Chapter 8: The Midnight Ultimatum
Before I could answer, the sharp, authoritative chime of the front doorbell cut through the quiet of the townhouse. Julian froze, his head snapping toward the foyer. The sound came again—two deliberate, heavy rings that signaled someone who had no intention of leaving until the door was opened. Julian cursed under his breath, turned on his heel, and strode down the long hallway.
I followed him at a distance, peeking around the arched molding of the foyer. Julian pulled the heavy front door open. Standing on the marble porch under the amber porch light was Vivienne. She had changed out of her gala gown into a sharp, charcoal-gray wool coat, her dark hair slicked back into a perfect, flawless knot. She didn't wait for an invitation; she stepped right past Julian, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor as she walked into the entrance hall.
"Thought you might need some company while you contemplate your future, Julian," Vivienne said smoothly, her eyes scanning the high ceilings and antique furnishings of our home with an air of clinical detachment. She stopped near the parlor entrance, her gaze falling instantly upon the sofa pillow resting pathetically on the Persian rug. A small, cold smile touched the corner of her lips. "Ah. The miraculous arrival has already departed."
Julian closed the door slowly, leaning back against the wood as if all the strength had been drained from his legs. "What do you want, Vivienne? Name your price. If you want the downtown commercial property transferred to your holding company, just draw up the papers."
Vivienne turned slowly, her dark eyes locking onto Julian with predatory calm. "Property? Money? Julian, please. I don't want your failing real estate portfolio. I want control of the Vance Foundation board. I want your seat as chairman, effective immediately at tomorrow morning's emergency vote."
May you like
I stepped out from the shadows of the hallway, my voice trembling but clear. "And if Julian refuses? What happens to the video then?"
Vivienne didn't even flinch at my sudden appearance. She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out her smartphone, and tapped the screen twice. The harsh glow illuminated her face in the dim foyer. "The video goes live on every major news outlet and social media platform by eight o'clock tomorrow morning, Clara. Your husband's career, his social standing, and his family name will vanish before breakfast. The choice isn't mine, Julian. It's yours."
