Riley floated out of the Viggo mansion, a small, victorious smile playing on her lips. Her mission was accomplished. She had the old lady's blessing, which, in the world she came from, was as good as a signed contract. The most powerful matriarch in the city was not just an ally but an active conspirator. Grandma Viggo's blessing was not a featherlight wish; it was a stone placed on the scale of her future, and it had landed exactly where she'd aimed. She'd hugged both grandmothers with genuine warmth—they were useful, and she was fond of them in her way—before slipping into her own car. The afternoon stretched before her, empty and promising. Success, she decided, demanded a drink.
---
In the silent, sun-faded apartment at West Haven, time had lost its meaning. Bella and Lina had sunk into a sleep so profound it felt like a temporary death, their bodies and bank accounts equally drained. It was past 5 PM when Bella finally stirred, her head pounding. Lying there felt like lying in a tomb lined with the receipt from The Velvet. She needed walls that weren't witnesses. Dressing quickly, she vanished into the fading light, leaving Lina adrift in the deepening quiet.
Thirty minutes after the door clicked shut, Lina's eyes fluttered open to an empty, silent room. The absence felt heavier than any presence. "Bella?" Her voice was a dry croak. No answer. She fumbled for her phone, the screen blinding in the dim room.
Calling Bella…
"Where are you?" Lina asked, pulling herself up on one elbow.
"My place," Bella's reply was clipped, tired.
"I needed air. My head's killing me. You alive?"
"Barely."
The call ended, leaving a thicker silence. With nothing to do, no job to rush to, no energy to move, Lina just lay back on the thin mattress, and did the only thing that required no movement: She opened the bright, chirping portal of Instagram, seeking the numbing comfort of other people's curated lives.
And there, served to her by the algorithm, that cruel, omniscient bastard's indifferent hand, was the poison.
At the top of her feed was a post from Eldrida Elite, her favorite—and only—window into the gilded world that had just spat her out. The caption was a masterclass in breathless gossip: "Caught! CEO Daniel Viggo of the Viggo Group enjoying an intimate dinner at The Rusty Spoon with First Granddaughter of the White Dynasty, Riley Sable. Is this the power couple we've been waiting for?"
The words 'Viggo Group' hooked into her brain like a fishhook. Her thumb moved before her mind could protest.
The photographs were damning in their high-definition clarity. There was Daniel, in his flawlessly tailored dark suit, his expression its usual unreadable mask. Beside him, attached to his arm like an exquisite accessory, was the most beautiful woman Lina had ever seen—Riley. She was all soft curves and gleaming hair, her smile a weapon of mass delight. In one frame, his hand rested on the dip of her spine, a claim staked in the simple language of possession. In the next, they were emerging, his arm around her waist now, her body tilted into his, laughing at something over her shoulder. They looked… seamless. A matched set of obscene wealth and beauty.
Lina scoffed, a dry, humorless sound. "So much for the rumors of the great woman-hating Viggo heir," she muttered to the empty room. "What a load of shit. Guess he just hates poor ones."
She was about to scroll past, to drown the weird, hollow feeling in her stomach with more meaningless content, when the location tag snagged her eye again.
Her thumb froze.
The air left her lungs.
The Rusty Spoon.
The name was a drop of ice water landing at the base of her skull. A slow, cold trickle began its descent down her vertebrae.
The place. The worn tile floor, the gasps of the crowd, the searing sting on her cheek. Her body remembered it all in a sickening wave that crashed over her before her mind could catch up.
Her fingers, gone clumsy and cold, fumbled across the screen. She zoomed out, scrolled up, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs as she searched for the date stamp on the post. She needed to be wrong. She prayed she was wrong.
She wasn't wrong.
The same day. The same hour.
A cold, sick feeling pooled in her stomach. He was there. He was in the same restaurant while that woman was screaming at her, slapping her, tearing her apart in front of everyone.
Her mind raced, trying to stitch the memories together. The chaos, the crowd… and then, the fleeting glimpse of expensive black leather shoes walking away as the door swung shut. She'd thought nothing of it then. Everyone had shoes.
But now she knew. He had been there. He had seen it.
The hollow feeling in her gut turned to a hot, corrosive sludge. Why? The question screamed in her skull. They weren't friends, fine. They were barely acquaintances. But they had a contract. He knew her name. There was a basic, human fucking decency to not let someone you know get publicly assaulted if you can step in. A simple "That's enough" from a man like Daniel Viggo would have stopped the whole thing. Did he not recognize her? In her cheap dress, with her terrified face? Was she that forgettable, that invisible to him?
A weaker, pleading voice in her head tried to reason. Maybe he didn't see it was you. The place was crowded, it was loud. Maybe he was in a rush. If he'd known, he would've helped… right?
It was a pathetic question, not an answer.
"So he does have a girlfriend," she said aloud, her voice flat and dead. "May the bastard who started the 'he-hates-women' rumor choke on it." The bitterness was a tangible taste on her tongue. She clicked on the comments. Her thumb hovered, then she scrolled through a flood of comments—breathless admirers, cynical realists, and heartbroken fans—their words blurring into a digital buzz.
TEAM ROMANCE was in full force:
ViggoVisionary:STOP EVERYTHING! OMG! HE SMILED IN THE SECOND PHOTO! DANIEL VIGGO SMILED! This isn't a merger, it's a MIRACLE!
SableSaint: Riley didn't come back from Europe for the weather, she came back for HIM! This is a decade-long slow-burn, people! My heart can't take it!
EldridaEverAfter: The way his hand is on her back… it's not possessive, it's PROTECTIVE. He's finally found someone he wants to shield from the world. Cue the tears!
TEAM CYNIC fired back:
LostSoul: The only thing he's providing is a strategic alliance. That's a merger, not a romance. Wake up, people.
RealistRory: Open your eyes, people. That's not a romance, it's a corporate takeover. She's the shiny new asset.
THE HEARTBROKEN MOB wailed:
ViggoIsMine:I've literally loved him since we were in the same economics lecture at Eldrida U (he def didn't see me). This is a personal attack. RIP me.
EldridasEligible: There goes the last hope for every single woman in this city. Time to pack it up, ladies. He's officially been SNAGGED by a professional socialite.
A sound punched out of her—a short, sharp puff of air that was almost a laugh. It surprised her. She reread the comment.
EldridasEligible: There goes the last hope for every single woman in this city. Time to pack it up, ladies. He's officially been SNAGGED by a professional socialite.
A real, dry chuckle escaped her this time. The sheer, dramatic finality of it—Time to pack it up, ladies—was so absurdly over-the-top. Here she was, financially ruined and nursing a bruised soul, and someone out there was mourning the loss of a billionaire they'd never met as if it were a public tragedy. She wiped at her eyes, sniffed, and kept scrolling.
---
Meanwhile, in his penthouse, Daniel had just shrugged off his suit jacket when he felt a persistent, irritating vibration. The screen glowed with a barrage of notifications: Missed Call (Riley)… Before he could dissect this fresh annoyance, the phone lit up in his hand, Riley's name flashing again. He swiped to answer, biting back a curse.
But it wasn't Riley's syrup-sweet voice. It was a deep, male voice, harried and loud over a thumping bassline. "Uh, is this Mr. Viggo? Your companion is at The Midnight Hour, sir. She and her friends are… extremely intoxicated. They're causing a scene, and she's refusing to leave until she speaks to you."
Daniel closed his eyes. A slow, steadying breath hissed through his teeth. "Address," he commanded, his voice dangerously quiet.
He received a text with the location a second later. Without a word, he forwarded it to Liam with a two-word order: Retrieve her.
He tossed the phone onto his bed like it was contaminated. He finished undressing, the movement sharp with annoyance, and stepped into the shower, letting the scalding water try to wash away the frustration of other people's relentless needs.
---
Liam was in the middle of a rare, peaceful moment. A steaming bowl of spicy kimchi noodles sat before him, the aroma a simple, profound pleasure. His fork was halfway to his mouth when his work phone vibrated with the specific, urgent tone. He set the fork down, the appetite evaporating as he read the message and the address.
"For fuck's sake," he muttered to his silent apartment. "Can't that woman land for five minutes without causing a scene?" He was a personal assistant, not a goddamn babysitter for intoxicated heiresses.
With regret, he pushed the bowl away, grabbed the keys to the unassuming black sedan Daniel had gifted him for exactly these kinds of "urgent, discreet errands," and drove into the night.
The Midnight Hour was a trendy, overpriced lounge. Liam spotted Riley immediately. She was at the center of a table, flanked by two other similarly glossy women. They were shrieking with laughter, singing off-key to the club music, and waving empty martini glasses. Riley, her perfect hair now disheveled, her designer dress askew, was standing on a chair, attempting to lead her cackling friends in a slurred rendition of some pop anthem. The manager hovered nearby, looking pained.
Liam moved with efficient grace. He reached the table, placed a firm hand on Riley's shoulder, and guided her down. Her glassy eyes tried to focus on him. "Daniel? Darling! You're just in time for karaoke!"
"The night is over, Miss Sable," he intoned, his voice a flatline. When she wobbled and giggled, leaning heavily on him, he did the quickest, most clinical cost-benefit analysis. Arguing would take longer. With a suppressed sigh, he bent, hooked an arm under her knees and around her back, and lifted her. She squealed in drunken delight, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He carried her out, a stark, silent figure slicing through the pulsating chaos of the lounge. He ignored the stares and the din. The manager, who had made the call, watched in stunned confusion as Liam departed with the instigator, leaving her two bewildered, still-drunk friends behind at the ravaged table.
"But… sir?" the manager called out weakly, gesturing to the remaining women and the sizable unpaid tab. "What about…?"
Liam didn't break stride. His orders had been specific: Retrieve her. The rest were not his problem. He placed Riley into the backseat of the sedan, where she immediately curled up and passed out. As he pulled away from the curb, he glanced in the rearview mirror at the chaotic glow of the lounge. A faint, professional disdain settled on his face. Some people's lives were just a series of messes for others to clean up.
Liam drove the precious cargo towards the White family estate. The Whites, who ranked a formidable fourth among the city's powerful dynasties, lived in an old, stately manor of dark timber and weathered stone. Its windows glowed with a soft, golden light against the deep night, a quiet testament to generations of wealth.
He parked on the gravel drive. The heavy front door opened immediately, and three female servants emerged, their silhouettes neat against the warm light from the hall. They descended the steps with silent efficiency and bowed their heads in unison as Liam stepped out.
Without a word, he opened the rear door and lifted Riley's unconscious form. He carried her to the foot of the steps and carefully passed her into the waiting arms of the two eldest servants. They accepted her without a sound, their faces respectfully neutral. The third servant kept her head bowed, hands clasped.
Liam returned to the driver's seat. Only once his car had disappeared down the dark, tree-lined drive did the silence break.
"Who was that?" whispered the youngest, staring after the vanished taillights.
"It doesn't matter," replied the eldest, adjusting Riley in her arms. Her voice was low. "Bring her inside."