Vivian didn't move. She couldn't. The rejection stung, but the desperation was stronger.

She walked over to the door and locked it. The click echoed in the large room.

Julian turned, his expression shifting from cold to amused. "Are you going to hold me hostage, Vivian?"

"I'm going to make you listen," she said, her voice trembling but defiant. She walked back to the table. "You think this is just about me? If my father's estate collapses, it's going to be a feeding frenzy. You manage half the portfolios that are invested in Sterling Industries. If the stock tanks because of a family feud, your clients lose money. And when your clients lose money, you look incompetent."

She took a breath, playing the only card she had-his ego.

"You're the impenetrable shield of the elite, right? Well, if the Sterling empire falls apart while you watch from the sidelines, people will wonder why the great Julian Blackwood didn't see it coming."

Julian paused. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time. "A plea to my vanity," he said, sounding almost disappointed. "Better than begging, I suppose. But still irrelevant."

He reached for a small porcelain cup on the side table. An espresso. "Conrad already called. He wants me to consult for the trust. He wants to pay me to ensure I don't help you."

Vivian felt the floor drop out. "Conrad got to you?"

"He's thorough," Julian said, taking a sip. "And unlike you, he has the authority to sign checks."

"He's a snake!" Vivian yelled, losing her composure. "He'll run the company into the ground!"

"Not my problem," Julian said. "I enjoy watching things burn."

Something inside Vivian snapped. The exhaustion, the fear, the humiliation-it all boiled over into a white-hot rage.

She grabbed the espresso cup from his hand.

Julian didn't react fast enough.

She threw the contents in his face.

The dark, hot liquid splashed across his cheek, his chin, and soaked into the pristine white collar of his shirt.

Julian frozen. He closed his eyes. A drop of coffee dripped from his nose.

The room went deadly silent.

Vivian gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "I... I didn't..."

Julian opened his eyes. They weren't cold anymore. They were burning.

He didn't wipe his face. He stepped forward. Vivian stepped back. He took another step. She retreated until her back hit the bookshelf filled with leather-bound law books.

Julian slammed his hands on the shelves on either side of her head, trapping her.

"You have a death wish," he growled.

Vivian looked up at him, trembling. The coffee stained his skin like war paint. He smelled of espresso and fury.

"You deserved it," she whispered, though her voice shook.

Julian stared at her mouth. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. The air between them crackled with electricity. It was violence, but it was something else, too. Something dark and suffocating.

He leaned in. Vivian stopped breathing. She thought he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her.

Instead, his hand moved to the intercom on the desk behind him. He didn't look away from her eyes.

"Security," he said, his voice rough. "My office. Now."

He pushed himself off the bookshelf and stepped back, ignoring the mess on his face.

"That's assault, Vivian," he said coolly. "I could have you arrested."

"Do it," she challenged, tears stinging her eyes. "At least in jail, I get a free lawyer."

Julian's jaw tightened. For a second, she saw a flicker of hesitation.

Then the door burst open. Caleb and two security guards rushed in.

"Get her out of here," Julian ordered, turning his back to her. "And file for a restraining order."

The security guards didn't drag her, but they held her arms firmly, escorting her to the elevator like a prisoner. When the doors opened in the lobby, they released her. Vivian stumbled, nearly falling onto the marble floor.

People stared. Whispers rippled through the room.

Vivian straightened her spine. She smoothed her hair. She was a Sterling. She would not cry in public.

The revolving doors spun. Conrad walked in, flanked by two assistants. He looked like he owned the place.

He saw Vivian. A cruel smile spread across his face. He stopped, blocking her path to the exit.

"Rough meeting?" Conrad laughed. "I told you, sis. Blackwood is out of your league. I'm going up to sign the consulting agreement now. It's over."

Vivian's mind raced. If Conrad went up there, if he signed that paper, she was dead in the water. She had to stop him.

She looked at Conrad. She looked at the elevator where Caleb was just stepping out, holding a file.

A lie formed on her tongue. It was reckless. It was dangerous. It was perfect.

Vivian laughed. She threw her head back and let out a throaty, amused sound. She stepped closer to Conrad, invading his personal space.

"Oh, Conrad," she purred, loud enough for the receptionists to hear. "You really think he kicked me out because of business?"

Conrad frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Vivian gestured to her messy hair and the red mark on her arm where the guard had held her. "Julian and I... we have a complicated history. He likes it rough. The restraining order? That's just foreplay."

Conrad looked disgusted. "You're lying."

"Am I?" Vivian lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Why do you think I was at his penthouse at 3 AM last night? To discuss tort law?"

Conrad hesitated. The TMZ video. It made sense.

Vivian turned to Caleb, who was walking past. "Caleb," she called out.

Caleb stopped, looking wary.

Vivian tossed her hair back, giving Caleb a look of pure, spoiled arrogance. "Tell Julian not to be so dramatic next time. He knows I bruise easily."

Caleb, trained to be the most discreet assistant in Manhattan, stiffened. He didn't confirm or deny. He simply gave a curt nod and kept walking, likely assuming she was just being her usual nightmare self.

To Conrad, that silence was confirmation.

Conrad's face turned purple. "He's sleeping with you? He's compromised."

"He's obsessed with me," Vivian corrected.

Conrad swore. "I can't trust him. If he's screwing you, he's screwing me."

He turned on his heel. "Let's go," he barked at his assistants. "We're finding another firm."

Conrad stormed out of the building.

Vivian let out a breath, her knees shaking. She had done it. She had bought herself time.

Caleb stopped by the elevator bank. He looked at Vivian. "Mr. Blackwood is watching the lobby feed," he said quietly.

Vivian looked up at the black dome of the security camera in the corner. She stared right into the lens.

Forty floors up, Julian sat at his desk, the coffee stain still on his collar. He watched the screen. He watched Vivian lie with the skill of a sociopath.

He touched the screen where her face was.

"Interesting," he murmured.

Vivian sat in the corner booth of Sarabeth's, hiding behind oversized sunglasses. Willow, her best friend since kindergarten, slid a mimosa across the table.

"You look like you've been in a war zone," Willow said, sipping her own drink.

"I have," Vivian said. "I need to know where Julian is going this weekend."

"How would I know?" Willow asked.

"Check the tags," Vivian said, pulling out her phone. "The Hamptons season opener is this weekend. Look at the geo-tags for the Dune Club. Look for his partner, Silas Vance. Silas posts everything."

Willow scrolled for a moment. "Found him. Silas just posted a story. 'Tee time with the devil.' Location: The Dune Club, East Hampton."

Vivian smiled grimly. "Perfect."

"You're not a member," Willow pointed out. "And your dad's membership is suspended pending the audit."

"Hunter is a member," Vivian said.

An hour later, Vivian was keying herself into Hunter's Upper East Side apartment. She knew he was in London hiding from the press.

The apartment was silent. Dust sheets covered the furniture. It looked like a mausoleum.

Vivian went to the desk in the study. She rifled through the drawers. Passport, condoms, and there it was-the platinum Dune Club card.

As she grabbed it, something shiny in the wastebasket caught her eye. It was wedged between the liner and the bin itself.

She reached in. It was a diamond earring. Not hers.

Vivian stared at it. It was cheap. Flashy. Probably the nanny's.

She felt a wave of nausea, but she pushed it down. She didn't have time for heartbreak. She dropped the earring into her purse. You never threw away ammunition.

She had a golf game to crash.

That night, Vivian lay in bed at the Hamptons estate-the only property she could still access. She scrolled through photos of Julian on her iPad.

Most were professional headshots. Cold. Distant.

But she found one from ten years ago. A blurry photo from a high school yearbook. Julian was laughing, his arm around a friend. He looked human. He looked like the boy she had destroyed.

She touched the screen.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the boy in the photo. "But I have to do this."

Outside, thunder rumbled. A storm was coming.