Chapter 4: Vipers and Victims
2916words
My phone vibrated on the nightstand, displaying Thorne's name. A smile tugged at my lips as I answered.
"Good morning," I greeted, keeping my voice neutral despite the warmth spreading through my chest.
"Elara." His deep voice sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. "My nephew is currently stalking your residence. Should I be concerned?"
I glanced back at the window where Dominic's silver Bentley had finally parked. "Not at all. He's predictable in his desperation."
"Nevertheless, I've taken the liberty of having security installed at your estate. The team arrives this afternoon." His tone brooked no argument. "I protect what's mine."
The possessiveness in his voice should have alarmed me, but instead, I found it oddly comforting. In my previous life, no one had protected me.
"Thank you," I replied simply. "Though I suspect today's battle will be fought with words rather than actions."
"Don't underestimate him," Thorne warned. "Cornered animals are at their most dangerous."
After ending the call, I dressed with deliberate care—a cream silk blouse and tailored trousers that projected confidence without ostentation. Armor for the confrontation to come.
I was halfway down the grand staircase when Hargrove appeared at the bottom, his normally impassive face betraying a hint of discomfort.
"Mr. Blackwood—the younger Mr. Blackwood—insists on seeing you, Miss. I've placed him in the morning room."
"Thank you, Hargrove," I replied, smoothing my expression into one of polite indifference. "Please bring coffee. I suspect this may be a lengthy conversation."
Dominic stood with his back to the door when I entered, his posture radiating tension. He turned at the sound of my footsteps, and I was momentarily taken aback by his appearance—hair disheveled, eyes rimmed with red, his usually immaculate clothing wrinkled as if he'd slept in it.
"Elara," he breathed, taking a step toward me before halting at my raised hand.
"That's close enough," I said coolly. "What do you want, Dominic?"
He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of distress I'd once found endearing. "To understand. To talk. This can't be what you really want."
I moved to the settee, arranging myself comfortably while gesturing for him to take the chair opposite. Distance was essential—I remembered too well how his touch had once clouded my judgment.
"What I want," I replied evenly, "is to be treated with respect. Something you've consistently failed to provide."
"This is about Vivienne." He leaned forward, eyes pleading. "It was a mistake—a stupid, meaningless fling. It meant nothing."
In my previous life, these words might have swayed me. Now, they only reinforced my contempt.
"How flattering for Vivienne," I observed dryly. "Does she know she means nothing to you?"
Dominic flushed. "That's not—I didn't mean—" He collected himself with visible effort. "I love you, Elara. Only you. Always you."
The declaration hung in the air between us, hollow and false. I studied him dispassionately, noting the calculated desperation in his eyes. This wasn't about love—it was about control, about losing what he considered his possession.
"You don't love me, Dominic," I stated flatly. "You love what I represent—the Winters fortune, the pharmaceutical patents, the social connections. I was a business acquisition, nothing more."
"That's not true!" He surged to his feet, pacing the room like a caged animal. "Yes, the merger is important, but my feelings for you are real."
I raised an eyebrow. "Real enough to share with my stepsister?"
He stopped pacing, shoulders slumping in apparent defeat. "I made a terrible mistake. One I'll regret for the rest of my life." His voice cracked convincingly. "But to throw everything away—to run to my uncle of all people—that's not the answer."
"It's precisely the answer," I countered. "Thorne values loyalty and honesty. Two qualities you conspicuously lack."
Dominic's expression hardened momentarily before he mastered himself, vulnerability replacing anger with practiced ease. He knelt before me, taking my hands before I could withdraw them.
"Please, Elara," he whispered, his blue eyes swimming with tears that never quite fell. "Give me another chance. I'll end things with Vivienne completely. I'll be the man you deserve."
The performance was flawless—the trembling hands, the catch in his voice, the perfect balance of remorse and hope. In another lifetime, I would have melted, grateful for the chance to reclaim what I thought was love.
I extracted my hands from his grip. "Your acting has improved," I noted coldly. "But my answer remains no."
Frustration flashed across his face before he could suppress it. "Is this about revenge? Are you trying to punish me by going to my uncle?"
"My engagement to Thorne has nothing to do with you," I lied smoothly. "It's a business arrangement that happens to benefit us both."
"Business arrangement," he echoed incredulously. "Do you honestly expect me to believe there's nothing more between you? The way he looked at you last night—"
"Is irrelevant," I interrupted, though my pulse quickened at the memory of Thorne's intense gaze. "The fact remains that our engagement is over, Dominic. You should focus on damage control rather than futile attempts to change my mind."
He stared at me for a long moment, searching for any sign of weakness. Finding none, his demeanor shifted subtly—the desperate lover vanishing, replaced by the calculating businessman I now recognized as his true self.
"You'll regret this," he said quietly. "Uncle Thorne isn't the man you think he is. He'll use you and discard you once he has what he wants."
I smiled, the expression devoid of warmth. "You're projecting, Dominic. Not everyone operates by your playbook."
Our conversation was interrupted by Hargrove announcing another visitor—Vivienne, who swept into the room like a hurricane in designer clothing.
She froze upon seeing Dominic kneeling before me, her perfectly made-up face contorting with shock and fury. "What is this?" she demanded, her voice rising shrilly.
Dominic stood hastily, putting distance between us. "Vivienne, I was just—"
"Begging for forgiveness," I supplied helpfully. "Rather convincingly, I might add."
Vivienne's gaze darted between us, calculation replacing her initial outburst. "And did you grant it?" she asked, her tone deceptively light.
"I'm afraid not," I replied, rising from the settee. "Some betrayals can't be forgiven."
"How convenient that you've found comfort in the arms of his uncle," she sneered. "I wonder what people would say if they knew how quickly you jumped from one Blackwood bed to another."
I laughed, the sound genuinely amused. "Is that really the narrative you want to push, Vivienne? Given your own... entanglements?"
Her cheeks flushed crimson. "You have no proof of anything."
"Don't I?" I countered, bluffing confidently. "The staff talk, security cameras record, and hotel registers document. I have everything I need should this become... public."
Fear flickered in her eyes before she masked it with disdain. "You wouldn't dare. It would embarrass your precious new fiancé."
"Thorne values truth above appearances," I replied. "Something neither of you seem to understand."
Dominic stepped between us, his expression calculating. "This hostility is unnecessary. We're family, after all."
"Not anymore," I corrected him. "And I believe this conversation has reached its natural conclusion. Hargrove will show you both out."
As if summoned by my words, the butler appeared in the doorway. Dominic hesitated, then nodded stiffly, moving toward the exit. Vivienne remained rooted in place, her eyes burning with hatred.
"This isn't over," she hissed as she finally turned to leave. "You'll regret humiliating us."
I watched them depart, a sense of satisfaction warming my chest. The first act of my revenge was proceeding exactly as planned.
---
What I hadn't anticipated was Dominic's persistence over the following days. Flowers arrived hourly—each arrangement more extravagant than the last. Handwritten notes professing remorse and eternal devotion. Even a vintage diamond bracelet I'd once admired at an auction, delivered by courier with a card reading simply: "Forever yours."
I donated the flowers to a local hospital, shredded the notes unread, and returned the bracelet with a terse message: "I am not for sale."
More concerning than Dominic's campaign was Vivienne's uncharacteristic silence. In my previous life, she had never been one to retreat from conflict—her absence from the battlefield suggested she was planning something more insidious than a frontal assault.
My suspicions were confirmed when Thorne called me three days after our engagement announcement.
"Have you seen the society blogs this morning?" he asked without preamble, his voice tight with controlled anger.
"No," I replied, reaching for my tablet. "What's happened?"
"Your stepsister has been busy," he said grimly. "Check your email. I've forwarded the links."
The first article appeared innocuous enough—a piece about our engagement that quoted "sources close to the family" expressing concern about the hasty nature of our relationship. The second was more pointed, suggesting I had been "groomed" by Thorne during my relationship with his nephew. By the third article, the narrative had evolved into a full-blown scandal, with Vivienne cast as the innocent victim of my ruthless social climbing.
"'Miss Winters has always been jealous of her younger stepsister's beauty and charm,'" I read aloud from one particularly vicious piece. "'Sources reveal a pattern of psychological abuse dating back years, culminating in Miss Winters' vindictive engagement to her former fiancé's uncle—a move calculated to maintain her access to the Blackwood fortune while punishing both her ex-fiancé and stepsister.'"
"Keep reading," Thorne instructed, his voice cold.
The final link led to a gossip site featuring what appeared to be photographic evidence of my "cruelty"—Vivienne with a bruised cheek, tearfully displaying what she claimed was the result of a confrontation with me. Another image showed her wrist in a brace—allegedly from when I had pushed her down the stairs in a fit of jealous rage.
"These are fabricated," I said, anger building in my chest. "I never touched her."
"Of course they are," Thorne agreed. "The question is how to respond."
Before I could answer, my phone beeped with another incoming call—my father. "Thorne, I need to take this. My father is calling."
"Go ahead. I'll be at your house in thirty minutes. We need to coordinate our response."
I switched calls, bracing myself for my father's reaction. "Dad?"
"Elara." His voice was strained. "I've just had the most disturbing conversation with Vivienne. She played me a recording of you threatening her—something about making her pay for stealing Dominic. Please tell me this is some kind of misunderstanding."
My blood ran cold. "It's fabricated, Dad. I never said those things."
"The recording was quite clear," he countered, doubt evident in his tone. "And there are photographs—"
"Makeup and lies," I interrupted. "Think about it, Dad. Have you ever seen me lose control? Have I ever been violent?"
He hesitated. "No, but people change. This engagement to Thorne Blackwood—it was so sudden. And now these allegations..."
"Which conveniently paint Vivienne as the innocent victim," I pointed out. "The same Vivienne who was having an affair with my fiancé."
"She claims that was a misunderstanding as well," my father said wearily. "That you imagined the affair out of jealousy and used it as an excuse to pursue Thorne."
I closed my eyes, fighting for calm. "Dad, you know me. You've raised me since Mom died. Do you honestly believe I'm capable of what she's suggesting?"
His silence spoke volumes.
"Thorne is coming over," I continued. "We'll figure this out. But I need you to trust me."
"I want to," he replied softly. "But these recordings, Elara... they sound so real."
After ending the call, I sat motionless, rage and disbelief warring within me. In my previous life, Vivienne and Dominic had destroyed my reputation through similar tactics—fabricated evidence of infidelity, whispered rumors of mental instability. I had been blindsided then, unprepared for their ruthlessness.
Not this time.
I was examining the doctored photographs more closely when Hargrove announced Thorne's arrival. He entered my study like a storm front, power and controlled fury radiating from his tall frame.
"Show me everything," he demanded without preamble.
I handed him my tablet. "The photos are amateur work—look at the shadowing on this one. The bruise is clearly makeup, and poorly applied at that."
Thorne studied the images with narrowed eyes. "The recording your father mentioned—have you heard it?"
"Not yet," I replied. "But I'm certain it's been edited or completely fabricated."
He nodded, setting the tablet aside. "My security team is already investigating. In the meantime, we need to control the narrative."
I paced the room, frustration building. "She's trying to paint me as the villain—the jealous, unstable stepsister who abuses poor, innocent Vivienne."
"A strategy that worked before," Thorne observed quietly.
I froze, turning to stare at him. "What did you say?"
His gray eyes met mine steadily. "I said it's a strategy that worked before. When they destroyed your reputation at Winters Pharmaceuticals last year."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. "How could you possibly know that?"
Thorne's expression remained impassive. "I make it my business to know everything about the people in my life, Elara. Including the smear campaign Dominic and your stepsister orchestrated when you questioned some of his business practices."
Relief flooded me—he was referring to research, not impossible knowledge of my past life. In this timeline, there had been a minor incident where Dominic had tried to discredit me when I discovered some questionable decisions he'd made regarding company resources, but nothing like the complete destruction I'd experienced in my previous life.
"Then you know they've tried to undermine me before," I said carefully.
"And you're determined it won't happen again," he stated rather than asked. "Hence your proposal to me."
I nodded slowly. "Partly, yes."
Something flickered in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps. Or suspicion. "What was the other part?"
Before I could formulate a response, my phone chimed with an incoming message. I glanced down to see a video attachment from an unknown number. With a sense of foreboding, I opened it.
The video showed me in the morning room with Dominic, filmed from what appeared to be a hidden camera. The visual was clear, but the audio had been heavily edited—my words cut and spliced to create a damning narrative.
"I hate Vivienne," my voice stated flatly in the doctored recording. "She deserves to suffer... I'll make her pay... no one will believe her over me... not when I'm married to Thorne Blackwood."
I handed the phone to Thorne, my hand trembling with rage. "This is what we're dealing with."
He watched the video, his expression darkening with each manipulated sentence. When it finished, he set the phone down with deliberate care.
"Amateur," he pronounced coldly. "Any decent audio engineer will identify the edits within minutes."
"But the damage will already be done," I pointed out. "People believe what they want to believe."
Thorne's lips curved in a smile that contained no warmth whatsoever. "Then perhaps it's time to give them something new to believe."
He pulled out his own phone, dialing a number from memory. "Harrison? Initiate Protocol Viper. Yes, all of it. And add Vivienne Winters to the list." He paused, listening. "Exactly. Full spectrum."
After ending the call, he turned back to me. "Our cybersecurity team traced the leak's origin," he continued. "It came from one of Vivienne's former PR consultants. She didn't need to give direct orders—the right 'anonymous tip' was all it took. By this evening, Vivienne Winters will be experiencing some... technical difficulties."
"What does that mean?" I asked, both alarmed and intrigued.
"It means," Thorne replied, his voice dangerously soft, "that every electronic device she owns will begin malfunctioning in increasingly inconvenient ways. Her social media accounts will experience 'glitches' that post and then delete embarrassing content. Her private messages will mysteriously appear in public forums. And most importantly, the original, unedited versions of her doctored evidence will find their way to several reputable journalists."
I stared at him, a mixture of awe and unease washing over me. "You can do that?"
"I didn't build my empire by playing fair, Elara." His gray eyes held mine, challenging me to object. "The question is whether you're prepared for the consequences. This won't be a clean fight."
In my previous life, I had tried to maintain my dignity, to rise above the slander and manipulation. I had lost everything as a result.
"Do it," I said firmly. "All of it."
Thorne studied me for a long moment, as if seeing me truly for the first time. Then he nodded once, satisfaction evident in the set of his shoulders.
"They've underestimated you," he observed. "A mistake they'll soon regret."
As he moved to leave, his steps faltered almost imperceptibly. His hand lifted slightly toward me before he caught himself, fingers curling into a controlled fist at his side. The momentary lapse in his perfect composure revealed more than any touch could have.
At the doorway, he paused, his profile sharp against the afternoon light. His gaze, when it met mine, contained a carefully banked intensity that sent an unexpected warmth spreading through my chest.
“Until tomorrow, Elara,” he said, his voice pitched lower than usual, my name on his lips sounding almost like a caress.
Then he was gone, his restraint as telling as any declaration could have been.
