A Forced Surrender

*Apologize? He wants me to go back and apologize to Camilla?*

Vivienne scoffed, glaring right into Gideon's sombre amber eyes. Trapped in the dim, echoing stairwell, she felt the sheer heat of her own indignation flare up. "Over my dead body," she spat, her voice laced with pure, unadulterated defiance.

Gideon's sharp features stiffened. He hadn't expected such sheer stubbornness from a woman who had just landed a vicious slap. His voice dropped into a lethal, freezing register as he laid out his threat. "If you refuse to apologize, Veda’s name will disappear from the fashion and jewelry field by tomorrow."

He harbored no romantic feelings for Camilla. Yet, he remained bound by the ironclad belief that she had saved his life six years ago on that fateful, chaotic night. Over the years, he satisfied her material needs without a second thought as compensation. He had personally authorized the staggering $150,000,000 payment to hire Veda for Lumina Jewelry solely on Camilla's behalf. Given that history, his pride outright refused to let another woman physically attack Camilla right in front of his eyes.

Vivienne's wrist throbbed from his vice-like grip. She refused to shed a single tear in front of this tyrant. "I didn't do anything wrong," she insisted passionately. "I was merely defending myself. I won't apologize!"

Seeing her rigid attitude, Gideon snorted with cold arrogance. "With the full, terrifying weight of the Rothwells’ influence in the business circles, your reputation will go up in flames in Valoria. The royal courts of Dravenia will no longer hear of Veda. Are you sure you want to throw your life's work away?"

*The Rothwells...*

Vivienne gnashed her teeth, her mind racing a mile a minute. The bitter realization crashed over her in waves. She desperately needed to remain in Crownhaven for the sake of her children's schooling. More importantly, she needed this corporate foothold to successfully reclaim her late mother’s shares in Lumina Jewelry. Weighing her monumental pride against her long-term revenge, she made a cold calculation. She would bear this petty, humiliating setback for the sake of her broader scheme.

Forcing a sickeningly sweet tone, she raised her brows. "Isn't it just an apology?"

She shoved past him, yanked the heavy fire door open, and marched back into the corridor.

Vivienne strode directly back into the office. Camilla stood by the executive desk, doing a masterful job of feigning a visible tremble. Vivienne approached her, looking her dead in the eye, and delivered a flat, emotionless statement. "I'm sorry."

Camilla's heart raced with a deep, complacent thrill. Seeing her superior, arrogant sister bend the knee brought a rush of immense satisfaction, but she smoothly maintained her polite, forgiving facade. "It's okay. As for the contract…" she trailed off, gesturing toward the printed papers resting on the polished mahogany desk.

Vivienne snatched the metal pen from the holder and aggressively signed the document. Beneath her lowered lashes, a dark, sly smile formed. *I’ll teach them a good lesson about nurturing a snake in their bosom,* she plotted internally, sealing the deal with a sharp flick of her wrist. Without creating any further stir, she put the pen down, turned on her heel, and departed the office promptly without another word.

Gideon walked over to the desk. Glancing down at the freshly signed contract, his eyes narrowed slightly. He issued a faint, cryptic warning to Camilla. "Don't come into contact with her alone."

Leaving the heavy tension lingering in the air, he turned and departed with his assistant.

Left alone in her spacious office, Camilla dropped the pitiful act. She clutched the signed document tightly, a triumphant, venomous gaze sweeping her features. "Vivienne Kensington, you'll still die by my hands in the end," she whispered into the empty room.

Down below, inside the luxurious confines of his parked Maybach, Gideon settled into the plush leather seat. His personal assistant, Wyatt Mercer, slid into the passenger side, closing the door and shutting out the city noise.

"Did you gather the background information I requested?" Gideon asked, his tone brisk.

Wyatt nodded and handed over a sleek tablet. "Sir, it's all saved in here."

Gideon took the device. Swiping through the digital files, he scanned the extremely sensitive background information on Veda. His attention abruptly snagged on the full name listed in the registry: Vivienne Kensington.

He scrutinized the screen closer. Her registered ID address perfectly matched the Kensingtons’ current residence. His eyes dimmed slightly as the puzzle pieces began falling into place. The underlying tension, the instant hostility between the two women—the puzzle of the sisters' fractured relationship began to form a clear picture in his calculating mind.

Miles away, at the towering, glass-fronted Obsidian Group headquarters, two incredibly small figures confidently walked up the expansive stone steps and entered the bustling lobby.

Chloe and Maddox looked up in awe at the sheer scale of the architectural marvel. It stood as a true testament to the largest corporate empire in Crownhaven. All around them, smart-looking men and women in tailored suits hurried by. Some clutched thick stacks of documents, while others conversed in rapid foreign languages to escort international clients to private elevators.

Amidst the chaotic corporate blur, the two toddlers stood out. They navigated the polished marble floor and approached the massive front desk.

Chloe unzipped her little yellow duck backpack. Her tiny hands pulled out a neatly printed sheet of information. With utmost seriousness, she looked up and informed the receptionist, "Miss, we’ve been selected as the endorsers of the brand ‘Junior Styles’. We're here for an audition."

The receptionist leaned over the high counter. She melted the moment she heard that sweet, childish voice. "Oh my goodness," she cooed, bypassing standard protocol. "Didn't your parents bring you here?"

Maddox stepped forward, his little face a mask of solemn independence. "We don't want to bother Mommy. We can do it ourselves."

Utterly charmed by the sensible twins who insisted on handling their own business, the receptionist smiled warmly. "Wow, you two are such sensible kids. Okay then, I’ll take you there right now."

"Thank you, Miss Beautipul!" the two rugrats chimed in unison, bowing their heads politely.

The receptionist stepped out from behind her desk, took their little hands, and personally led them toward the studio floors. 'Junior Styles' was an elite children's clothing line under the Obsidian Group umbrella. They were currently searching for two young, photogenic models who possessed the natural charisma to handle the spotlight.

Upon reaching the studio, the serene corporate atmosphere vanished. Inside, chaos reigned. Clothes hangers rattled, heavy cameras flashed, and glaring lights illuminated the elaborate background boards. Children entered and exited the shooting area, many of them sobbing or throwing tantrums while exasperated parents tried to soothe them.

In the center of it all stood Stella Waverly. The notoriously stern and demanding director was currently losing her temper over the current batch of crying children. Dressed in sharp professional attire, she rubbed her temples and screamed at her flustered staff.

"How am I supposed to shoot this?" Stella yelled, her shrill voice echoing over the wailing toddlers. "They have to be photogenic! Photogenic! Do you understand me?"

An assistant scurried over, holding a clipboard like a shield. "Sis' Stella, these two children—"

"Argh, don't bother me right now!" Stella snapped, waving the assistant away.

Frustrated, she spun around to march toward the monitor. In doing so, she suddenly caught sight of the two rugrats standing quietly by the receptionist.

Stella froze in her tracks. Her furious expression instantly shifted. A wave of extreme, pale shock washed over her face as her intense gaze locked onto their exquisite facial features. Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared at the little boy and girl.

*How can these two kids resemble Mr. Rothwell so much!?*