Like that dance competition with Rainie.
Rainie's performance had been flawless—effortless, radiant.
That night, Vivian was forced to sit submerged in icy water for hours. She cried. She begged. Helena never stopped.
By morning, Vivian burned with fever. Helena calmly used her illness as an excuse to withdraw her from the competition.
Vivian was bedridden for a week.
The only time her mother showed warmth was when her father returned home—stroking Vivian's hair, smiling as though nothing had happened.
That was when Vivian understood.
She wasn't a daughter.
She was a trophy.
A tool to maintain status. A bargaining chip for favor and security.
Winning wasn't a goal—it was survival. Losing always came with a price.
"You did something incredibly stupid today," Helena said coldly.
Vivian's heart dropped.
"I—I'm sorry, Mom," she whispered. "I didn't mean to. I just… I couldn't stop myself."
Helena studied her in silence, eyes sharp and unreadable. The quiet stretched until Vivian's breathing grew shallow under its weight.
"Forget today," Helena finally said. "That girl isn't easy to deal with. We'll take our time. You don't act unless you're absolutely certain. I've trained you for years—don't disappoint me again."
Relief crept in when Vivian realized the scolding was over.
Then the fear she'd been suppressing slipped out.
"Mom… I'm scared."
"Scared of Asher?" Helena asked flatly. "Afraid he'll see Selene and abandon you?"
Vivian nodded. She couldn't deny it. Selene's beauty was undeniable.
Helena scoffed.
"Relax. As long as I'm still a Voss by blood and you remain my accomplished daughter, Asher won't dare step out of line. Even if that engagement was arranged by the Langley matriarch and Maria Caldwell—so what?"
Her lips curled in disdain.
"That's ancient history. I control the Voss family now. Replace me?" She gave a soft laugh. "Not in this lifetime."
Her confidence was absolute.
"Keep your head high. The apprenticeship banquet next month—that's your stage. Show Selene what a real heiress looks like. Marriage alone doesn't put her on your level. Other than her face, what does she have? Asher isn't blind."
"He knows exactly who he should marry."
Vivian felt her confidence surge back. Selene had shaken her—but Helena was right. The Langley family valued legacy, not a pretty shell.
Before leaving, Helena paused.
"Where's Marcus?"
Vivian hesitated, then gave in under her mother's gaze. "He went out… to a club."
Helena's expression darkened instantly.
Finals approaching. Marcus running wild again.
Perfect.
She slammed the door behind her, fury radiating down the corridor.
Alone, Vivian slowly lifted her head.
A cold, eerie smile curved her lips.
At the club, neon lights pulsed like a corrupted heartbeat.
Marcus lounged back, laughing and drinking with a circle of equally reckless friends. The woman beside him had once played innocent—unimpressed by money, eager to seem different.
Three months later, she rode in his luxury cars, slept in high-rise condos, and wore clothes she could never have afforded before.
Completely corrupted.
Exactly how Marcus liked it.
He knew something was wrong with him.
There was a twisted satisfaction in watching purity decay, in seeing people unravel under indulgence.
He lit a cigarette, eyes drifting lazily toward the dancer spinning on the pole, smoke curling around his sharp features.
Yet his mind was elsewhere.
Selene.
That calm, distant smile replayed in his thoughts again and again.
When the show ended, the dancer approached him, confident she would receive his attention.
Marcus didn't even look at her.
"She's all yours," he said flatly.
Cheers erupted around him.
"Thanks, Marcus!"
"You're the best, man!"
The woman's face drained of color as she lunged for his leg in panic.
Marcus shoved her away with a swift kick.
She hit the floor hard, frozen in pain.
He didn't turn back.
Marcus didn't turn back.
He stepped over the fallen woman as though she were nothing more than spilled glass.
The club doors closed behind him, muting the music—but not the thoughts coiling in his head.
His phone vibrated once.
A single message.
Unknown Number:
She's closer than you think.
Marcus stopped.
For a long moment, he stared at the screen.
Then he laughed—low, quiet, unmistakably pleased.
"So," he murmured, slipping the phone back into his pocket, eyes darkening with anticipation,
"you finally came to me."
And somewhere not far away, Selene Voss had no idea she had just been noticed by the wrong man.