Vivienne's POV
The dinner invitation arrived two hours later.
Crown Prince Adrian requests the honor of Lady Vivienne Laurent's presence at an intimate royal dinner this evening. Seven o'clock. Attendance is mandatory.
It's a trap, Eleanor said, reading over my shoulder. Celeste will be there. Beaumont. All of them. They're closing in.
Then I'll give them exactly what they expect. I folded the invitation carefully. A mysterious widow with nothing to hide.
Isabelle
I can do this. I met her eyes. I survived the Borderlands. I can survive one dinner.
But my hands shook as I dressed. Because this wasn't just any dinner. I'd be sitting across from the people who destroyed me. Smiling at them. Pretending I was someone else.
You are someone else. Isabelle Ashford died in exile. You're Vivienne now.
The royal dining room was smaller than I expected. Intimate. Only twelve guests seated around one table—meaning everyone would hear every word, see every reaction.
I arrived exactly on time. Adrian stood near the window, already watching for me. When our eyes met, something passed between us—a connection I couldn't name, couldn't fight.
Lady Vivienne. He crossed to me, offering his arm. You look beautiful.
Thank you, Your Highness. My voice barely worked.
He led me to the table, and my heart stopped when I saw the seating arrangement.
Directly across from me: Celeste and Vincent.
My stepsister. My former fiancé. The two people who'd orchestrated my downfall.
This wasn't coincidence. Someone arranged this deliberately.
Celeste's eyes narrowed when she saw me approach. Lady Vivienne. How... lovely to see you again.
Duchess Harcourt. I forced a smile. The pleasure is mine.
I sat down, and suddenly Vincent was staring at me like he'd seen a ghost. His wine glass trembled in his hand.
Have we met before? he asked, voice slurred. He'd already been drinking. You seem so familiar.
Celeste kicked him under the table—hard. I heard his grunt of pain. Don't be ridiculous, Vincent. We've never met Lady Vivienne.
But Vincent wouldn't stop staring. Your eyes. The way you hold your head. It reminds me of—
Of what, Duke Harcourt? I kept my voice cool, distant.
Someone I once knew. Someone who... He trailed off, taking another long drink.
Someone you destroyed. Someone you betrayed. Someone you left to die.
Adrian appeared beside my chair, pulling it closer to his own seat—closer to him, farther from Vincent's drunken staring. The protective gesture didn't go unnoticed. Celeste's jaw clenched. Beaumont watched with calculating eyes from the head of the table.
Dinner was served, but I couldn't eat. Every bite would choke me. I was sitting three feet away from the man who'd promised to love me forever, then abandoned me without a word. From the woman who'd forged evidence to destroy my life.
And they didn't even recognize me.
So, Lady Vivienne, Beaumont said smoothly, cutting through the small talk. Tell us about your late husband. What was his name again?
The table went quiet. Everyone watching. Waiting.
Lord Henri Laurent, I replied, using the name Jasper had created. He died two years ago.
How tragic. Beaumont's smile was sharp. And yet, I've searched the southern province records extensively. No record of a Henri Laurent exists.
My blood turned to ice. Perhaps you didn't search thoroughly enough, Lord Chancellor.
Or perhaps, he continued, Lady Vivienne Laurent didn't exist until very recently. Perhaps she appeared from nowhere, with fabricated credentials and a convenient fortune.
The accusation hung in the air like poison.
That's quite an accusation, I said carefully.
Is it? Beaumont leaned forward. Because I find mysterious widows with convenient pasts very suspicious. Especially ones who arrive at court just as certain scandals begin.
Adrian's fork hit his plate with a sharp clang. When he spoke, his voice was deadly quiet. Lord Chancellor Beaumont. You will apologize to Lady Vivienne immediately.
Beaumont blinked. Your Highness, I was merely
Insulting my guest. Adrian's eyes were cold fury. Accusing a lady under royal protection of fraud without evidence. If you value your Council seat, I suggest you choose your next words very carefully.
The entire table froze. Crown Prince Adrian never defended anyone. Never showed favoritism. Never threatened Council members publicly.
Beaumont's face paled. My apologies, Lady Vivienne. I meant no offense.
But his eyes promised this wasn't over.
Across the table, Celeste watched the exchange with growing alarm. I could see the wheels turning in her mind. Why was the Crown Prince so protective of this stranger?
Vincent continued staring at me, wine-drunk and haunted. Isabelle, he mumbled. You have Isabelle's eyes.
Celeste kicked him again. Vincent, stop drinking.
Can't stop thinking about her. His words slurred together. I destroyed her. Traded love for a Council seat. She probably died in the Borderlands because I was a coward.
My throat closed. Hearing him admit it—hearing him confess the betrayal, felt like drowning.
Adrian's hand found mine under the table. Warm. Steady. Protective.
The simple touch nearly broke me.
Dinner dragged on forever. Every course was torture. Celeste watched me like a hawk. Vincent kept mumbling about the past. Beaumont smiled his snake smile. And Adrian's hand stayed wrapped around mine, hidden from view but burning against my skin.
When dessert finally ended, I stood immediately. Thank you for a lovely evening, Your Highness. I should—
Walk with me. Adrian rose, still holding my hand. I insist.
It wasn't a request.
He led me out to the palace terrace, away from prying eyes and listening ears. The night air was cold, but his hand was warm.
What was that? I tried to pull away. You can't defend me like that. People will talk—
Let them talk. He turned me to face him, hands on my shoulders. Tell me the truth. Who hurt you?
What?
You heard Vincent talking about someone named Isabelle. The way you looked—like hearing that name physically hurt you. His thumbs rubbed gentle circles on my shoulders. Who was she? What happened to her?
She was me. She was destroyed by everyone she trusted.
It doesn't matter
It matters to me. His voice cracked. Someone hurt you. Badly. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at the Harcourts, at Beaumont, at anyone in this cursed palace. I want to know who. I want to destroy them for what they did.
The fierce protectiveness in his voice nearly undid me. Here was a man who barely knew me, ready to go to war on my behalf.
Why? I whispered. Why do you care so much?
Because when I look at you, I see someone fighting so hard to survive. Someone who's been broken but refuses to stay broken. His hand cupped my cheek. Because you make me feel alive for the first time in years. And because whoever hurt you—they don't deserve to keep hurting you.
Tears burned behind my eyes. Adrian
Tell me. His forehead touched mine. Please. Let me help you.
And God help me, I almost did. Almost told him everything. Almost confessed that I was Isabelle Ashford, the girl his half-sister, the one Beaumont tried to eliminate.
But then I remembered: he was engaged to Seraphina Blackwell. He was the Crown Prince. And I was a ghost seeking revenge.
Everyone I ever trusted, I whispered. They all hurt me.
I pulled away from him and ran.
Vivienne, wait!
But I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. I fled through the palace corridors, half-blind with tears, until I reached Eleanor's carriage.
Drive, I gasped to the coachman. Now.
As we pulled away, I looked back. Adrian stood on the terrace, watching me leave, his expression devastated.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Eleanor was waiting when I stumbled through the townhouse door.
Jasper just sent word, she said, face grave. Celeste's investigation found something.
My heart stopped. What?
A witness. Someone who saw you in the Borderlands two years ago. Eleanor's voice shook. They're bringing him to the palace tomorrow. By noon, Celeste will have proof that Vivienne Laurent and Isabelle Ashford are the same person.
The world tilted beneath my feet. How long do we have?
Twelve hours. Eleanor grabbed my shoulders. Then everyone knows the truth. Including Adrian.