Vivienne's POV
The city was quiet in the late afternoon, the streets emptying like someone had swept them clean, leaving only the restless hum of distant traffic. I walked through the corridors of B Corporation, my heels clicking like a countdown, each step heavier than the last. I could feel the weight of my own anticipation, my own anxiety, gnawing at my composure.
Adrian. The name felt bitter on my tongue, a reminder of everything I had thought I owned, everything I had believed was untouchable, slipping through my fingers like fine sand. I knew he was somewhere nearby, somewhere deliberately beyond reach, watching as I faltered in a world I had once dominated.
I finally found him in the executive lounge, his back to me, looking out at the skyline like he owned it—not just the building, not just the city, but the invisible currents that ran through both. He hadn't heard me. He hadn't expected me. My chest tightened. Every nerve in my body screamed, Do something. Say something. Remind him who you are.
"Adrian," I called, my voice sharper than I intended. A fragment of my old authority laced my words. I hoped it would reach him.
He didn't turn immediately. He didn't need to. I could feel his awareness, the way it stretched backward through the room and found me, measuring me, assessing me. When he finally did turn, his eyes met mine, cool and distant, and the air between us thickened instantly.
"I have nothing to say to you," he said quietly, deliberately. Not loud, not cruel, just… final.
The words landed like stones in my chest. I stumbled slightly, a betrayal of my own balance, but I refused to let it show. Not here. Not in front of him. Not after everything I had endured to hold my place.
"You will speak," I hissed, trying to reclaim some fragment of control. "You will answer me. You cannot—"
"I can," he interrupted, his tone calm, precise. "And I choose not to."
The coldness in his gaze was absolute, suffocating. It stripped me bare, removed every illusion I had of influence or control. I realized with a sudden, piercing clarity that I no longer held any power over him. None. Not a shred. The realization hit me harder than any physical blow ever could. My throat burned, my hands trembled, but I forced them into my pockets to appear composed.
Victor appeared then, as if summoned by my faltering control, a shadow of panic dancing across his features. "Vivienne," he said sharply, voice tight with restrained anger. "Do not speak to him. Do not provoke him. You risk everything if you continue this."
"Risk everything?" I spat, the words bitter on my tongue. "Victor, everything has already been taken from me. Do you think your threats—your whispered deals and bribes—will restore anything? I am already behind. He doesn't even see me."
"You will ruin yourself," Victor said, the warning a tremor of fear in his otherwise rehearsed composure. "Stay away from him, or you will lose your position beside me. Do you understand?"
I swallowed hard. Yes, I understood. I understood that I was caught between two men—Adrian, who no longer saw me as a threat, who treated me like a memory, a ghost of something irrelevant. And Victor, desperate, controlling, trying to tether me to him with fear and the illusion of protection. I was trapped between the cold void of Adrian's indifference and the suffocating grip of Victor's insistence.
I backed away slightly, pretending to adjust my posture, pretending I could breathe freely. But inside, a storm raged. I felt panic, frustration, shame, and fury all colliding in a chaotic tempest. Adrian didn't need to raise a hand. He didn't need to move. His mere presence was a blade, slicing through every carefully constructed lie I had built around my sense of power.
"I am not afraid," I whispered finally, more to myself than to either of them. The words sounded hollow, even to me. I wanted to scream, to shake him, to remind him of the woman who had once been untouchable. But he didn't flinch. Not a twitch. Not a reaction. Just the unyielding wall of calm I had feared and admired in equal measure.
Victor's hand brushed my elbow, a subtle, controlling reminder of his presence. "Do not forget," he murmured, the threat soft but undeniable, "I am still your only anchor here. One misstep toward him, one slip, and you will have nothing."
I nodded, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes, hiding the tremor in my fingers. Yes. I understood. But the truth—the raw, undeniable truth—was that I was suffocating in this cage. Adrian had become a mirror of everything I had lost, everything I could no longer control, and Victor had become the bars of that cage, pressing against me, reminding me that no matter how desperately I clawed, freedom was impossible.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, a spark refused to die. A small, dangerous, defiant fire whispered that maybe—just maybe—I could survive this. That maybe the game wasn't over, and that even trapped between two men, even humiliated, even diminished, I could find a way to turn fear into power.
I turned my gaze back to Adrian, just for a fraction of a second, letting the warmth of my anger burn through the chill between us. His back straightened slightly, ever so subtly, as if he sensed my defiance. And in that moment, I realized something I hadn't admitted even to myself: I had not stopped fearing him. Not entirely. And that fear, twisted and sharp, was beginning to speak.
It spoke of desire, of challenge, of reckoning.
And I knew—deep down, unavoidably—that the next move I made would not be just for survival. It would be for vengeance. It would be for the whisper of power I had lost. It would be for Adrian.
Even if it meant risking everything.