3. Vivienne #2
"Passion drives innovation," Jaxon interjects unexpectedly. "Isn't that what you always say, Gerald?"
Gerald nods, looking relieved at the redirect. "Indeed. And speaking of innovation, I'd love to hear more about your potential involvement with our men's line, Jaxon."
As the conversation shifts, my father grips my elbow, steering me toward the hallway. "A word, Vivienne."
His fingers dig into my arm as he leads me to his study, closing the heavy door behind us. The soundproofed room immediately muffles the cocktail chatter.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demands, the veneer of civility dropping.
"Defending my work. My account." I wrench my arm free. "Were you going to tell me you were trying to hand Lumina to Fischer & Sons or just spring it on me when it was a done deal?"
"I was protecting you," he snaps. "The Lumina account is too high-profile. One mistake and your reputation is damaged forever."
"Bullshit." I cross my arms. "My team has produced exceptional work. The metrics prove it. This isn't about protecting me—it's about controlling me."
He moves to the bar cart, pouring himself two fingers of scotch. "You don't understand the bigger picture."
"Then explain it to me," I challenge. "Explain why undermining my career is in my best interest."
"Vivienne." His voice softens to the dangerous purr that always precedes his most manipulative moves. "You're making a scene. Again. Just like at the gala with Jaxon Hart."
"I spilled champagne," I say through gritted teeth. "Hardly a scandal."
"It's a pattern." He sips his scotch, studying me over the rim. "The rebellion, the defiance, always needing to prove something. When will you accept that sometimes, I know what's best for you?"
"When what's 'best for me' doesn't conveniently align with what's best for your control over me."
His jaw tightens. "You've worked hard. I acknowledge that. But the Lumina account has board-level visibility. Walter's firm has thirty years of experience."
"And outdated perspectives that will tank their campaign," I counter. "Did you even look at my numbers?"
"Numbers aren't everything in this business. Relationships matter."
"So does talent." I stand my ground. "And innovation. And understanding the actual customers."
He sets down his glass, expression hardening. "I've indulged your career experiment long enough. It's time you took on more appropriate responsibilities."
"Appropriate?" I repeat, incredulous. "You mean marry someone suitable and host charity luncheons like Mother?"
"I mean, recognize your place in this family and the obligations that come with it."
The same argument, different day. The golden cage he's been trying to lock me in since birth.
"I've built something of my own," I say quietly. "Something successful. Why can't you respect that?"
"Because you're capable of more," he counters. "Of better."
"Better than what? Excellence in my chosen field?"
He waves a dismissive hand. "A mid-level position at a decent agency. It's fine for now, but not a legacy."
The casual dismissal stings more than it should. After all these years, I should be immune.
"I'm not withdrawing from the Lumina account," I say firmly.
"Then I'll withdraw my support." His voice is calm and matter-of-fact. "The lease on your apartment, the connections that got you the job in the first place, the introductions to clients like Gerald."
My stomach drops. "You wouldn't."
"I would if it means preventing you from making a mistake you'll regret." He steps closer. "You need to prove you can be responsible, Vivienne. That you understand how things work in our world."
"By surrendering my autonomy?" I shake my head. "That's not responsibility, that's submission."
"It's recognizing reality," he counters. "You can play at independence all you want, but at the end of the day, you're a Clarke. That comes with privileges and obligations."
The door opens behind me, and I spin around to find Jaxon standing in the doorway, expression unreadable.
"Sorry to interrupt," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "Gerald was asking for you, Henry. Something about the Westfield merger."
My father's face shifts instantly to affable host. "Of course. We'll continue this discussion later, Vivienne."
As he moves past Jaxon, the two men exchange a look I can't decipher. When the door closes again, I release a shaky breath.
"How much did you hear?" I ask.
Jaxon leans against the doorframe, studying me. "Enough to recognize a fellow prisoner."
The unexpected understanding in his voice catches me off guard. I laugh, the sound brittle even to my own ears.
"Hardly. You escaped your cage. Built an empire of your own."
"Did I?" His expression darkens. "Or did I just trade one prison for another?"
The question hangs between us, unexpectedly intimate. For a moment, I see behind the fa?ade of the billionaire rockstar to something raw and authentic.
"Why are you really here tonight?" I ask.
He hesitates, then, "Lumina wants me as the face of their men's line. But now I'm wondering if there's something more interesting happening."
"Like what?"
"Like watching you fight for what's yours." His gaze is intense, appraising. "It's a rare quality."
I feel exposed under his scrutiny, seen in a way that's both unsettling and exhilarating.
"Did you know?" I ask abruptly. "When we met at the gala. Did you know who I was to Andrew?"
His jaw tightens. "Yes."
"And you didn't say anything."
"Would it have changed our interaction?"
I consider this. "Probably made it more awkward."
"Exactly." He steps further into the room. "Look, what happened with Andrew—"
"Is ancient history," I finish. "Water under the bridge."
He studies me for a long moment. "Is it?"
Before I can answer, the door opens again. My father stands there, expression tight with controlled anger.
"Gerald is asking for you, Vivienne," he says. "And Mr. Hart, your manager, is looking rather anxious."
Jaxon straightens, professional mask sliding back into place. "We should probably rejoin the party."
"One moment," Father says, blocking the doorway. He fixes me with a cold stare. "Our discussion isn't finished. Either you demonstrate you can be responsible and work within the system, or I'll withdraw every bit of support I've provided. Your choice."
The threat hangs in the air between us, made all the more humiliating by Jaxon's presence. My father turns and walks away, leaving the door open.
Jaxon watches him go, then turns to me with an expression I can't quite read.
"For what it's worth," he says quietly, "I think he's underestimating exactly how formidable you are."
The unexpected vote of confidence catches me off guard. Before I can respond, he's gone, following my father back to the party.
I stand alone in my father's study, the familiar battle lines redrawn once again. Only this time, there's a new player on the field—one who just might change the entire game.