Lahat ng Kabanata ng Two worlds that collide: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

​The night of the Blackwood-Montgomery Gala arrived with the kind of atmospheric weight that only billions of dollars and political legacies can create. For Vivienne, the day had been a blurred sequence of professional hair stylists, makeup artists, and the constant, cold pressure of the silver silk gown she had finally chosen. It was a dress designed to make her look like a statue—perfect, unmoving, and untouchable. ​Outside the Blackwood estate, the motorcade was a sleek, midnight-black snake. Three armored SUVs led the way, followed by Julian’s official city sedan and Vivienne’s own chauffeured limousine. Chloe followed in her own sports car, looking like a neon spark in the dark procession. ​As the convoy pulled up to the red carpet of the Grand Metropolitan Hall, the world exploded into a strobe light of camera flashes. ​"Stay close to me, V," Julian whispered, his hand sliding firmly into hers as the valet opened the door. The weight of his touch was familiar now, a steadyi

​The Sapphire Lounge doors finally swung open, releasing a wave of mahogany-scented air and the heavy, self-satisfied laughter of men who had just reshaped the city’s map. Julian stepped out first, adjusting his cufflinks, his eyes immediately scanning the ballroom for the silver glimmer of his fiancée.​He didn’t see her. Instead, he saw Chloe, looking frantic, pacing near the buffet line with her phone pressed to her ear.​"Chloe? Where’s Vivienne?" Julian asked, his voice still carrying the smooth, polite veneer of the evening, though his eyes narrowed.​Chloe spun around, her face pale. "I—I don't know, Julian. She went to the balcony for some air about forty minutes ago. I thought she just needed a minute, you know? The pressure and all. But when I went out there to check on her, the terrace was empty."​"Empty?" Arthur Blackwood stepped forward, his face instantly hardening into the 'Iron Vulture' mask. "What do you mean, empty? There are guards at every exit, Chloe. She can’t h

​The deep, heavy sleep that followed the sex was the only thing Vivienne knew for the hours that followed. She was buried under charcoal silk sheets, her body humming with a lingering, visceral warmth she had never felt before. The silence of the fortress was absolute, a stark contrast to the buzzing, frantic energy of the gala she had abandoned.​The door creaked open, and the smell of toasted sourdough and seared steak preceded the man. Roman walked in topless, his muscular chest on full display, the tattoos across his ribs shifting as he balanced a silver tray.​"Wake up, freaky girl. Daddy brought some food," he said, his voice a playful, gravelly rumble.​Vivienne blinked, the tiredness still clinging to her lashes. She sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist, and gave him a soft, weary smile. "Aww, thank you," she whispered, accepting the tray and taking a ravenous bite of the food. It was only then, as the sharp flavor of the steak hit her tongue, that she looked past him t

​The morning light felt like shards of glass against Vivienne’s skin, but the panic in her chest wouldn't let her stay in bed. The meeting with the elders was looming like a guillotine, and she couldn't face that tribunal—or her father—without the weight of that diamond on her hand. It was her only shield, her only proof of "loyalty."​She dressed in a high-necked black silk blouse to hide the marks on her throat and slipped out of the mansion before Julian could emerge from the guest wing. She didn't call a driver. She headed straight to Chloe’s apartment, her Lamborghini Urus roaring through the quiet streets of the suburbs.​When Chloe opened the door, she wasn't wearing her usual bright gym gear. She was in an oversized hoodie, her eyes red-rimmed and her expression flat.​"Chloe," Vivienne breathed, stepping inside without an invitation. "I am so, so sorry. What they said to you… it was vile. My dad, Julian, Eleanor—they were out of line. I didn't mean for you to take the heat fo

​The Great Hall of the Blackwood estate was a room Vivienne had spent her childhood avoiding. It was a space of heavy oak, ancestral portraits, and an oppressive silence that seemed to swallow sound. Today, it was the stage for her judgment.​When Vivienne stepped through the double doors, the air was thick with the scent of old paper and unlit cigars. The elders—three men from the Blackwood line and two from the Montgomerys—sat behind a massive U-shaped table. At the center sat her father, Arthur, his face a mask of stone. To his left was the Mayor, looking more like a prosecutor than a future father-in-law.​Julian was seated in a leather chair off to the side. He had changed into a charcoal suit, every hair in place, looking every bit the grieving yet dignified fiancé. As Vivienne walked to the center of the room, his eyes tracked her every movement. She could feel the heat of his gaze—a volatile cocktail of suspicion that she had been touched by another, and a dark, renewed desire