Time fractured.
Vivienne's breath stilled as the man with the gun stepped into the low light, the polished barrel gleaming like a silver threat. His face was lined, mid-fifties, eyes cold. She didn't recognize him—but Damien did.
"Rhett," Damien muttered, jaw tightening. "I thought you were dead."
The man—Rhett—smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "You're not the only one good at disappearing."
Vivienne moved subtly in front of Damien. It was instinct—protection forged from defiance.
Rhett scoffed. "Still playing knight, Vale? Or are you just hiding behind her now?"
"Lower the gun," Damien said, voice sharp. "You don't want to do this."
"Oh, but I do," Rhett replied. "Your father ruined my life. You finished the job."
Vivienne's eyes narrowed. "You're one of the names. You were on the inside."
He tilted his head. "Smart girl. Just like your father."
"You knew him."
"I was his partner," Rhett said bitterly. "Until he turned saint and tried to burn the whole house down."
She stepped forward. "So you killed him."
Rhett's smile faded. "No. I tried to stop him. Others made the final call."
"Who?" she demanded.
But Rhett only shook his head. "Knowing won't save you."
He raised the gun higher.
"Vivienne—" Damien's voice was tense. "Stay behind me."
"No," she whispered, voice trembling but steady. "He's not here for you."
She looked Rhett in the eye. "Is he?"
Rhett's silence was answer enough.
Vivienne slowly raised her hands, her pulse a drumbeat in her throat. "You want to kill me? Fine. But answer me this first: Why now? Why wait ten years?"
Rhett's hand shook—just slightly.
"Because your return ruined everything," he hissed. "They had peace. Control. And now you're digging. You don't know what you're waking up."
Vivienne took another step forward. "I know exactly what I'm waking up. And I'm not afraid of ghosts."
"Then you're a fool."
"I've been called worse."
In the breath between seconds, Damien moved. One step. Two.
Gunshot.
The sound cracked through the gallery like lightning.
Vivienne flinched.
Rhett collapsed.
Damien stood over him, gun in his hand, chest heaving. Blood spread beneath the older man like a shadow, staining the marble floor.
Vivienne stared, frozen.
"You—where did you—?"
Damien looked at her. "I've been carrying it since the reading of the will."
"You killed him," she whispered.
"He was going to kill you."
The alarm bells in her mind screamed—but something deeper, darker, steadier, answered them.
Because Rhett wasn't the only monster.
And Damien Vale had just killed for her.
She looked down at Rhett's lifeless form.
"We need to move the body," she said, quietly.
Damien blinked. "What?"
"No cops. No headlines. Not until I finish this."
Damien's eyes searched hers. "You're changing."
"No," she replied, voice like steel. "I'm remembering."
He exhaled. "There's a mirror room below. No surveillance. No staff. We'll take him there."
Vivienne nodded once.
As they dragged the body down the gallery's hidden staircase, she saw herself reflected in the mirrored walls—dark dress, blood on her heels, eyes that had stopped weeping.
She didn't look like a girl anymore.
She looked like a storm wrapped in velvet.