VIVI'S POV
I stare at the text message for three full minutes before my phone rings.
Not the unknown number. My father.
I let it ring. Then it rings again. And again. On the fourth call, I answer.
"Where are you?" Marcus Laurent's voice is sharp. Angry. "The party started ten minutes ago. Everyone's asking for you."
"I left," I say. My voice sounds strange. Flat.
"You left? Vivienne, this is ridiculous. Get back here right now. Julian is waiting—"
"Julian is busy," I interrupt. "With Gianna. They were kissing in the hallway. I saw them."
Silence. For a second, I think he might apologize. Might say he's sorry. Might act like a real father for once in my life.
"Don't be dramatic," he finally says. "You probably misunderstood what you saw. Come back and we'll sort this out like adults."
Something breaks inside me. Something that's been cracking for years.
"No," I say quietly. "I'm done."
I hang up. Then I turn off my phone completely.
The taxi ride home feels like a dream. The driver keeps looking at me in the mirror, probably wondering why a girl in a fancy dress is crying in his back seat. I don't care. Let him wonder. Let everyone wonder.
My apartment is small and cold when I walk in. It's nothing like my father's mansion or the penthouse Julian promised we'd live in after the wedding. But it's mine. The only thing in my life that's actually mine.
I kick off my shoes and sit on the floor with my back against the door.
And I let myself remember.
I was seven when my mother died. Cancer. It happened fast. One day she was there, tucking me into bed and reading me stories. The next day she was gone.
My father didn't know what to do with a sad little girl. So he buried himself in work. Laurent Tech became his whole world. I became the ghost in his house.
Then, two years later, he married Celeste.
She came with Gianna, who was eight—one year older than me. Gianna had blonde hair and blue eyes and a smile that made adults melt. She knew how to charm people. How to make them love her.
I was quiet. Serious. I liked books and numbers instead of dolls and dresses.
"Why can't you be more like your sister?" Celeste would say. She never called Gianna my stepsister. Always "your sister." Like we were supposed to be the same.
But we weren't.
When I got straight A's, Celeste said, "Well, you don't have friends to distract you like Gianna does."
When I won the state math competition at twelve, my father patted my head and said, "Good job, sweetheart," then went back to his phone call.
When Gianna got a C+ in science, they threw her a party for "trying so hard."
I learned fast. Being smart didn't matter. Being quiet didn't matter. Nobody cared about the things I was good at.
So I stopped trying to make them care.
I graduated high school as valedictorian. My father came to the ceremony but left early for a business meeting. Celeste spent the whole time taking pictures of Gianna, who graduated with barely passing grades.
I went to Wharton. Top business school in the country. I studied finance until my eyes hurt. I graduated at the top of my class.
"You're so lucky you're naturally smart," Celeste said at my graduation dinner. "Gianna has to work twice as hard for half the grades."
Lucky. Like I didn't stay up until 2 AM studying. Like I didn't sacrifice everything to be the best.
That's when I met Victor Chen.
He was a guest speaker in my advanced finance class. Brilliant. A little bit dangerous. He talked about finding corruption in companies—following the money to catch the criminals.
After class, he pulled me aside.
"You see patterns others miss," he said. "I watched you during my presentation. Your eyes lit up when I showed the embezzlement case. You spotted the irregularity before I even pointed it out."
"I like puzzles," I admitted.
"What if I could teach you to solve real ones? Ones that matter?"
That's how Aria Chen was born.
Victor helped me create a fake identity. Aria Chen, financial consultant. We set up encrypted email accounts and cryptocurrency payment systems. I started taking cases—companies that suspected fraud but couldn't prove it.
I'd dig through their financial records. Find the patterns. Follow the money. Expose the criminals.
And nobody knew it was me. Not my father. Not Celeste. Not Gianna.
For the first time in my life, I was good at something that mattered. I was helping people. Saving companies. Catching bad guys.
I wasn't invisible anymore. I was powerful.
As Aria Chen, I've taken down three major fraud cases. Recovered millions of dollars. Sent corrupt executives to prison.
But as Vivienne Laurent? I'm still the quiet daughter nobody notices.
My phone buzzes on the floor beside me.
I turned it off. How is it buzzing?
I pick it up with shaking hands. The screen is black, but there's a notification light blinking. That's impossible. The phone is off.
Then the screen flickers to life on its own.
A video starts playing automatically.
My blood turns to ice.
It's security footage from the Plaza Hotel tonight. The hallway. Julian and Gianna kissing. The timestamp shows it was twenty minutes before I saw them.
The video zooms in. Shows their faces clearly. Shows Julian's hands on her. Shows everything.
Then the video cuts to black.
Text appears on my screen:
"I have fifteen more videos like this. Dating back three months. Julian and Gianna. Hotel rooms. His apartment. Her car. Would you like copies? Or would you prefer I send them to the society pages? Your choice, Miss Laurent. -D.C."
My heart pounds so hard I can hear it.
Another message appears:
"By the way, your phone's security is terrible. I've been inside your system for weeks. I know about Aria Chen. I know about every case you've worked. I know EVERYTHING. Check your laptop."
No. No, no, no.
I scramble to my feet and run to my desk. My laptop is closed. I never leave it closed. I always leave it on sleep mode.
I open it.
On the screen is a document I've never seen before. A financial analysis. But not one of mine.
It's an analysis of Laurent Tech. My father's company.
And it shows exactly how someone destroyed it. Step by step. Name by name. Dollar by dollar.
At the bottom, one line of text:
"Your father's company didn't fail by accident. It was murdered. And the killer is coming for you next. We need to talk. Tomorrow. 10 AM. Brew Coffee on 5th Avenue. Come alone, or I release everything I know about Aria Chen to the world. -Damien Cross"
I stop breathing.
Damien Cross. D.C.
The
most dangerous billionaire in New York.
And he knows everything about me.