Vivienne’s POV

The instant I stepped into the room, having shoved the door open with more force than necessary, I froze where I stood. My body reacted before my mind did—heart thundering, breath caught, every nerve in me going rigid as if bracing for an impact. Dominic didn’t bother to hide the photograph in his hand, the picture of Cassandra held with a reverence that twisted something deep inside me. His other hand was busy with something I wished I hadn’t seen, yet couldn’t tear my eyes from.

The evidence of his desire was unmistakable.

He didn’t flinch when he realized I was standing there, witnessing the entire thing. He didn’t stumble, didn’t stutter, didn’t even look startled. Instead, he calmly slipped the photo behind his back, rose to his full height with his usual controlled elegance, and met my gaze with that same detached professionalism he had always worn around me.

As though I had not just caught him lost in intimate fantasies of another woman—my father’s precious second daughter.

A part of me wanted to scream, to strike him, to demand an explanation. But the rage hollowing my chest formed into something colder instead. I smiled.

A slow, poisonous smile.

“Need a hand?” My voice came out honey-sweet, but sharpened at the edges with bitterness I didn’t bother to hide.

His expression didn’t shift. No shame. No discomfort. Not even the courtesy of guilt. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Vivienne,” he replied coolly. “This is a private matter.”

Of course he still addressed me formally. As if we hadn’t grown up in the same household. As if I hadn’t trusted him with my safety, my secrets, my affection—affection I once believed he returned. But Cassandra, with her angelic smile and carefully polished innocence, had undone all of that with effortless grace. He had chosen her, silently and decisively, without ever letting me know I was competing.

I turned and walked away, my throat tightening with pride and fury, refusing to let myself break. I was done with the pathetic chase I had allowed myself to endure.

If the world wanted Cassandra to be its sweet little darling, then I could become whatever poison thrived beneath that façade.

Behind me, he finally spoke. “Why are you here?”

I glanced back over my shoulder, smirk tugging at my lips. “Nothing important,” I lied smoothly. “Just wanted to tell you to escort me to the fashion gala tomorrow. Cassandra will be attending.”

The slightest twitch in his expression—barely noticeable to anyone else—gave him away. Her name alone anchored him.

He didn’t even try to hide it.

---

The following evening, he waited at the bottom of the staircase, impeccably dressed in a sharp black suit trimmed with subtle silver accents, hair pristine, demeanor unreadable. I walked past him without acknowledgment for the first time in years, and though he hid it well, a brief flicker of surprise crossed his face. I saw it. I always did.

The drive to the gala was suffocatingly quiet. The silence between us felt thick, stretched, filled with unspoken things I no longer had the energy to voice. I kept my expression serene, refusing to grant him even a glimpse of the storm he had caused.

When we arrived at the Limited Edition Fashion Gala, eyes turned instantly. Whispers followed in waves—some curious, others speculative. I entered not simply as Vivienne Ardent, daughter of a wealthy political family, but as a woman soon to be formally linked to the Vale family, one of the most influential dynasties in the country. Even though Lucian Vale remained unconscious in a hospital suite due to the mysterious poisoning months ago, the engagement was already sealed by both families.

Tonight, I walked as his future wife.

Then she arrived.

Cassandra floated into the hall draped in a pale silver gown, every step designed to capture attention. Her lips were painted a delicate cherry red, her smile practiced to perfection. She approached me with her sugary laugh.

“Hello, sister,” she chimed.

I faced her with ice instead of warmth. “Don’t address me that way.”

Behind me, I felt Dominic stiffen, his posture shifting ever so slightly as she looked at him. His features gentled—subtle, but unmistakable. And when she smiled back at him, my stomach twisted. The entire room seemed to blur around her.

That’s when I saw it.

A breathtaking gown displayed on a raised pedestal—a seamless blend of midnight blue and pale silver, the beading shimmering like stardust. It was the kind of piece that transformed a woman into a story. And I knew instantly it was the dress I wanted for my first official appearance as Lucian Vale’s fiancée.

“I’ll take this one,” I told the designer.

Her face brightened. “A popular choice. Many have tried to purchase it. Offers in gold, antiques, even heirloom jewels.”

“I’ll pay double in gold.”

Before the transaction could be sealed, Cassandra stepped forward and grazed the sleeve with her fingertips. “Oh, what a gorgeous dress,” she murmured. “I’m thinking of trying it on.”

I stiffened. “It’s already mine.”

She tilted her head, a saccharine smile in place. “Surely the designer won’t object to a little competition.”

Before I could speak, a man approached—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in charcoal-black with the kind of quiet authority that commanded the room. He glanced toward Dominic briefly, as though acknowledging him, before addressing the designer.

“We’ll buy the gown,” he said. “Name your price.”

“And you are?” the designer asked, startled.

“Reid,” he replied smoothly. “Acting representative of the Silvana Organization. Our director has instructed us to acquire anything Miss Cassandra Ardent desires tonight. Cost is irrelevant.”

A hush fell over the room.

“Silvana?”

“Why her?”

“Is she involved with them?”

Cassandra blinked innocently. “I’ve never even met him,” she murmured, false modesty dripping from her voice.

She turned to me with wide, delighted eyes. “Will you still try to get it? I’d hate to see you overspend.”

I dug my nails into my palm.

Dominic didn’t even look my way. His gaze remained fixed on her.

What happened next was a spectacle: dress after dress, accessory after accessory, designer after designer—each time Cassandra attended to something she liked, Beta Reid stepped in and purchased it immediately, without hesitation.

I watched silently, my chest tightening with each transaction.

Finally, I asked him, “Does your director intend to leave anything for anyone else tonight?”

He glanced at Dominic again, subtle but clear. “Our director only cares about Miss Cassandra’s happiness. The rest of you are… insignificant.”

The words struck harder than I expected.

Dominic practically glowed whenever she looked at him, while I forced myself not to react.

By the end of the night, Cassandra was surrounded by admirers and stylists, arms full of luxury.

I slipped away quietly, stepping into the city’s chill night air.

“Bloodmoon Lounge,” I told the driver. “Take me there.”

I needed the burn of alcohol, the distraction of music, something to drown out the ache.

Before the car could move, Cassandra suddenly opened the door and slid into the seat next to me, grinning like a child. “You’re going out? Perfect! I’m coming too.”

I nearly shoved her back outside, but Dominic arrived and held the door open.

“Drive,” he instructed calmly.

The car pulled away, and Cassandra began chattering. “Isn’t it strange? The head of Silvana being so interested in me? I’ve never met him, but they say he’s unbelievably handsome.”

Dominic chuckled under his breath. “He probably just has good taste,” he said. “You are… someone special.”

Then she asked him the question I wished she wouldn’t.

“Do you like me too, Dominic?”

He hesitated, but I sensed the answer forming—felt it like a knife pressing into my skin.

Before he could speak, I cut in sharply, “If the two of you want to flirt, do it outside my car. This is my ride.”

Cassandra winced. “Sorry… I didn’t mean—”

I turned away, looking out the window.

In the reflection, I saw Dominic glance at her—soft, warm, almost tender.

Then his gaze shifted to me.

Hard. Cold. Dismissive.

I smiled faintly, the bitterness rising like smoke.

So this was what men loved: sweetness, fragility, little sighs and gentle smiles.

Everything I was never allowed to be.

Vivienne’s POV

The Bloodmoon Club throbbed with bass and neon, every pulse of the music vibrating through the crowded room. Heat, perfume, sweat, laughter—everything blurred together until the whole place felt like it was closing in on me. No amount of whiskey—burning, bitter, relentless—could quiet the ache twisting inside my chest. The lights smeared into streaks of red and silver as people moved around me, but my mind kept circling back to the same image.

Them. Together.

In the elevated VIP booth, I saw Dominic—my personal bodyguard, the one man I’d trusted without question—standing stiff and composed beside Cassandra. She leaned in toward him, whispering something flirtatious, fingers brushing along the line of his jaw as if she had every right to touch him.

His expression cracked.

Just slightly.

His ears turned pink.

A blush.

My fingers tightened around my glass so hard that it shattered in my hand.

Before I could decide whether to scream or cry, I threw back what was left of my drink and shoved my way to the dance floor. I needed noise. Chaos. Anything that wasn’t the quiet agony of watching the two people who had hurt me the most stand inches apart like fate had always intended them for each other.

My dress—a deep, dangerous red—clung to my body like armor. Men gravitated to it instantly. A group of drunk rich heirs circled me, each one emboldened by the alcohol in their system and the darkness of the club.

One reached for my waist.

“Touch me again,” I warned, my voice sharp enough to draw blood, “and you’ll regret it.”

They only laughed. Another leaned in closer.

My reflexes dulled by liquor, I reacted a beat too late.

So I snapped,

“Dominic!”

Everything stopped.

The men scattered the moment Dominic pushed through the crowd, his presence alone enough to make them back off. He didn’t have to raise his voice. He didn’t even have to lift a hand. He just stood there—broad-shouldered, authoritative—and they fled like cowards.

I scoffed. “Oh, so you do remember who you’re assigned to,” I said, dripping with resentment. “I assumed you’d wait until she told you I needed help.”

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t see them—”

“Please,” I cut him off, stepping close enough to inhale the cologne on his collar. “You only see Cassandra. That’s your whole world now, isn’t it?”

He looked away, which told me everything.

“You’re drunk,” he muttered.

“Good,” I replied. “I prefer it.”

I turned to walk away, but a piercing scream sliced through the music.

And suddenly the room exploded into chaos.

People were running, overturning tables, shouting. The floor turned into a tangle of bodies and panic. Someone must have triggered a fight—one of the dangerous street gangs the club had been trying to keep out recently.

I spun toward Dominic.

He had already moved.

Straight to Cassandra.

Always, always to her.

Before I fully grasped the situation, one of the attackers was suddenly in front of me—a man with wild eyes and a knife glinting in his hand. I lunged at him, adrenaline surging, managing to scratch his face before he dodged and drove the blade into my shoulder.

Fire tore through me.

I screamed as the world warped, pain spreading like poison under my skin. I staggered, clutching my wound, the metallic scent of blood filling my lungs. He vanished into the chaos without another look.

My legs gave out.

Just before the darkness swallowed me, I saw Dominic rushing through the crowd—still guarding Cassandra like she was the only life worth protecting.

Then the world went black.

---

I woke to the sterile burn of antiseptic. The ceiling was white. The sheets smelled like bleach. Machines beeped softly beside me. My shoulder throbbed viciously.

But I was awake.

Doctors had always said the gang that attacked us used a drug known for inducing prolonged comas—fast, dangerous, almost irreversible. Victims slept for months.

Yet I was conscious.

Why?

My gaze drifted to the frosted glass wall separating my room from the hallway.

Soft voices floated through.

I turned my head—and froze.

Cassandra stood outside… in Dominic’s arms.

He held her delicately, like she was made of porcelain. His hand stroked her hair. His voice—normally cold and clipped—had melted into something gentle.

“I shouldn’t have let you come,” he murmured. “I should’ve protected you better.”

Cassandra sniffled. “But Vivienne… she got hurt because of me.”

“That’s not your fault,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

She looked up at him, eyes shimmering. “Why do you care so much, Dominic? Why her… not me?”

His voice trembled.

“Because I lo—”

A crash cut him off.

The vase beside my bed had slipped from my hand.

Cassandra spun around, eyes wide. Dominic stiffened.

They ran into the room.

“Vivienne!” Cassandra gasped. “You’re awake! Thank God, I’ve been so worried—”

“Drop the performance,” I said icily. “My recovery slows down every second you stand near me.”

Her face fell. She fled the room in tears.

Dominic stayed.

“I didn’t have time—”

“You had time for her,” I snapped. “You always do.”

He had no answer to that.

---

The day I was released, my shoulder heavily bandaged, I walked into the study where Dominic waited.

He stood at attention.

“Kneel,” I said.

He flinched, but he obeyed—slowly lowering himself to the floor.

“You failed the duties you swore to me,” I said quietly. “By the standards of your contract, that’s grounds for dismissal and public disgrace. Some families demand… harsher outcomes.”

His eyes flickered, but he remained still.

“I’m not going to ruin your life, Dominic. But punishment? You’ll take it.”

“If that’s what you want,” he murmured. “Then I will.”

Those words—spoken so obediently—stabbed deeper than any knife.

Of course he’d accept.

If it meant staying in Cassandra’s orbit, he’d kneel for anyone.

My hand lifted, ready to strike—

But the door burst open.

“STOP!”

Cassandra sprinted inside, throwing herself between us.

“If you’re angry, punish me! Dominic doesn’t deserve this!”

“Move,” I ordered.

“No.”

Dominic tried to pull her aside, but she clung to the floor.

“I said move!” I screamed, the fury inside me erupting.

She didn’t move.

My hand came down before I could stop it.

Cassandra cried out as the blow landed, her arm splitting open.

Dominic caught her before she hit the ground, rage contorting every line of his face.

He stared at me like I was a stranger.

Then he carried her out without looking back.

The door slammed.

Silence swallowed the room.

I stared at my trembling hands—stained with her blood—and the hollow ache in my chest spread until I could hardly breathe.

Vivienne’s POV

Three days. That was how long it had been since Cassandra had taken the blame for Dominic—punishment I thought he deserved, yet somehow she ended up suffering for instead. And ever since that day, something inside me had felt fundamentally out of place.

My shoulder still throbbed from the gangster’s bite—human teeth, human rage—but my body healed far too quickly, unnervingly fast. I didn’t tell my father, or my so-called friends, or anyone in our tight-knit community. My mind felt noisy, on edge, like a storm trapped beneath my ribs. I barely recognized myself anymore.

So I drove to the Moon Monastery, hoping the stillness of that sacred retreat would bring clarity. The sky hung heavy with clouds as I parked outside the stone walls, the spires looming like watchtowers against the grey afternoon.

The moment I stepped out, gravel crunching beneath my boots, a strange smell drifted past—sage, pine, and something sour, something like rot.

“Child,” a frail voice rasped behind me.

I spun. An elderly woman stood by the gate, wrapped in a long ash-colored cloak. Her presence was unsettling—her aura didn’t match any kind of person I could categorize.

“Be careful,” she whispered, gripping my hand with fingers as cold as marble. “Light attracts hunger. Darkness has tasted you now. It won’t stop chasing.”

“What?” I snatched my hand back, irritation prickling across my scalp.

“Danger follows close,” she murmured, her eyes unfocused, as though watching something far beyond this world. “Listen, daughter of moonsilver… the shadows know what you are.”

Before I could question her, she turned and vanished into the trees, disappearing with unnatural ease.

Uneasy and annoyed at myself for feeling anything at all, I pushed it aside and climbed the monastery steps. My hand had barely brushed the old bronze door handle when something slammed against the back of my skull.

Everything went dark.

---

Pain dragged me back. Sharp rope burned against my wrists; my arms felt numb and slick with blood. A blindfold shielded me from the world, but the smell surrounding me—iron, sweat, musk—was unmistakable.

Someone’s nails tore across the skin of my torso. Then again. Then again. Ninety-nine times. Each rake felt like it stripped away more than flesh. It scraped away pride, sanity, the last of my breath.

“You shouldn’t have punished her,” a rough voice said, close enough that I could hear each breath. “She matters. You picked the wrong enemy.”

“Who… are you…” I forced out, tasting blood between my teeth.

He didn’t bother responding. Instead, I heard him dial a number.

“She’s finished,” he said. On the other end, a familiar voice replied, clear even through static: Leave her there.

Dominic.

It was Dominic.

No amount of blood loss or dizziness could have erased that voice. The man who once swore to protect me—who promised to place himself in front of any threat—had ordered this.

By the time they dumped me on the roadside like garbage, my clothes soaked red, consciousness slipped in and out like flickering light. But I crawled. God, I crawled until my legs could shift into a run. I flagged down a cab, ignoring the driver’s horrified gasp at my state.

“Hospital,” I growled. “Now.”

At the ER, surrounded by antiseptic and bright lights, I drifted in and out of awareness while nurses whispered nearby.

“Did you see that guy who brought the other injured girl? Gorgeous. He wouldn’t leave her side.”

“The one with the huge scratch across her back? Poor thing. Looks like she was mauled.”

The moment the words registered, I ripped the IV out of my arm and stumbled out into the hallway.

And there they were.

Dominic—holding Cassandra’s hand. Dominic—kissing her forehead. Dominic—looking at her like she was made of gold, not deception and blood.

I turned away before my legs collapsed beneath me, slipping out of the hospital unnoticed, my heart bleeding as freely as my skin.

---

The next day, he came. He stared at me, something like guilt flickering across his face, though I couldn’t tell if it was real or merely habit. I said nothing. I didn’t scream. I didn’t slap him, though I should have.

Before I could ask the millions of questions boiling inside me, my phone rang. My father.

That was never a good sign.

“You’re attending the art banquet tonight,” he barked. “Cassandra’s exhibition. The entire council will be present.”

“No.” My voice was ice. Why would he expect me there after what happened years ago? She was the reason I quit painting—the only thing that once brought me joy.

We used to be art students together. Until she stole my work, claimed it as her own, then accused me of plagiarism. No one believed me. Eventually, I walked away from the world of colors and canvases. I never touched a brush again.

“You will go,” my father snapped.

Before I could argue, Dominic stepped forward. “It’s about Cassandra’s exhibit?” he asked quietly. “Just… be there. For me.”

For her, he meant.

Still, I went. One last time.

---

The event took place in the Luna Gallery, moonlight pouring through the glass ceiling, lending the entire hall an ethereal shine. Cassandra stood at the center of attention, draped in a pale gown, basking in admiration.

I stayed in the shadows, wearing a deep crimson dress—one I used to wear while painting, though now it had faint stains I could never wash out.

No one approached me. No one acknowledged me. I was the invisible sister, the ruined one.

Cassandra raised her voice theatrically. “It’s such a tragedy that the Vale Alpha is… still unresponsive,” she lamented. “But I suppose I need someone stronger anyway. My father ended our engagement for a reason.”

And that “someone stronger” was soon supposed to be me.

My gaze drifted to the canvases lining the wall behind her—and my breath froze.

My art.

Not imitations.

Not replicas.

My original paintings.

The ones I had hidden in the attic years ago.

My brushstrokes. My colors. My soul.

She had stolen them.

My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, ready to confront her—

But a commotion erupted. Dominic’s Beta walked in carrying lavish gifts—designer supplies, dresses, jewelry, all adorned with shimmering moonstones—all for Cassandra. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Heads turned. I felt like I was drowning.

I escaped to the balcony, lungs burning. She stole my artwork. She displayed them as if they were hers. And she dared to invite me just to humiliate me.

Cassandra followed, stepping onto the balcony with a sugary smile.

“Still alive?” she asked sweetly. “It’s a shame your mother isn’t.”

My blood iced.

Did she just—?

“Cassandra—”

Before I could finish, she poured wine down her own dress and screamed.

“Vivienne! Why would you do that?!”

I was so stunned I couldn’t even form words. Dominic appeared almost immediately, looking at me like I was the one who betrayed him.

“Enough!” he snapped.

Something inside me snapped with him.

I picked up my own glass, tightened my grip, and threw the wine into her face—this time deliberately.

“That was for mocking my mother, you venomous thief.”

Gasps echoed behind us as I stormed inside, heels striking like gunshots. Dominic caught up, grabbing my arm.

“Why do you always go after her?”

“You want the truth?” I spat. “She killed my mother. She framed me. She stole my art, my home, and now she’s stolen you. And you still defend her.”

He froze. “You’re lying.”

“Of course you think that.”

I tore my arm free. “Take whatever distance you want, Dominic. I’m done handing you excuses.”

---

Later that night, sitting in a cab, I saw Dominic’s car driving away with Cassandra. Instinct roared inside me.

“Follow them,” I told the driver.

They weren’t going home. They weren’t going for a casual walk. They were heading to the butterfly garden—her self-proclaimed dream spot. The place she once told me she wanted her future husband to prove his devotion, as if life was some fairytale she authored.

Through the glass panels, I watched.

Cassandra leaned in… and sank her teeth into his neck—not playful, not gentle. She bit him hard, like she was branding him. And Dominic—God—he didn’t resist. He tilted his head, welcoming her, eyes fluttering with something disturbingly intimate.

She didn’t let him return the gesture. She controlled the moment completely.

And he smiled, touching the wound she left on him.

“I’m yours,” he whispered.