Vivienne barely had time to process the events of the night before as she stepped out of her apartment the next morning. Damon had texted her just before dawn, informing her of their first public appearance as a married couple, scheduled for breakfast with potential investors. There had been no pleasantries, no sign that the man who'd held her possessively all evening was capable of anything more than cold, calculated moves.
She tightened her coat around herself, steadying her nerves as she approached the gleaming black car parked at the curb. Damon was already seated inside, dressed impeccably in a crisp charcoal suit. His gaze was fixed on his phone, brows knit in concentration, as if nothing unusual had happened last night. As she slid in beside him, he glanced up, giving her a nod of acknowledgment.
"Good morning," he said, his tone polite but distant. "You're on time. That's a good start."
Vivienne clenched her jaw, determined not to rise to his bait. "I always am."
The silence stretched as the car pulled into traffic, the city rushing past the tinted windows. Vivienne shifted uncomfortably, her mind racing with questions. How long could they maintain this facade? And why did it feel as though the tension between them wasn't merely for show?
They arrived at the restaurant, a high-end establishment Damon had reserved for their exclusive breakfast meeting. As they stepped out, Damon took her hand, his touch firm but impersonal. He guided her through the entrance as if this were their regular routine, his fingers cool and controlled around hers. Vivienne felt a strange sense of loss as she glanced at his expression—completely blank, as though last night's warmth had vanished.
Inside, they were greeted by two investors, both watching Damon and Vivienne with expressions of polite curiosity. The older of the two, Mr. Harmon, smiled, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at their clasped hands.
"Damon, Vivienne, what a pleasure," he greeted, shaking Damon's hand and then hers. "Congratulations are in order, I hear."
"Thank you, Mr. Harmon," Damon replied smoothly, a faint smile curling his lips. "It's been an exciting change."
Vivienne forced a smile, aware of Damon's hand slipping to her back again, an ever-present reminder of his control. She braced herself as the breakfast began, every word exchanged between her and Damon timed and measured, a delicate balancing act in which they had to appear not only in love but completely at ease.
But as the meeting wore on, Damon began steering the conversation toward Vivienne, surprising her by weaving her into his anecdotes. He spoke of their so-called "shared love for the arts" and how they'd "spent hours debating architecture in Paris" on a recent trip, tales she had no memory of, yet he recounted them with such detail that even she almost believed it. His words flowed effortlessly, each one calculated to build an illusion that left her momentarily lost.
She barely noticed Mr. Harmon leaning toward her, his tone warm. "You must have a great deal of patience, Mrs. Sutherland. A man as busy as Damon needs someone strong beside him."
Vivienne managed a smile, choosing her words carefully. "Patience isn't the right word, Mr. Harmon. I think I'd call it… resilience." She shot Damon a quick look, catching a spark of amusement in his eyes, which disappeared almost instantly.
"Yes," Damon added, his voice laced with a subtle edge. "Vivienne is resilient, I'll give her that."
There it was again—that unspoken tension, simmering beneath their professional charade. A quiet challenge passing between them, a dance of control neither was willing to surrender.
As they said their goodbyes, Damon's hand lingered on the small of her back, guiding her out of the restaurant. They barely made it to the car before he dropped his mask, his expression hardening.
"You handled yourself well," he said, his tone neutral. "But remember, every word matters. Next time, stay in line with the story."
Vivienne turned to him, eyes narrowed. "I'm playing this part exactly as you instructed, Damon. But if you're expecting me to just follow blindly, you'll be disappointed."
A flicker of something—was it admiration?—passed over his face before it vanished. "Noted. Just remember, this is business. Nothing more, nothing less."
Vivienne clenched her fists, biting back the words she wanted to say. But she held her silence, staring out the window as they drove in tense quiet. She'd signed up for this. She'd agreed to Damon's terms. Yet, as they neared his office building, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were both being pulled into something far more dangerous than either of them anticipated.
Damon glanced over at her as they stopped, his expression unreadable. "I have another meeting. You can take the rest of the day off."
"Thank you," she replied stiffly, stepping out of the car before he could see the frustration in her eyes.
She watched him go, feeling a strange emptiness as he disappeared into the building. The lines between their roles had blurred in ways she hadn't foreseen, leaving her with questions she had no answers to. But one thing was clear: if Damon thought she would play by his rules without pushing back, he was about to learn just how resilient she could be.
Vivienne barely made it through her apartment door before the tension from the morning flooded over her. She tossed her coat over a chair, pacing the length of her living room as she replayed every word Damon had spoken, every guarded look he'd cast her way. The man was impossible—demanding, calculating, and as closed off as a steel vault. Yet, even now, she couldn't shake the pull he had on her, the way he'd woven their backstory with such practiced ease, almost like it meant something to him. Almost like he wanted her to believe it.
She stopped in front of the mirror by her bookshelf, catching her reflection. Her expression was sharp, defensive, but she saw something else too—a flicker of vulnerability she couldn't ignore.