Chapter 84
Chapter 84:
“So?” Vivian mumbled through the mask. “Let them come. The heir is dead. Or lost in some gutter p>
“Don’t be stupid, Vivian,” Eleanor snapped. “If the Vanes are here, it means they are desperate. Grief makes people blind. Grief makes people generous. They control the Sterling Conglomerate, Vivian. That is a level of power even Sterling Thorne cannot touch p>
Vivian paused. She peeled the mask off slowly, revealing skin that was perfect, dewy, and cold. She looked at her mother in the mirror.
“You mean… they need a granddaughter,” Vivian said, a slow smile spreading across her face.
“Exactly,” Eleanor said. “We hold a memorial dinner. We invite them. You wear black. You cry. You tell them how much you miss the cousin you never met. You fill the void p>
Vivian stood up. She practiced a sad smile in the mirror. She tilted her head, widened her eyes. It was convincing. It was predatory.
“I can do that,” Vivian said. “I can be whatever they want me to be p>
Miles away, in the penthouse of the Obsidian Tower, Aurora sat by the expansive floor-to-ceiling window. The city below was a blur of rain-streaked lights.
She rubbed her left arm, just above the elbow. It was a phantom sensation, an old ache that flared up whenever the weather turned this violent. She scratched the skin absently, her fingers tracing the outline of the crescent-shaped birthmark hidden beneath her silk sleeve.
She looked down. The mark was pale against her skin, a permanent reminder of a past she couldn’t fully remember.
She looked out at the storm. A sudden wave of melancholy washed over her—a deep, aching sadness that felt heavy in the room.
She shook her head, dismissing the feeling. She had work to do. The new security protocols for the building needed her authorization.
Your next chapter is here gαℓησνℯ𝓁s․com
She turned back to her computer screen. The lines of code were waiting. But as she typed, her hand kept drifting back to her arm, to the mark that felt heavy, as if it were an anchor dragging her back to something she had tried to forget.
The sunroom of the Kensington estate was designed to be cheerful, but today the grey light filtering through the glass roof made it feel like a mausoleum. Matriarch Kensington sat in her wheelchair, a blanket draped over her legs. Her eyes were cloudy, lost in the middle distance.
Vivian entered. She was wearing a dress that was entirely uncharacteristic—a modest, high-necked navy piece with no jewelry. She carried a tray with a porcelain teapot.
“Grandmother,” Vivian said softly. She knelt beside the wheelchair, placing the tray on a low table. “I brought you some chamomile. It helps with the nerves p>
The Matriarch turned her head slowly. “Vivian? Is that you p>
“Yes, Grandmother.” Vivian poured the tea. She made sure her hand trembled slightly as she offered the cup. “I… I heard the Vanes are coming. To mourn p>
The Matriarch sighed, a ragged sound. “Yes. To mourn our loss. Our sweet Aurora p>
Vivian squeezed out a tear. She had practiced this. Recalled times she didn’t get the purses she wanted. The frustration manifested as moisture in her eyes.
“I miss her too,” Vivian lied. “Even though I didn’t know her… I feel like a part of me is missing. My sister p>