Chapter 6 - Chapter 4

Vivienne awoke the next morning to the familiar buzz of her phone, pulling her from a fitful sleep. She rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the residual tension from the night before, and glanced at the screen.

Damon: "We have a charity gala tonight. Formal attire. I'll pick you up at 8."

Vivienne stared at the message, her stomach twisting. Another public appearance. Another night of playing the dutiful wife. She'd signed up for this, she reminded herself, but every encounter with Damon was proving to be more of a challenge than she'd expected. The game was already becoming exhausting, and yet… there was something about the way he looked at her, the brief moments of vulnerability he allowed her to see, that kept her on edge.

She forced herself to get up, mentally preparing for yet another night by Damon's side. But as she was getting ready that evening, her phone buzzed again.

Unknown: "You don't know me, but I'd suggest watching your back. The Sutherland family doesn't take well to outsiders. They don't like secrets, either."

Vivienne's heart skipped a beat, her hands tightening around the phone. She read the message again, a chill running down her spine. She hadn't shared her private number with anyone outside of Damon's circle. Whoever this was, they knew about her arrangement with Damon—and they were watching.

Her first instinct was to call Damon, but she hesitated. He would dismiss it, she was sure. To him, everything was a matter of control and perception, and her sudden concern might look like weakness. No, she'd have to handle this herself. She deleted the message, took a steadying breath, and finished getting ready.

By the time Damon arrived to pick her up, Vivienne had composed herself. She stepped into the car, catching his gaze as he looked her over. His sharp, assessing eyes softened just for a moment, but then he slipped back into his familiar, unreadable demeanor.

"You look stunning," he remarked, his tone surprisingly genuine.

"Thank you." She forced a smile, feeling a flicker of doubt. Should she tell him about the message? Before she could decide, he leaned closer, adjusting a stray earring that had gone askew, his fingers brushing her cheek in a way that sent a shiver down her spine.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Damon shifted, his gaze intent on her. "Tonight is important," he said. "This charity gala will have the media and several influential names in attendance. Stick close to me. I don't need any surprises."

Vivienne bristled slightly but nodded. "Understood."

The gala was hosted at an opulent hotel, its grand ballroom filled with the city's elite. As they entered, Vivienne took Damon's arm, falling into step beside him. She felt his eyes on her from time to time, a subtle reminder of his presence, his control. The press swarmed them as they moved further into the ballroom, snapping photos, throwing questions. Vivienne's smile was unwavering, her responses polished.

But even as they made their rounds, she couldn't shake the weight of the anonymous message. Every face in the room felt like a threat, every glance a potential danger. She wondered who else knew about their arrangement, who might be waiting for her to slip up.

As they took a break by the bar, Damon turned to her, his voice low. "You're tense."

Vivienne met his gaze, choosing her words carefully. "It's nothing. Just the crowd."

He studied her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. "If this is too much for you—"

"I'm fine," she interrupted, her tone a touch too sharp. She regretted it immediately, softening her voice. "I appreciate the concern, Damon. But I can handle myself."

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly masked by his usual calm. He was about to respond when a tall, elegant woman approached, her gaze fixated on Damon with a mixture of curiosity and familiarity. Her blonde hair was styled in perfect waves, her red dress clinging to her figure as she gave him a smile that was far too intimate.

"Damon. It's been too long," she purred, her voice honeyed.

Vivienne tensed as she watched Damon's face shift, his expression briefly hardening. "Melissa," he greeted coolly, not offering anything more.

Melissa's eyes shifted to Vivienne, her smile widening. "And you must be Vivienne. Damon's… wife, I hear?"

The way she lingered on the word "wife" made Vivienne's stomach turn, but she held her ground, offering a polite smile. "Yes, that's right."

Melissa looked back at Damon, her gaze challenging. "I never imagined you'd settle down, Damon. Especially not with someone so… quiet."

Damon's jaw tightened, his eyes glinting with something dark. "People change, Melissa. I suppose some more than others."

A tense silence fell between them, and Vivienne felt the weight of the exchange settle over her. Whoever Melissa was, she was clearly someone from Damon's past—someone who wasn't pleased to see him with her. Vivienne sensed an unspoken history between them, something that felt dangerously close to a warning.

As Melissa finally drifted away, Damon's hand found the small of Vivienne's back, his touch a bit more possessive than before.

"Who was she?" Vivienne asked, keeping her tone neutral.

"An old acquaintance," Damon replied, his voice clipped. "And someone you'd do well to ignore."

Vivienne wanted to press further, but his tone left no room for discussion. She could feel his grip on her tightening, a silent reminder that they were still playing their parts. But beneath his calm exterior, she sensed his tension, his discomfort.

As the night wore on, Vivienne tried to focus on their performance, but her mind kept drifting back to the anonymous message, to Melissa's thinly veiled contempt. She was starting to realize that this arrangement was far more tangled than she'd anticipated, that Damon's past—and maybe her own—was clawing its way into their fragile alliance.

When the gala finally ended, they slipped back into the car, the silence between them heavy. Damon leaned back, his gaze fixed out the window, his expression distant. For the first time, he seemed almost vulnerable, and Vivienne felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. Whoever Melissa was, she'd gotten under his skin.

After a moment, Damon turned to her, his expression guarded. "Tonight went well," he said, as if convincing himself.

Vivienne nodded, studying him carefully. "Damon… is there something I should know? About Melissa, or anyone else who might… have a problem with this?"

His eyes flashed, but he quickly masked it, a wry smile curling his lips. "You don't need to worry about Melissa. She's nothing."

His answer was too quick, too rehearsed, and it left Vivienne feeling unsettled. She could sense he was hiding something—something that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed illusion they'd created. But as the car slowed to a stop outside her apartment, she decided to let it go, at least for tonight.

As she reached for the door, his hand caught her wrist, stopping her. His gaze softened, just for a moment, a rare glimpse of something that felt almost real. "Vivienne… if there's ever anything you're uncertain about, come to me first. Understood?"

She met his gaze, the intensity in his eyes startling. "Understood."

Releasing her wrist, Damon leaned back, watching her as she stepped out of the car. She closed the door, feeling his eyes on her as she walked up to her building.

Inside, the message from earlier replayed in her mind. She was beginning to realize that she wasn't just Damon's convenient cover story—she was part of a world filled with secrets, a place where everyone wore masks, and no one could be fully trusted.

And as she lay in bed, staring at the darkened ceiling, she couldn't shake the feeling that her carefully constructed life was about to unravel, one layer at a time.