Chapter 4 - The Bride's Secret
Damien did not force Vivien to sit.
He stepped aside and let her move toward the ballroom doors, but he followed at a distance. She hated that she felt safer knowing he was behind her.
The corridor outside was quieter. The music became a muffled pulse through the walls.
“Tell me what's going on,” she said.
Damien stopped beside a marble column. “Adrian Vale has been using his company to disguise payments for a group connected to my family's rivals.”
“Adrian is a marketing executive.”
“He is a marketing executive on paper.”
Vivien stared at him.
“For the past year,” Damien continued, “his company has been receiving large payments from shell businesses. Some of those payments pass through the Sinclair family's property holdings. My people have been tracing them.”
“And you came to the wedding to investigate?”
“I came to meet someone who promised to give me the original records.”
“Who?”
“The man who just walked into the ballroom.”
“The one with the anchor pin?”
Damien nodded. “He changed his mind.”
Vivien rubbed her forehead. “This is insane.”
“I agree.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“Because the records could prove that someone is using the wedding as a cover to move control of several companies.”
Vivien looked back through the ballroom doors. Celeste was standing beside her father, her expression tense. Adrian had one hand at her back.
“Does Celeste know?”
“I don't know.”
“You think she married him for money?”
“I don't make assumptions about people I haven't spoken to.”
“That's convenient.”
Damien accepted the criticism without reacting.
Vivien took a breath. “I need to tell you something. Adrian stole my work.”
Damien's eyes narrowed.
“Two years ago, I designed the identity for his first company. The logo, packaging, website, the whole brand system. He promised to make me a partner. When the company got its first major investment, he said the paperwork had been delayed. Then he removed my name from everything and told people I was unstable.”
“Did you sue?”
“I couldn't afford to. He had contracts and lawyers. I had emails and a rented apartment.”
“Do you still have the original files?”
“Yes. On an old drive.”
“Keep them.”
“I do.”
Damien studied her. “Why didn't you tell me that before?”
“Because I didn't know you were a mafia boss when I hired you.”
He almost smiled. “A fair point.”
A door opened at the end of the corridor. Adrian stepped out.
“Vivien.”
She went still.
Adrian looked at Damien. “Can I speak with my former girlfriend privately?”
“No,” Damien said.
Adrian's smile tightened. “I wasn't asking you.”
“And I wasn't answering for her.”
Vivien lifted her chin. “What do you want, Adrian?”
He glanced toward the ballroom. “You need to stop this. Whatever story you're telling people about this man, it's embarrassing.”
“I'm not telling anyone anything.”
“You show up with a stranger and start making accusations. Celeste's family doesn't need a scandal.”
“Then you should have thought about that before you stole my work.”
Adrian's expression hardened. “You signed the agreement.”
“I signed a freelance contract. Not a transfer of ownership.”
“You're remembering it incorrectly.”
“I have the original files.”
For the first time, Adrian looked uncertain.
Damien noticed.
“Interesting,” he said.
Adrian turned on him. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“Everything involving Vivien concerns me tonight.”
“You don't know her.”
“I'm learning.”
Adrian stepped closer. “You should be careful, Moretti. This isn't your city.”
Damien's expression did not change. “And yet you seem to know my name.”
A hotel security guard appeared at the far end of the corridor. He looked between the men.
“Is everything all right?”
“Perfectly,” Damien said.
Adrian straightened his jacket. “Enjoy the reception.”
He walked back into the ballroom.
Vivien exhaled.
“Come with me,” Damien said.
“Where?”
“Somewhere we can talk without an audience.”
“I don't go anywhere with men who might have people followed.”
“Then you'll like the next part. My driver is waiting downstairs, and you can choose whether to get in.”
She hesitated.
“I'm not going to make you do anything,” he said. “But I don't think you should stay here.”
Vivien looked through the ballroom doors one last time. Adrian was already laughing beside Celeste, as if the corridor conversation had never happened.
She hated him for that.
She turned back to Damien.
“Fine. But I want the truth.”
“You'll get it.”
“And I want my own ride home.”
“Agreed.”
They walked toward the elevators.
Neither noticed the hotel camera above the service corridor turn slightly to follow them.
The ride to the elevator felt longer than it should have. Vivien kept looking at the mirrored walls, half expecting Adrian to appear behind them.
Damien noticed.
“He won't follow us down here.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he has more to lose than you do.”
“That's not the same as saying he won't.”
“No,” Damien agreed. “It isn't.”
At the lobby, Marco was waiting beside the car. He opened the door, but Vivien stayed on the pavement.
“I need to call my sister.”
“Of course.”
She dialed. Her sister, Clara, answered with the background noise of a television and a kettle.
“Tell me you didn't do anything ridiculous,” Clara said.
Vivien closed her eyes. “I may have done something ridiculous.”
“Did you go to the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Did you bring the agency man?”
“Not exactly.”
A pause. “Vivien.”
“I'll explain tomorrow.”
“Are you safe?”
Vivien looked at Damien. He stood a few feet away, giving her privacy.
“Yes,” she said. “I think so.”
Clara lowered her voice. “You don't have to prove anything to Adrian. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“Then come home.”
“I will.”
After the call, Vivien turned to Damien. “I want to go to my apartment.”
“I'll have Marco take you.”
“You're not coming?”
“Not unless you ask.”
She hesitated. “Maybe another time.”
He nodded.
As the car pulled away, Vivien looked back through the rear window. Damien remained beneath the hotel canopy, speaking to Marco. His posture had changed. The warmth he had shown her was gone, replaced by a stillness that seemed to command the whole entrance.
She wondered how many versions of him existed.
At home, she removed her gown and hung it carefully. Then she sat on the edge of her bed and looked at the champagne-colored silk. She had bought it to make Adrian regret losing her. Instead, she had met a man whose life was far more complicated than she could understand.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
You should have stayed away from Moretti.
She stared at it, then took a screenshot.
Another message arrived.
He doesn't protect people. He owns them.
Vivien blocked the number, locked her door, and sent the screenshots to Damien.
His reply came quickly.
I will find out who sent them. Do not respond to any more messages.
She typed: I am not one of your people.
He replied: I know. That's why I'm asking, not ordering. Please be careful.
She read the message several times.
Then, despite herself, she smiled.
At home, Vivien opened her laptop and searched the name Damien Moretti. The results were exactly as she feared: business profiles, photographs at charity events, articles about acquisitions, and older stories that referred to the Moretti family as an alleged criminal organization.
One article described a violent dispute between rival freight companies. Another mentioned an investigation that had ended without charges. A third showed Damien standing beside a city council member at the opening of a youth center.
The contradiction unsettled her.
She read until after midnight, then closed the laptop.
A message appeared from Damien.
I hope you got home safely. You don't owe me another meeting. If you want to speak, I'll answer honestly.
She typed and erased three replies before sending one.
I got home. I need time to think.
His answer came a minute later.
Take it.
She set the phone down.
For years, Adrian had made her feel guilty whenever she needed time to decide. Damien had given it to her without argument. That did not make him safe. It did make him different.
The next morning, she called Clara and told her everything.
Before Vivien went to sleep, she searched the agency's email and found Christopher Bennett's confirmation. He had sent a polite apology: a family emergency had taken him out of town, and the agency had attempted to reach her by phone. The message had arrived at 7:18, twelve minutes before their meeting.
She felt a strange wave of relief. Christopher had not stood her up. Her dead phone had simply left her unaware.
She replied to the agency the next morning, explaining that she no longer needed the booking. She did not mention Damien.
May you like
Then she opened her notebook and wrote down everything she remembered from the evening: the warning card, the man with the anchor pin, Adrian's reaction, and the name Harlan. She had learned enough to understand that memory could become evidence, and she wanted her own record before anyone else's version replaced it.
When she finished, she put the notebook in a drawer and went to work. For the first time in months, she did not check Adrian's social media before leaving the apartment.
