Chapter 25
Vivian POV
The penthouse suite overlooked the city with floor-to-ceiling windows and marble floors—everything money could buy.
Everything that should have been mine.
I stood at the window with a glass of wine in my hand—red, expensive, the same color as the rage burning through my veins.
My phone buzzed on the glass coffee table. I walked over and picked it up.
A message from the private investigator: Found something. Call me.
I hit dial, and he answered on the first ring.
“Ms. Monroe.” His voice was gravelly.
“What did you find?” I took another sip of wine.
“Your sister’s been busy these past three years.” Papers rustled on his end. “Started from the bottom in London. Waitressing while pregnant p>
“I know all that.” I moved back to the window. “Tell me something I don’t know p>
“She had the baby—a boy, born three years ago in London. Name’s Noah Alexander Monroe p>
My hand tightened on the wine glass. “You’re sure it’s Damien’s p>
“DNA test would confirm it, but the timing lines up.” More papers rustled. “And there are photos. The kid has his eyes p>
“Send them to me.” I drained the rest of my wine. “All of them p>
“Already did.” He cleared his throat. “Check your email p>
I pulled up my email on my phone—six attachments. I opened the first one.
A little boy with black curls playing in a park. Those eyes—ice blue, unmistakably Blackwood.
Damien’s son.
The rage intensified. “Anything else?” I set down my empty glass.
“She’s been careful about keeping him hidden,” he said. “No social media presence. No public records linking her to the child beyond the birth certificate. She’s gone to great lengths to keep him secret p>
“Until now.” I smiled at my reflection in the window.
“Until now,” he agreed. “There’s one more thing p>
“What?” I walked to the bar and poured another glass.
“Damien’s been trying to see her.” His voice was careful. “Every day for the past week. Flowers. Showing up at her office. He was even waiting in her parking garage p>
My hand froze on the wine bottle. “He knows about the boy p>
“Seems like it.” Papers rustled again. “Saw him on a video call at some charity event. Made a whole scene p>
I closed my eyes and took a breath, forcing myself to stay calm.
“Thank you.” My voice came out steady. “Send me everything you have. Addresses. Schedules. Security details. Everything p>
“Will do.” He hesitated. “Ms. Monroe, if you’re planning something p>
“I’m not planning anything.” I hung up before he could finish.
I was planning everything.
I walked back to the window and stared out at the city. Somewhere down there was the nephew I’d never met, the child that should have been mine to raise in a Blackwood mansion.
But Aria had taken that from me.
Just like she’d taken everything else.
My phone buzzed again—this time, a call. I looked at the screen.
Sophia Clarke.
Perfect timing.
“Sophia, darling.” I answered with false sweetness. “How lovely to hear from you p>
“Vivian.” Her voice was sharp. “We need to talk p>
“About Damien?” I settled onto the white leather sofa.
“About your sister.” She practically spat the words. “Do you know what she’s done p>
“Enlighten me.” I examined my manicure.
“She’s back in the city, running some company, and Damien is obsessed.” Sophia’s voice rose with each word. “He’s at her office every day. Sending flowers. Leaving messages. He barely acknowledges I exist anymore p>
“Anymore?” I raised an eyebrow. “Were you two together p>
“We had an understanding.” She sounded defensive now. “Until she came back p>
“An understanding.” I repeated slowly. “How quaint p>
“This isn’t funny, Vivian.” Sophia’s breathing was heavy. “She’s ruining everything. Again p>
“Again?” I leaned back against the cushions. “What did she ruin the first time p>
“She trapped Damien with that contract marriage.” Sophia’s hatred was clear. “He was supposed to be free after the divorce. But now she’s back and he can’t see anyone else p>
“Can’t?” I smiled. “Or won’t p>
“Does it matter?” Sophia snapped. “Either way, we need to do something p>
“We?” I traced the rim of my wine glass. “What exactly are you proposing p>
“I don’t know.” She sounded frustrated. “But we can’t just let her waltz back into town and take over. She needs to be put in her place p>
“And what place is that?” I asked softly.
“Gone.” Sophia didn’t hesitate. “Away from Damien. Away from all of us. Preferably back to whatever hole she crawled out of p>
Now this was interesting. Sophia Clarke was more than just jealous—she was desperate.
Desperate people were useful.
“Meet me tomorrow.” I stood up and walked to my desk. “Café Noir. Two o’clock p>
“Why?” Sophia’s suspicion was clear.
“Because I have a plan,” I said, pulling out a leather notebook. “And you’re going to help me execute it p>
“What kind of plan?” She sounded wary.
“The kind that gets rid of Aria Monroe once and for all.” I smiled at my reflection in the window. “Interested p>
A pause. Then, “I’m listening p>
“Good.” I opened the notebook. “Tomorrow. Don’t be late p>
I hung up and sat down at my desk, opening my laptop.
Time to do some research of my own.
I pulled up Monroe Global’s website—impressive that Aria had built this from nothing while I’d been living off our parents’ money and Damien’s occasional attention.
The comparison made my skin crawl.
I clicked through the site: company history, leadership team, recent acquisitions.
Then I found it—the “About Us” section.
And there was Aria in a professional photo with the CEO title, looking confident and powerful and everything I should have been.
The rage bubbled up again. She was supposed to be broken, destroyed, living in poverty somewhere while raising a bastard child alone.
Instead, she was thriving.
While I was… what? A failed socialite? A woman whose only accomplishment was seducing someone else’s husband?
No. That wasn’t fair.
I’d worked hard too. I’d been the golden child, the perfect daughter, everything our parents ever wanted.
I closed my eyes as the memories came rushing in. I was twelve again, hiding behind the staircase as Mother gushed over Aria’s scholarship. “She’s the brilliant one, Charles. Vivian’s beauty won’t last p>
The words had seared into me, a wound that never closed. Aria, always stealing my spotlight, even when I played the perfect daughter. Seducing Damien, ruining her—it had been my way of proving I was better.
But none of it mattered now. Because Aria had won.
She had money. Power. A company.
But I had something she didn’t.
I had nothing left to lose.
I pulled out my phone again and scrolled through my contacts, finding the number I needed.
A journalist—one who specialized in exposés, one who owed me a favor.
I sent a message: I have a story for you. About Aria Monroe. Interested?
The response came within minutes: Always interested in Monroe stories. What do you have?
I smiled and typed back: Everything.
Then I opened the photos the investigator had sent—the little boy in the park. Noah.
My nephew. Damien’s son.
The child that proved Aria had been telling the truth all along.
But did anyone else need to know that? Did the world need to know she’d kept Damien’s heir hidden for three years, that she’d denied him access to his own son?
Public opinion was a powerful weapon, and I knew exactly how to use it.
I forwarded one of the photos to the journalist—not the clearest one, just enough to show there was a child, nothing identifying.
Then I added: Aria Monroe has been hiding Damien Blackwood’s secret heir for three years. Kept his own son from him. I can prove it.
The response was immediate: When can we meet?
I looked at my calendar. Tomorrow was busy—Sophia at two—but I could make time.
Tomorrow evening. Seven o’clock. The Dorchester Hotel bar.
I’ll be there.
I set down my phone, picked up my wine glass, and raised it to my reflection.
“To get revenge,” I whispered. “And to make Aria Monroe pay for everything she’s stolen from me p>
That night, I couldn’t sleep, my mind racing with plans and possibilities.
Exposing Aria’s secret would hurt her, damage her reputation, maybe even affect her company.
But was it enough?
I got out of bed and walked to my home office, pulling out the folder the investigator had sent—everything he’d found during Aria’s three years abroad.
I spread the papers across my desk: bank statements, rental agreements, employment records.
She’d struggled. Really struggled. Worked multiple jobs and lived in a tiny apartment.
Good. She should have suffered after what she’d done.
What had she done, exactly?
The thought came unbidden. She’d married Damien, got pregnant, and was thrown out.
But whose fault was that? Mine. The voice in my head was quiet but insistent. You seduced him. You told him she was lying.
I shook my head and pushed the thought away.
No. Aria had gotten pregnant on purpose, trapped Damien, tried to steal the life that should have been mine.
Except… had she?
I remembered that night—the night I’d found them together. Damien and Aria at the lodge.