes glistened, though not with tears. It was fire, pure and sharp. She reached for the wine glass beside her, her manicured fingers curling around the stem. She lifted it slowly, almost ceremoniously, and took a long sip, her gaze never leaving the glowing screen. The red liquid swirled and clung to the glass, mirroring the heat rising in her chest.

Every picture she looked at seemed to stab her deeper, as though Amelia’s smile was a cruel reminder of everything Vivian couldn’t openly claim. Adrian belonged to another woman. He went home everyday to another bed. And no matter what he whispered to her when they were alone, no matter how his hands held her like she was his world, he still wore another woman’s ring on his finger.

Vivian exhaled shakily, leaning back into the velvet chair she sat on. The apartment around her was silent, the faint hum of the city outside muffled by the thick curtains she had drawn hours ago. The air smelled faintly of wine and expensive perfume, yet it felt stifling.

Her mind drifted back to Adrian’s voice, the way he had promised he would see her soon. But promises… promises were not enough. She wanted more. She deserved more.

Vivian placed the glass down gently, though the urge to smash it against the wall coursed through her veins. Her nails tapped against the back of the phone as she studied Amelia’s picture again. Slowly, almost unwillingly, her lips curled into a small, bitter smile.

“You think you have won,” she whispered softly to the image, her tone laced with venom. “But you don’t even know how close you are to losing.”

She let the phone slip from her fingers onto the table, the screen facing up. Adrian’s call log was still there, his name glowing like a lifeline she couldn’t bear to cut. She stared at it, her heart torn between love and rage, devotion and desperation.

Vivian poured herself another glass of wine, the sound sharp in the silence. As she brought it to her lips, she made a silent vow. One way or another, she would not remain in the shadows. She had invested too much, given too much, waited too long. If Amelia thought her place was secure, she was gravely mistaken.

She took another sip, her eyes narrowing, her heart pounding with the weight of her decision. She didn’t know exactly how or when, but she knew one thing with startling clarity, Adrian would be hers. Entirely hers.

And Amelia? Amelia was simply in the way.

***

The restaurant was the kind of place you only found if you knew where to look. Tucked away in the quieter side of the city, it wasn’t loud about its existence; no flashing signs, no noisy crowd. Its reputation carried it. A soft glow spilled from the frosted chandeliers inside, bouncing off polished marble floors. The air was scented with expensive colognes, wines, and the faintest hint of roasted duck. Every chair was cushioned to perfection, every table dressed in fine linen, crystal glasses catching the light like stars. This was a sanctuary for the elite, where money was as common as air.

In the very heart of the restaurant, tucked in one of the most private VIP corners, three men sat, commanding their own atmosphere. Their laughter was low, their glasses heavy with strong whiskey and scotch. Bottles chilled in silver buckets on the table’s edge, condensation trailing down like delicate sweat.

Adrian leaned back in his seat, his suit cut clean enough to whisper wealth without trying too hard. He swirled his glass, watching the liquid spin as though it carried secrets. Across from him, Leonard wore the kind of smile that belonged to a man who thought the world owed him nothing, because he had already taken everything he wanted. Adjacent him, Jakes, broad shouldered and loud in spirit, poured himself another glass, his gold wristwatch catching the light with every move.

They were friends bound by comfort, power, and excess. They had families, yes, but their appetites, especially for women often spilled beyond the walls of their homes. It was spoken here. It had to be. It was also visible in the ease with which they judged passing skirts, in the way their laughter softened when a woman brushed too close, in the satisfied confidence of men who knew indulgence wasn’t a guilty pleasure, but a right.

Their talk drifted over the Premier League. Arsenal’s chances, City’s precision, Chelsea’s luck. Voices dropped, rose, arguments forming and dissolving in the haze of laughter.

Then the room shifted.

From behind them, someone appeared. A big-bodied woman, her figure exaggerated in all the ways that pulled eyes. A skimpy, tight short gown hugged her like a second skin, leaving nothing for imagination. Her breasts pressed firm against the fabric, her hips rolling in rhythm as she walked. Heads turned in her wake, but it was Jakes who caught sight of her first.

“My God,” he muttered, eyes narrowing with the kind of hunger that had nothing to do with food. His hand nudged Adrian’s arm lightly, drawing attention without words.

Adrian didn’t move much, he just tilted his head with the casual elegance of a man too practiced to be obvious. He looked, and then he laughed under his breath. “Yo! That… is… massive,” he murmured, setting his glass down.

Leonard’s smile widened into a beam, his eyes fixed now. 

“Men… this seems like a new catch for me.” He pushed back his chair, brushing down his jacket as though the act alone sealed his fate. “Let me go try my luck. I will be back.”

The other two burst into knowing laughter, raising their glasses as if toasting his little adventure. Leonard’s gait was confident, deliberate, every step carrying that arrogant ease that money stitched into a man’s bones. He approached the woman, words already forming on his tongue, charm dripping like honey.

Back at the table, Jakes and Adrian exchanged glances, shaking their heads with amused approval. Their laughter still lingered when another figure appeared, this time heading directly toward them.

Vivian.

Her steps were measured, and her eyes set firmly on their table.