Chapter 2 - The Rival's Hand
Vivien looked up through rain-blinded eyes.
Lucian Reyes was a legend born of blood and whispers in South Florida. Where Damian Torres represented corporate prestige wrapped in legitimate political influence, Lucian was the shadow that controlled the docks, the nightlife, and the real power. He was broad, impossibly sharp, with a faint scar tracing his left jawline and eyes that looked as though they had seen every cruelty the world had to offer.
“Go away,” Vivien croaked, her voice trembling from the cold. “I don't need a charity umbrella from my ex-fiancé’s enemy.”
Lucian didn't leave. Instead, he crouched down, bringing himself to her eye level. The smell of cedar, rain, and dark leather drifted off him, overpowering the heavy scent of orchids leaking from the cathedral doors.
“I didn't come to offer charity, Miss Mercer,” Lucian said smoothly, his eyes tracing the red marks on her arms where her father had grabbed her earlier. “I came to watch Damian Torres ruin his own empire. I just didn't expect him to be stupid enough to discard his greatest asset on the steps of Saint Aurelia’s.”
Vivien let out a bitter, wet laugh. “Asset? I was just a contract with a veil.”
“To Damian, perhaps,” Lucian said softly. “To me, you are the woman who spent three years managing the Mercer family's logistics, keeping their offshore accounts clean, and doubling their fleet efficiency while your father took the credit.”
Vivien froze. No one outside her father's inner circle knew she handled the family’s books.
“You’ve been watching me?” she asked, a sudden spark of caution flaring through her numbness.
“I watch everything that moves in this city,” Lucian replied. He reached down, offering a heavy, warm, leather-gloved hand. “Your father is inside negotiating a trade-off. He’s going to offer Cassidy to Damian instead. The merger will happen with or without you, Vivien. The only question is whether you intend to stay on these steps and let them write your ending.”
The cathedral doors opened again. Damian stepped out onto the top landing, his hair slightly disheveled, flanked by two of his family’s security guards.
“Vivien!” Damian yelled, stepping into the rain. “Stop this childish spectacle right now and—”
Damian stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes landed on Lucian Reyes standing beside his abandoned bride.
Damian’s face flushed red with instant rage. “Reyes! What the hell are you doing near my wife?”
“She isn't your wife, Torres,” Lucian said, not even bother to turn around fully, his voice dripping with relaxed contempt. “She’s free.”
“Get away from her!” Damian roared, taking three fast steps down the stairs. “Vivien, get inside! The press is coming around the corner!”
Vivien looked at Damian—at the arrogance in his posture, the lack of remorse in his eyes, the underlying assumption that she would eventually fold and obey like she always had. Then she looked at Lucian’s outstretched hand.
She didn't hesitate.
Vivien placed her cold, shivering hand into Lucian’s heavy glove.
Lucian pulled her up effortlessly. He wrapped his warm wool coat around her soaked shoulders, lifted her off her feet before her bare sole could touch the icy stone, and carried her down the steps toward the Maybach.
“Reyes!” Damian screamed behind them, his security guards stepping forward nervously. “If you put her in that car, it’s war!”
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Lucian stopped at the open door of the Maybach, looking back over his shoulder with a cold, ruthless smile that made even the rain seem to pause.
“The war started the moment you touched her sister, Damian,” Lucian said quietly. “Now I’m just taking the prize.”
