"The property was purchased by Vivienne Vanderbilt."
The name landed with weight.
Alex's expression didn't change, but his mind was already processing. Vanderbilt. He knew that name. How can he not.
Vivienne Vanderbilt... mother of Jennifer.
A dozen tiny things rearranged in Alex's chest the moment Caroline said the name. And suddenly the purchase was no longer a neutral real‑estate blip but a deliberate move on someone who lived inside the very world that had humiliated him.
Old memories rose slick and immediate: the ballroom laughter, the phone screens, the scoring, the way Jennifer's voice had counted him like a lesson.
Jennifer had been a mouthpiece in that cruel theater; she had laughed while he bled. He let the thought sit, cold and deliberate:
"Jennifer—your turn will come. Soon, very soon, you'll understand what happens when games are played with the wrong player."
