She Hates Everyone Equally

The front doors of the Davenport mansion swung open, but the heavy oak slamming shut did nothing to quiet the sickening sound of laughter spilling from the grand living room. Vivienne Vance stood in the foyer, her lungs still burning with the sterile, chemical stench of the hospital she had just left behind. She had spent the last three months trapped in a suffocating trauma-induced coma. Now, she stepped into a sprawling house dripping with gold streamers, balloons, and a massive mountain of wrapped gifts.

Her birth parents and three brothers surrounded a towering, multi-tiered confection. They clapped and cheered. In the center of their adoration stood Camilla Davenport, her eyes glowing in the candlelight.

The irony tasted like ash in Vivienne’s mouth. This lavish birthday bash was for Camilla—the exact same girl who had intentionally shoved her off a seventeen-foot stage three months ago. The girl whose calculated malice had shattered Vivienne’s bones and sent her plunging into darkness.

Blood roared in Vivienne’s ears. She did not hesitate.

She crossed the marble floor in rapid, heavy strides, her cold gaze locked directly onto the glowing birthday girl.

"Make a wish, sweetie," Eleanor, her mother, cooed.

Camilla clasped her hands, closing her eyes with a sweet, practiced smile.

Vivienne reached the table just as Camilla leaned in to blow out the candles. Her hand shot forward, fingers tangling deep into Camilla’s perfectly curled hair.

"What—" Camilla gasped.

Vivienne shoved downward with ruthless force. Camilla’s face slammed straight into the birthday cake. Frosting exploded outward, extinguishing the candles in a chaotic mess of smashed sponge and smeared cream.

For a split second, the room froze in stunned silence. Then, chaos erupted.

Camilla shrieked, thrashing as she pulled her face out of the ruined dessert, gasping for air through thick clumps of pink frosting.

"Vivienne Vance! What the hell is wrong with you?" Harrison Davenport, her eldest brother, lunged forward, his face flushed with rage. "Say sorry to Camilla! Right now!"

Vivienne turned to face him, raising her hand, and brought it across his cheek in a blistering, echoing slap.

The sharp crack snapped through the room. Harrison stumbled back, clutching his face in sheer shock.

"Shut up," Vivienne hissed, venom lacing every syllable. "You want me to say sorry? Dream on."

Before the sting could fade, Declan, her second brother, stepped into her path, his fists clenched. "Have you lost your mind?"

Smack.

Vivienne did not skip a beat, delivering a punishing strike across Declan's jaw. "You heard me. Hush up."

Nathaniel, the youngest of the brothers, barely opened his mouth to shout before Vivienne’s palm connected with his cheek. The sheer force spun him around.

Holding his stinging, red face, Nathaniel stared at her in outrage. "I didn't even say anything! Why the hell did you hit me?"

Vivienne let out a cold, detached chuckle. Her eyes were empty of the desperate need for approval they used to hold. "If I want to hit you, I will. I don't need a reason."

"You ungrateful—" Nathaniel choked, boiling mad but unable to form a coherent sentence.

Richard Davenport slammed his fist on the table, the ruined cake shuddering. "Vivienne! That is enough!"

Vivienne shifted her icy stare to her father. "I said be quiet. I don't want to hear a single peep out of you."

To punctuate her command, she snatched a crystal goblet of iced champagne off the nearest tray. With a flick of her wrist, she hurled the freezing liquid straight into Eleanor’s face.

Her mother gasped, shivering as the drink soaked into her expensive designer blouse.

"I treat everyone the same here," Vivienne declared, her voice dropping to a terrifying calm. "I don't play favorites like you do."

The Davenports stood shell-shocked. They stared at her as if a stranger had invaded their home. This was not the same Vivienne who had spent every waking hour trying to win their approval just three months back. She had woken up from her coma transformed, marching in on a warpath, dismantling their pride with bare hands.

The bitter history hung heavy in the room. Vivienne was the true Davenport heir, swapped at birth with the maid's baby. For nineteen agonizing years, Vivienne lived a life of brutal hardship in a cramped apartment, while Camilla grew up drenched in luxury, draped in designer clothes and unconditional love. When the DNA results finally came to light and Vivienne returned to her rightful home, the Davenports simply could not let go of the fake daughter they had raised. Terrified Camilla might feel unloved, they showered her with relentless affection while leaving their blood daughter freezing in the shadows.

And Camilla played them flawlessly. A master of the victim act, she twisted every interaction, cementing the family's disdain for Vivienne.

It all culminated three months ago. That seventeen-foot drop. The agonizing crunch of her own body hitting the floor. But the physical pain paled in comparison to what followed. When Vivienne lay bleeding, unable to move, her own parents and brothers had literally trampled over her broken body just to rush to comfort Camilla, who had scraped her knee. They left Vivienne in the dirt, paving the way for her trauma and the resulting coma.

Now, Vivienne's eyes swept over them, devoid of mercy. She focused on Camilla, who was currently cowering behind Harrison, shivering in genuine fear as pink frosting dripped onto the floor.

Vivienne sneered. "Keep her. I am done with this family. If you want me to stay in this house, you kick her out right now, permanently. She never sets foot in here again."

Richard’s face contorted in furious disbelief. "Camilla is our girl. As long as we have breath in our lungs, this is her home."

Nathaniel gritted his teeth, stepping up to defend the girl behind them. "Why are you being so vicious? Camilla is always good to you! Why are you always picking on her?"

Vivienne did not waste her breath. She raised her hand and delivered another ringing slap to Nathaniel’s already bruised cheek.

That was the breaking point.

"That is it!" Nathaniel roared, losing whatever restraint he had left. "You crossed the line, Vivienne. I am going to teach you a lesson!"

He threw a heavy punch, aiming right for her shoulder.

Vivienne did not flinch. Entering a fierce, almost beast-like state, she sidestepped his clumsy attack, grabbed his wrist, and twisted it hard. Nathaniel howled, dropping to his knees. Harrison and Declan lunged at her simultaneously, ready to put her in her place and protect their trampled pride.

It was a humiliating mismatch. Vivienne moved with fluid, punishing combat prowess. She ducked Harrison’s clumsy grab, shifting her weight effortlessly. With a sweeping kick, she knocked Declan’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing into the gift table. Boxes and ribbons scattered across the floor. Harrison recovered and lunged again, but Vivienne grabbed his lapels, using his own momentum to slam him hard against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of him. Within seconds, the three grown men were groaning on the floor, dismantled and powerless against her.

She stood over them, brushing imaginary dust off her jacket. Disgust curled her lip.

"If you won't show Camilla the door, I am out," Vivienne spat, backing toward the grand staircase. "I am cutting ties with you right now. I hope we never cross paths again. And if you see me around town, do not dare call my name. You all bring nothing but bad luck."

Leaving them groaning in the foyer, she sprinted up the stairs to her bedroom. She ignored the lavish wardrobe they had begrudgingly bought her, grabbing only her ID card from the nightstand. She shoved it into her pocket, threw open the second-story window, and climbed onto the ledge. Without a second thought, she vaulted into the night air, landing athletically on the soft grass below and disappearing into the shadows of the estate.

Back downstairs, the shock began to wear off, replaced by Camilla's sudden, dramatic sobs.

Clinging to Eleanor’s damp shirt, Camilla let the tears fall, her voice trembling. "I always tried with Vivienne... I really did. Whenever anything good happened, I wanted to share it with her. I never thought she hated having me around this much. Dad, Mom... maybe I should just pack my bags and leave. Vivienne is your real flesh and blood. I am just an outsider. I will get on my knees and beg her to come back. Please, just let her come home."

Her victimized act hit its mark perfectly. The deep-seated hatred for Vivienne solidified in the room.

Eleanor wrapped her arms around Camilla, stroking her hair. "Do not ever say that. You are my daughter. You will always be my daughter. Others can leave, but never you."

Richard scowled, rubbing his temples as his sons picked themselves off the floor. "Vivienne is nothing like you. She only causes drama and chaos. She would not lift a finger for this family, and she dared to strike us! Disgraceful."

Nathaniel winced, touching his swollen jaw. "With you here, we see how sweet you really are. We are lucky to have you as a sister, Camilla. Let her rot out there."

Camilla sniffled, looking up with wide, worried eyes. "But, remember? Grandpa left Vivienne thirty percent of the company's shares. If she is out there holding all that, what if she starts messing things up at the group? What will we do?"

The mention of money shattered the emotional bubble. Richard’s paternal anger instantly morphed into calculating greed. Wealth mattered above all.

"That is a massive problem," Richard growled, his face hardening. "She holds our company shares but wants to sever ties with the Davenports? She does not get to keep what belongs to us. I will send men after her first thing tomorrow. We will reclaim those shares by any means necessary."

*****

The night air carried a slight chill, but Vivienne barely felt it. She leaned casually against a massive marble pillar outside Oakhaven's most luxurious hotel, her arms crossed, her gaze sharp and focused. She was not running away to hide; she was pivoting straight into cold-blooded vengeance.

A sleek, black Maybach rolled up to the curb, its engine purring smooth as silk. The driver hurried out to open the rear door.

A man stepped into the ambient glow of the streetlights. He was a six-foot tower of pure muscle, clad in an immaculate bespoke suit, with a face carved from unforgiving stone. This was Desmond Kensington, the formidable head of Kensington Group and the undisputed richest man in Oakhaven.

Vivienne pushed off the pillar and stepped directly into his path, boldly blocking the billionaire’s way.

Desmond stopped. He did not flinch, but his eyes locked onto hers, piercing her with an icy, dangerous stare. His security detail tensed, ready to intervene, but Desmond raised a single finger to hold them back.

Before he could utter a word, Vivienne cut straight to the chase.

"Mr. Kensington, I have a business proposition to throw at you. I am holding a thirty percent chunk of Davenport Group, and I am looking to unload it. How about to you?"

The Davenport family was once the crown jewel of Oakhaven's elite. Though they had since been overshadowed by the rising juggernaut of Kensington Group, they still wielded significant corporate influence. The two empires were locked in a bitter, endless rivalry, always fighting for dominance. If Desmond acquired those shares, his company would easily swallow the Davenport Group whole.

Desmond’s cool exterior shifted slightly. He honed in on her, his sharp gaze sizing up the young woman standing in his way with such brazen audacity.

Catching his skeptical side-eye, Vivienne reached into her pocket and whipped out the ID she had snatched from her room. She held it up between them.

"Let me lay it out for you," she said, her voice steady. "I am Vivienne Vance, the biological offspring of the Davenport family. I am sure a man in your position knows that the late head of the Davenport family left me thirty percent of the Davenport Group when he passed away. Correct?"

Desmond’s right eyebrow twitched. He leaned in, taking a brief peek at the ID card. The corner of his mouth ticked upward in faint amusement.

"All right," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating in the cool air. "Come with me."

Vivienne followed Desmond past the grand lobby, into a private elevator, and up to the sprawling presidential suite at the very top of the hotel. The room screamed power and wealth, but Vivienne paid no mind to the panoramic city views or the expensive leather.

Desmond shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it over a chair, and did not bother to beat around the bush. He turned to face her, folding his arms.

"How much do you want for those shares?" he asked.

Vivienne met his gaze without blinking. "Six million dollars."

Desmond blinked, the stoic mask slipping for a fraction of a second. He stared at her, ensuring he had heard the number correctly. "Hold up, Ms. Vance. Are you playing games with me?"

Vivienne’s face remained frozen in cold detachment. "I am not kidding around. Six million dollars is my price."

Desmond narrowed his eyes, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone. "You had better think twice before throwing numbers like that. I do not have time for games."

"I am not playing games with you," Vivienne stated, her tone dead serious. "I am being deadly serious. As long as you are willing to buy, I can transfer the shares to you right this second."

Desmond stepped closer, his imposing frame casting a shadow over her. He lowered his voice. "Do you have the whole picture of exactly how much Davenport Group is worth?"

Vivienne nodded, treating the massive wealth as if it were pocket change. "Totally. A cool thirty billion dollars."

Being the former wealthiest family in the city, the true market value of Davenport Group was astronomical. Thirty percent of that pie was worth billions.

Desmond could no longer hide his sheer disbelief. "You are telling me you are willing to give up your slice of a thirty-billion-dollar pie for a measly six million? You are not messing with me?"

Locking eyes with him, she coldly stated, "Not even a little bit. But hold up—there is a catch. We have to sign a side deal."

Desmond raised his eyebrows, leaning back slightly and gesturing for her to continue.

"The Davenport family will be out for blood the second this sale goes public," Vivienne explained, her words sharp and calculated. "I want you to watch my back. I demand your absolute protection from their wrath. Plus, there is a ticking clock." She stepped closer, closing the distance between them. "I want them to lose their grip on the company within exactly one year. This family might not have the fattest wallet anymore, but they are deep-rooted in this city. Bringing them to their knees and stripping them of all their power? That is on you now, Mr. Kensington."

Desmond stood there, knocked slightly off balance by the gutsy move of the girl in front of him. Yet, the ruthless businessman inside him was thrilled by the challenge. He studied her intense, raging eyes.

"You really want to bring Davenport Group crashing down to the ground, even though your own grandfather handed you those shares?" Desmond asked, testing her resolve. "Are you not worried about him haunting you from the grave for destroying his legacy?"

Vivienne’s eyes flashed with a dark, dancing fury. "I want that family to never have a moment of peace," she snapped venomously.

The public believed Winston Davenport had a soft spot for her when he handed over his massive stake in the company. They thought it was a dying man's guilty conscience. In reality, Vivienne had relentlessly twisted the old man's arm to get those shares. The entire Davenport family was soaked in corruption, greedy to their very core, and Winston had been the absolute worst of them all. He built the empire on dirty money and shattered lives. She owed them nothing but total destruction.

Desmond did not dive any deeper into her dark family secrets. The deal was too good to pass up. He snapped his fingers, signaling the sharp-suited legal eagles waiting in the adjacent room. Contracts were swiftly drawn up, typing away furiously on laptops, and printed on thick parchment.

Vivienne skimmed the documents, picked up the heavy fountain pen, and signed on the dotted lines. Just like that, it was done. Desmond’s financial crew executed the wire transfer, locking the deal in place.

As the fresh ink dried on the paper, Vivienne stood up. The massive weight of her revenge was finally set in motion.

But then, she paused.

"Mr. Kensington," Vivienne blurted out, her fierce demeanor faltering for a brief second. "I have another thing to ask."

Desmond slid his hands into his pockets. "Shoot. But no promises."

She hesitated, biting the inside of her lip. She suddenly backtracked, looking as if she had crossed some invisible, unspoken boundary. In the ruthless business world, once the ink dried, the deal was sealed, and additional demands were strictly forbidden.

"Oops, my bad then," Vivienne apologized quickly, grabbing her empty pockets and turning toward the suite’s heavy double doors. "See you around."

"Speak freely, Ms. Vance," Desmond urged, his deep voice stopping her in her tracks. "You never know. I might just agree."