Vivienne's POV

I had invested six years into Livingstone Enterprises, working my way up the corporate ladder, putting in my time, intelligence, everything for Adrian Sinclair.

And then, she showed up.

Lillian Hawthorne.

The woman who breezed into Adrian's life and snatched my position. Like, what in the hell? After all the effort I put in?

I stood outside his office, my manicured nails digging into my palm as I watched her through the glass walls. She sat behind the big oak desk, her hands dancing gracefully on the laptop while her expression was stoic, speaking into the phone.

That was supposed to be my desk.

That was supposed to be my job.

I clenched my jaw-my heart burning with resentment.

Adrian had always been cold, distant, impossible to read. But I had been patient. I had played my role well-the efficient, loyal assistant who knew him better than anyone else.

I had been waiting for my chance.

And then, out of nowhere, he married her.

A nobody. A woman who hadn't earned her place.

I refused to accept it.

---

That afternoon, I cornered her in the executive lounge.

She had just refilled her coffee when I stepped forward, blocking her way. She looked up at me, those infuriatingly calm black eyes locking with mine.

"You don't belong here," I said coolly, arms crossed.

Lillian arched a brow. "Excuse me?"

"I've worked for Adrian for years," I continued, my tone unyielding, an edge to my voice. "I know this company, and I know him. You think you can just waltz in here, play the wife and assistant role, and it's all gonna be just dandy?"

Her lips opened, and behind the mask of indifference, that flash of tenseness crossed her face.

She was hiding something.

She wasn’t just some random woman Adrian married for convenience. There was something else.

Something dangerous.

“I’m not here to replace you,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee, her voice even. “I just do what’s required of me.”

I scoffed. “Right. A contract wife playing the doting assistant. How noble.”

Lillian didn’t flinch. That annoyed me.

I had wanted a reaction, wanted her to feel small, an outsider.

But all she gave me was a polite smile.

"You seem upset, Vivienne. Maybe you should take a break."

I wanted to slap the cup from her hands.

Instead, I forced a tight smile and stepped closer. "Enjoy your time here while you can, Lillian." My voice lowered. "Because people like you don't last long in Adrian's world."

She held my gaze for a long moment before responding with, "I guess we'll see."

---

That evening, still fuming, I sat in my office when the door swung open.

Adrian walked in, his presence commanding as always, his blue eyes sharp as they fixed on me.

I straightened immediately. "Mr. Sinclair."

"Close the door."

I did as he asked, but my stomach twisted. He rarely used that tone with me.

He leaned against my desk, arms crossed. "Stay away from Lillian."

I blinked. "Excuse me?

"You heard me." His voice was even, but with a deadly undertone. "You don't have to like her. But you will respect her."

I forced a laugh. "Adrian, I was just-"

"This isn't a discussion," he interrupted. "If I hear about you causing problems, you won't have a job here anymore."

My heart clenched.

He had ***never*** spoken to me like that before.

Over her?

She wasn't even his real wife!

I swallowed my rage and forced a small nod. "Of course, sir."

Adrian held my gaze for a second longer before turning and walking out.

The moment he was gone, I grabbed the nearest pen and snapped it in half.

This wasn't over. ---

A few days later, I was flipping through business magazines when something caught my eye.

It was a picture of Adrian and Lillian at some charity gala.

Adrian looked as he always did: cold, unreadable, powerful. But Lillian…

There was something in the way she **stood next to him** that didn't quite click-not like a woman in love but more like a woman hiding behind a shield.

And then, in the comments online, I saw it.

"She looks so familiar…"

Someone had posted an old photo of a woman who looked exactly like Lillian—except the name wasn't Lillian.

It was Isabella Harrington.

My blood ran cold.

I knew that name.

It had been all over the news three months ago.

A missing heiress. A runaway bride.

And then I saw another headline.

Billionaire Damian Whitmore denies involvement in fiancée's disappearance."

Damian Whitmore.

I sucked in a sharp breath. Damian Whitmore.

The ruthless billionaire. The man with **underground connections.**

And from the way the reports described him-dangerous.

A slow, wicked smile spread across my lips.

I had leverage now.

I reached for my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I found the number.

And then, I made the call.

---

The line rang twice before a deep, chilling voice answered.

"Who is this?"

"Mr. Whitmore," I purred, my fingers tapping against my desk. "I believe I have something that might interest you."

There was a pause. Then, "You have ten seconds."

I smiled.

"I work for Adrian Sinclair," I said. "And I just found your missing bride."

The silence on the other end was deafening.

Then, a low chuckle. Dark. Dangerous.

"She isn't dead, I knew it," Damian whispered. "Where is she?"

"Currently playing house with Adrian. But don't be alarmed; I can arrange a meet if you want to."

Dead air again before: "And what do I owe you this time?" -.

Adrian Sinclair ruined my career for that woman, I told him. I want her gone. Out of his life. And when you take her, I want you to make certain she never comes back.

There was dark humor in Damian's tone when he answered.

"Consider it done."

I breathed out slowly, my hold on the phone tightening.

This was my revenge.

This was how I would get my rightful place back.

Lillian Hawthorne—or Isabella Harrington—had no idea what was coming for her.

I smiled as I whispered into the phone,

"I'll deliver her to you myself.”