Chapter 5 - The Price of Treason
By 7:00 a.m. the following morning, the storm had cleared, leaving Miami bathed in a sharp, blinding sunlight.
Vivien walked down the grand floating staircase of the Reyes estate wearing a tailored ivory jumpsuit Lucian had arranged to be delivered from a high-end boutique in Bal Harbour. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek, low ponytail. She carried the black tablet under her arm like a weapon.
Lucian sat at a long marble dining table overlooking the bay, drinking black coffee and reading the morning paper.
He looked up as she entered, an approving glint flashing in his dark eyes.
“You slept,” he observed.
“Four hours,” Vivien said, sitting down across from him. A maid immediately poured her a cup of tea. “Which is four hours more than my father had.”
Lucian flipped the newspaper around, sliding it across the polished marble.
The front page featured a massive, high-definition photograph of Vivien sitting on the steps of Saint Aurelia’s in her soaked gown, her face pale, with Lucian carrying her down to his car while Damian raged in the background.
The headline read in bold black ink: THE SHATTERED BRIDE: MERCER HEIRESS FLEES CATHEDRAL WITH REYES SYNDICATE BOSS.
“The Mercer stock dropped eighteen percent at the opening bell,” Lucian said, taking a sip of his coffee. “The Torres group had to freeze trading on three of their subsidiary funds to prevent a total panic.”
Vivien stared at the photograph. For a second, a twinge of old guilt pulled at her chest—the voice of her mother telling her she was ruining the family name. But then she remembered her father’s cold words on those steps: Damian made a mistake. Lower your voice.
The guilt died instantly, replaced by hard, sharp clarity.
“They called my phone thirty-two times last night,” Vivien said flatly, setting her tablet on the table. “My mother left six voicemails begging me to come home and release a statement saying it was a misunderstanding.”
“And what did you tell them?”
“I didn't answer,” Vivien replied. She tapped the screen of the tablet, sliding it across to Lucian. “Instead, I spent the rest of the night opening the offshore files Damian created. He didn't just cheat on me with Cassidy, Lucian. He’s been embezzling from my father’s logistics firm for two years.”
Lucian leaned forward, his interest visibly piqued as he scanned the complex financial sheets she had organized. “He was stealing from his own future father-in-law?”
“He was using the Mercer shipping routes to smuggle unregistered currency out of Central America,” Vivien explained, her voice steady and precise. “My father thought Damian was saving the family business. In reality, Damian was using us as a human shield. If the federal authorities caught on, my father would take the fall while Damian walked away clean.”
Lucian looked up from the screen, staring at Vivien with a mixture of genuine surprise and profound respect. “You found this in four hours?”
“I found it three months ago,” Vivien confessed softly. “I kept it as leverage in case Damian ever tried to push me out of the company after the wedding. I was foolish enough to think I’d never have to use it.”
Lucian closed the tablet, his hand resting on top of hers. “It’s not foolishness to hope for loyalty, Vivien. It’s human. But now you know what they are.”
Before she could answer, the heavy oak doors of the dining hall swung open.
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Lucian’s head of security, a broad man named Marcus, stepped into the room, his hand resting near his sidearm.
“Don Lucian,” Marcus reported, his voice low. “Richard Mercer and Damian Torres are at the main gate. They brought four vehicles and six armed guards. They’re demanding an audience.”
