The Last Supper

Vivienne took a deep, calming breath. The harsh fluorescent lights of the police precinct buzzed relentlessly overhead, casting pale, unforgiving shadows across the scuffed linoleum floor. She needed to suppress the rising temper burning inside her chest. Harper stood trembling beside her, a nervous wreck facing unimaginable debt. A Maybach replacement cost an astronomical sum, a figure that would drag Harper into lifelong ruin over a minor traffic incident. Swallowing her pride felt like swallowing shards of glass, but Vivienne forced her tense shoulders to drop.

She bowed her head slightly. "I’m sorry, Mr. Rothwell."

Her voice carried a steady, firm resonance. "I'll apologize to you on her behalf. Please, let us settle this without writing off the entire vehicle."

Gideon stepped closer. The distance between them vanished in an instant. The crisp, sophisticated scent of his cedar and bergamot cologne wafted over her senses, wrapping around her in a suffocating embrace. He looked down at her, his amber eyes unreadable. His tone sounded unconcerned, yet the underlying edge remained incredibly sharp.

"I didn’t expect Miss Kensington to apologize for a friend." Gideon paused, his gaze dropping to study the subtle clench of her jaw. "I really can’t tell that you’re someone who would do something to hurt your sister."

The cryptic remark landed with surgical precision. He referenced the lie Camilla spun last night about being maliciously drugged six years ago.

Vivienne stiffened. *Sister. He means Camilla.*

Letting the traffic incident slide with that final, cutting psychological blow, Gideon adjusted his silver cuffs and turned his broad shoulders toward the exit. "I’ll let today’s incident slide this once."

Without another glance in her direction, he walked away. His polished leather shoes clicked against the floorboards, Wyatt trailing closely behind him with a knowing smirk.

Harper sagged against the uncomfortable plastic chair, stunned and breathless. Her hand gripped her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. Vivienne remained rooted to the spot, silent. A dark, cynical smile touched the corners of her lips. She realized Gideon was stepping up to defend Camilla. He was playing the role of the devoted lover, punishing Vivienne for a crime she never committed.

"Vivi," Harper croaked, her voice trembling as she watched the precinct doors swing shut. "What did Mr. Rothwell mean by that?"

Vivienne brushed a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. "How would I know? I guess he thinks I’m targeting Camilla deliberately. He has to speak up for her as her man, doesn't he?"

"What? Camilla Kensington is his lover?" Harper gasped, her eyes widening in sheer disbelief. "Is the man blind? Out of all the women in Valoria, he chooses her?"

Vivienne chuckled softly. "You’re still thinking about high-society gossip? I suggest you start coming up with a bulletproof explanation for your father regarding his dented bumper."

She turned and headed toward the precinct exit, her heels clicking in a steady rhythm. Harper scrambled to keep up, her panic returning in full force.

The next morning, sunlight poured into the Lumina Jewelry corporate offices, illuminating the sleek mahogany desk in Vivienne's workspace. She sorted through a stack of supplier contracts, her focus sharp. Taking a specific purchasing slip for rough diamonds, she handed it directly to the department staff standing before her.

"Just order the rough diamonds according to this purchasing slip," Vivienne warned sternly, tapping the paper with her index finger. "Follow the details to the letter. Avoid any mistakes. You will bear the responsibility for any errors that emerge from this batch."

The purchasing clerk scanned the document and nodded eagerly. "Understood, Miss Kensington. I'll process it right away."

Just as the clerk turned to organize the files, the landline on Vivienne's desk rang. She placed a separate folder down, stood up, and stepped out into the quiet hall to answer her mobile phone vibrating in her pocket.

The exact moment she vanished beyond the frosted glass door, another clerk at the corner desk stood up. The disloyal employee glanced around the room, pulled out a smartphone, and snapped a clear photograph of the supplier’s contact details listed on the rough diamond purchasing slip. Slipping the phone back into a pocket, the clerk sent the image directly to Camilla.

A few floors away, Camilla sat in her private office. Her phone lit up with a notification. She opened the message and stared at the glowing screen. A malicious smirk spread across her painted lips. This provided the perfect opportunity for corporate sabotage.

*Since you want to act high and mighty in the purchasing department, don’t blame me for the fallout.*

The sharp ring of her office landline shattered the silence. Camilla picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Cami, I called your cell phone several times. Why is it turned off?" Monica’s voice filtered through the speaker, tight and anxious.

Camilla frowned, leaning back in her leather chair. "My phone was smashed into pieces by that woman. I haven't bought a new one yet. Why are you looking for me?"

Monica delivered a strict, non-negotiable directive. "Your father is calling that wretched girl to come home tonight. You must bring Gideon to the manor for a formal family dinner."

Camilla tapped her manicured nails against the polished wood of her desk. "Mother, when has Gideon ever come back for dinner with me? What if he refuses to go?"

In the past six years, Gideon never showed interest in attending Kensingtons family gatherings. His presence was a rare, coveted prize.

"You must coax him," Monica insisted. Her voice grew frantic. "Vivienne has returned to Valoria as a top-notch international jewelry designer. She threatens our position. We need to solidify your status as the official Mrs. Rothwell in front of Richard."

Monica knew they needed visual proof of Gideon's backing. Without it, Camilla held no ground against Vivienne's rising prestige.

Camilla gripped the receiver. She understood the harsh reality. Her father took her seriously only because of her ties to the Rothwell empire. She agreed to use her pitiful act to sway him.

Back in her office, Vivienne ignored the looming dread of her family. She dove deep into reviewing old personnel files. She scrolled through digitized records, specifically trying to track down Blair Prescott. He served as her late mother's loyal former assistant. Blair managed Lumina Jewelry flawlessly and maintained stellar sales in Crownhaven long after her mother passed away. Sales plummeted the moment he resigned.

Before she could unearth his current contact information, her phone vibrated. The caller ID displayed an unfamiliar, yet recognizable number. Her estranged father, Richard.

She answered the call. The conversation was brief and demanding. He ordered her to attend the family dinner tonight. No greetings. No warmth. Just a command.

Hours later, dusk settled over the sprawling Kensington estate. Vivienne stepped across the threshold of the grand manor. Six agonizing years had passed since she last set foot inside. The familiar architecture felt cold and foreign, a museum of painful memories.

"Milady?" the old nanny whispered from the hallway, recognizing her instantly.

Before Vivienne could respond, she was met by Monica’s sickeningly hypocritical warmth. Monica wore an elegant one-piece evening gown, gracefully setting down a delicate porcelain teacup on the living room coffee table.

"Oh, Vivi, you’re finally back?" Monica beamed, stepping forward with outstretched arms and a practiced smile.

Vivienne stared at the woman's perfectly powdered face. Memories of harsh slaps and vicious insults flared in her mind.

"Why do I have a feeling that this meal is going to be my last supper?" Vivienne mocked loudly. She refused to play along with the fake domestic bliss. The forced cheerfulness disgusted her.

"How can you call our family dinner your last supper?" Monica placed a hand over her chest, feigning hurt.

"Please don't nauseate me. I'm more used to hearing you call me names. That somehow feels kinder." Vivienne emphasized the word 'kinder', deliberately provoking the older woman.

Before Monica could attempt to drop her act and retaliate, Richard’s deep, furious voice boomed from the top of the grand staircase.

"Vivi, it’s been six years, but you’re still so relentless." Richard descended the plush carpeted steps, his face rigid with anger. "Is that how you speak to your mother?"

Vivienne tilted her head. She chuckled coldly, the sound devoid of humor. "My mother is dead. If I'm not mistaken, you were there too when she was cremated."

The words struck like a physical blow. Richard's chest heaved. Furious that she had not repented since he drove her out six years ago, he aggressively defended his new wife.

"What have you learned abroad? Is this how you talk to your elders?" Richard roared, his face flushing crimson. "I asked you to come back for dinner instead of a family feud today. If you’re so discontent, then get out!"

Monica placed a gentle hand on Richard’s arm, acting the part of the forgiving peacemaker. "Dear, don't be angry with Vivi. I am just her stepmother. I understand why she hasn't accepted me."

"In my opinion, you're worse than a stepmother," Vivienne shot back.

"Vivienne Kensington!" Richard reprimanded her loudly, pointing a trembling finger toward the door.

Vivienne watched the performance. She realized with pristine clarity that her father remained just as heartless and blindly trusting of Monica as he always was. He would always view Vivienne as the unreasonable, rebellious villain tearing his perfect household apart.

"I really don’t plan to stay for another second longer," Vivienne scoffed.

She spun on her heels. She reached for the heavy brass doorknob, ready to leave this toxic environment behind.

Before she could pull the door open, the grand entrance doors swung inward from the outside.

Camilla walked through the archway. Her arms wrapped intimately around Gideon's dark suit jacket.

The blistering fury on Richard’s face vanished in a fraction of a second. The deep scowl morphed into a pathetic, fawning smile. He and Monica shoved past Vivienne, swarming Gideon with sickening flatteries.

"Mr. Rothwell, I didn't expect you to come," Richard groveled, bowing his head in deep respect.

"Yeah," Gideon murmured.

He ignored the eager hosts. His amber gaze cut straight through the crowd and fixed on Vivienne standing near the exit.

"The Kensingtons manor is really boisterous today," Gideon remarked indifferently.

Richard caught the direction of Gideon's stare. He laughed awkwardly, rubbing his hands together. "Uh, this is my younger daughter, Vivienne. She inherited her talent from her mother. We just learned she is the famous designer, Veda."

Gideon smoothly acknowledged the newly discovered identity, his eyes never leaving Vivienne's face. He hinted at the chaotic family dynamic playing out in the foyer.

Vivienne stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She watched the pathetic, sycophantic display like a detached outsider. The sheer absurdity of the people who shared her blood made her chest ache with cynical amusement. She laughed aloud, the sound cutting through Richard's groveling.

"I shall take my leave now," Vivienne stated cleanly, refusing to be a pawn in their twisted game of status. "Please, do enjoy your dinner."

She stepped forward to execute her exit. The fresh evening air beckoned from the open doorway.

Camilla quickly reached out and grabbed Vivienne's wrist, stopping her momentum.

"Vivi, now that you’ve finally come back, let’s have a meal together," Camilla insisted sweetly. Her grip was tight, her eyes gleaming with a hidden, malicious triumph.

Catching the cue perfectly, Monica seamlessly slipped back into her motherly facade. She clasped her hands together, blocking the exit.

"Yes, Vivi. Don't go against your father during such an important occasion," Monica pleaded loudly.