Vivienne's POV
My credit card gets declined at the coffee shop.
Again.
I force a smile at the barista and pretend to fumble through my purse. "Oh silly me, I must have grabbed the wrong card. Let me try another."
The second card works, but barely. I can almost hear it screaming as it processes the seven-dollar charge.
This is humiliating. I'm Vivienne Hart. I used to drop thousands on a single shopping trip without blinking. Now I'm sweating over coffee.
I need Ethan to commit. Soon. Before my creditors start calling him directly.
My phone rings as I'm leaving the coffee shop. It's Jennifer, Ethan's assistant.
"Ms. Hart? You have a package here at Blackwell Capital. It's marked urgent."
A package? I wasn't expecting anything. "Who's it from?"
"There's no return address. But it's addressed specifically to you."
Interesting. "I'll be right there."
Twenty minutes later, I'm at Ethan's office building, my heart pounding with possibility. Maybe it's from Ethan. Maybe he's finally ready to make things official.
Jennifer hands me a small padded envelope with my name written in neat handwriting. Female handwriting.
"When did this arrive?" I ask.
"About an hour ago. A woman dropped it off at the front desk." Jennifer's expression is carefully neutral, but I catch something in her eyes. Judgment? Pity?
I don't open it in front of her. Instead, I take it to the fancy bathroom down the hall and lock myself in a stall.
My hands shake slightly as I tear open the envelope.
Inside is a diamond engagement ring. Ethan's ring. The one he gave to that boring little fiancée of his.
There's also a note. Typed, not handwritten:
"He was always yours. I'm just keeping him warm. Take him back—I won't stand in your way."
I read it three times, a slow smile spreading across my face.
She ran away. The little mouse actually ran away.
This is perfect. Better than perfect. I was trying to figure out how to convince Ethan to break up with her without looking like the villain. But she did it for me.
I slip the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly. Like it was always meant to be mine.
Because it was. Ethan was always supposed to be mine.
Five years ago, I made a mistake. I thought Henri's money and title were more important than love. I thought being a rich man's trophy wife would make me happy.
I was wrong. Henri was boring and old and suspicious. He controlled every penny I spent. And when he found out about my affair with his business partner, he divorced me and left me with nothing.
Nothing except debts. So many debts. Shopping habits don't just disappear, and Henri's lawyers made sure I got barely enough to survive.
But I'm a survivor. And I know exactly how to fix this.
Ethan built an empire in the five years I was gone. He's rich now. Really rich. And the best part? He never got over me. I could see it in his eyes the moment I walked back into his life. That desperate hope. That old love trying to rekindle.
All I have to do is fan those flames.
The fiancée running away just made everything easier. No messy breakup. No public drama. Just a clean slate for me to step back into.
I pull out my phone and text Ethan: "We need to talk. Your place, tonight. It's important."
His response comes immediately: "Can't tonight. Family emergency."
Family emergency? He doesn't have family except his mother.
I frown, but text back: "Tomorrow then? The 8 AM meeting?"
"Yes. Tomorrow. We'll talk then."
Perfect. Tomorrow I'll tell him I know about his fiancée leaving. I'll comfort him. I'll remind him of what we used to have. I'll make him remember why he loved me.
And then I'll make sure he never forgets again.
I'm walking back through the lobby when I overhear two receptionists whispering.
"Did you hear? Mr. Blackwell's fiancée is missing."
"Missing? I thought she just left him."
"No, like actually missing. The police are involved. Someone filed a report."
I freeze, my hand tightening around my purse.
Police? That seems extreme for a simple breakup.
Unless...
Unless the little mouse is smarter than I thought. Unless this is some kind of play for sympathy. Make herself look like a victim so Ethan feels guilty and comes running after her.
I won't let that happen.
I pull out my phone and do something I should have done three days ago. I google "Isla Monroe."
The search results make my blood run cold.
The first article is from today. Posted two hours ago: "Fashion Icon Isla Monroe Missing After Engagement Scandal."
Fashion icon? Isla?
I click the article and my screen fills with photos. Isla at fashion shows. Isla on magazine covers. Isla being called "the mysterious genius behind Lumière Couture."
Lumière Couture. The fashion empire that's worth half a billion dollars.
Ethan's boring little fiancée is a secret billionaire CEO?
I scroll faster, my heart racing. There are articles about her building the company from nothing. About her keeping her identity secret for years. About her being one of the youngest self-made female billionaires in the country.
This can't be real. That plain, quiet woman who let Ethan walk all over her is actually this powerful?
Then I see it. An article from three hours ago with a photo that makes me want to scream.
It's a picture of the envelope I'm holding. Someone photographed me picking it up at the front desk.
The caption reads: "Vivienne Hart receives mysterious package at Blackwell Capital. Sources say it contains evidence of fraud scheme involving Ethan Blackwell and his missing fiancée."
Fraud scheme? What fraud scheme?
My phone starts ringing. Unknown number. I answer without thinking.
"Ms. Hart?" A man's voice. Professional. Cold. "This is Detective Morrison with the NYPD. We need to ask you some questions about Isla Monroe's disappearance."
"I don't know anything about—"
"We have security footage of you receiving a package from Ms. Monroe this morning. We need to know what was inside."
My mind races. "It was just... it was personal. Nothing important."
"Ms. Hart, this is a missing persons investigation. If you're withholding evidence—"
"I'm not withholding anything!" My voice comes out too sharp, too defensive.
"Then you won't mind coming down to the station to make a statement."
I hang up, my hands shaking.
This is bad. This is very bad.
How did a simple plan to win back my ex-boyfriend turn into a police investigation?
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. I open it and my blood turns to ice.
It's a photo. Of me. From five years ago. With Henri's business partner. The affair that ended my marriage.
Below the photo, a message: "I know what you did in Paris. I know about the debts. I know everything. If you don't back off from Ethan immediately, everyone else will know too. This is your only warning."
Someone is threatening me.
Someone who knows my secrets.
Someone who's been watching.
I look around the empty hallway, suddenly feeling like I'm being hunted.
Who sent this? Isla? But she's supposed to be missing.
Unless she's not really missing at all.
Unless this whole thing is a trap.
And I just walked right into it.
My phone rings again. Ethan this time.
"Where are you?" His voice sounds panicked. "I need to talk to you right now."
"Ethan, what's going on—"
"Did you threaten Isla? Did you do something to make her disappear?"
My mouth goes dry. "What? No! I didn't—"
"The police just told me someone sent her threatening messages. Messages connected to my business. Messages that might be connected to you."
"That's insane! I never threatened her!"
"Then why did she run, Vivienne? Why did she leave that ring for you? What did you do?"
I close my eyes, realizing too late that I've been played.
Isla didn't run away because she was weak.
She ran away because she was setting a trap.
And I just became the prime suspect in her disappearance.