Dressed to Provoke

Damon lets out a harsh, derisive smirk, openly questioning the sheer absurdity of Vivienne’s claim about having a new boyfriend. He stares at the phone lying face down on the nightstand, then back at her unbothered expression. "So, you've got a boyfriend now, huh?"

Unfazed by his mockery, Vivienne leans back against the headboard, a sharp, challenging smile playing on her lips. She shoots back that since she has been all on her own for three agonizing years, finding a guy to keep her company is a perfectly reasonable move. "Yep," she replies. "You said if I ever felt lonely, I could find someone. I figured finding a guy is just alright." Her voice drips with sarcastic sweetness as she asks if the rules dictate that only he is allowed to have fun on the side. "Or is it only fine for you to have your fun while I sit here and twiddle my thumbs?"

Damon immediately brushes off her bold statements. "Well, if your boyfriend can keep you from bothering me, I'd personally throw him a thank-you party." Secretly but firmly convinced in his own mind, he believes that she is merely putting on a desperate, dramatic act. He assumes she saw him on his lengthy phone call with Clara earlier and is now fueled by intense jealousy. The furious man screaming through the receiver was just part of the show.

As the night deepens, Damon stubbornly clings to his pride. Refusing to share the bed with a woman he loathes, he gathers a few blankets, makes a makeshift bed, and sleeps on the hard floor. He still has a bit of his gentlemanly ego intact.

Vivienne watches him from the comfort of the mattress, seizing the opportunity for a bit of petty, satisfying revenge. She quietly grabs the remote, cranks the air conditioning down to its lowest, coldest setting, and thoroughly hides the remote inside a drawer.

When morning breaks, she wakes up feeling deeply rested and utterly satisfied. She peers over the edge of the bed at the sight of Damon curled into a tight ball, hugging a pillow and shivering uncontrollably in his sleep. The cold has successfully infiltrated his stubborn resolve. Leaving a sniffling Damon to wake up with a fresh cold, Vivienne doesn't bother checking on him and heads straight to her demanding job at the news station.

Here, the ambitious, sharp-witted host has her sights firmly set on an intensely coveted, newly vacant prime-time anchor position. She is already a well-known name in the local broadcasting industry, heavily involved in pushing a segment called "Midday News Insight." Recently, the station's prime-time host, Carmen, moved to a rival network. Vivienne moves through her day with calculated focus, determined to secure Carmen's former position for herself.

By late afternoon, the estranged couple regroups at the Winslow house to begin their preparations for the high-stakes Kensington banquet.

Vivienne steps out of her dressing room, having slipped into a breathtaking, form-fitting white silk dress. The gorgeous gown is adorned with delicate, intricate embroidery around the neckline and waist that flawlessly hugs every single curve of her body. From a distance, the elegant embroidery blends right into the fabric, but up close, the details are impressively pristine.

Damon walks into the room, looking like he just returned from spending more time with Clara. Exuding sheer confidence, Vivienne gracefully twirls in front of Damon. Standing at five-foot-seven in her heels, the dress grazes her ankles perfectly, accentuating her slender legs and elegant waist. Her eyes sparkle as she stops and asks for his opinion on her stunning look. "What do you think? Do I look good?"

Though Damon is secretly, intensely captivated by her alluring, ethereal charm—his heart betraying him for a split second as his gaze travels over her figure—he viciously maintains his cold, impenetrable facade. Even in a solid color, the dress highlights her beautiful features, giving her a unique charm that combines a touch of innocence with a tempting allure. He swallows hard.

He looks her up and down and bluntly declares that it looks horrible, adding a cruel jab that white is simply not her color.

Vivienne rolls her eyes in exasperation, turning her back on him to face the mirror as she begins to meticulously apply a bold shade of lipstick. She doesn't miss a beat, her sassy tone slicing through the tension as she challenges him, asking if he genuinely believes that only his precious Clara is pure enough to pull off wearing white. Finishing her makeup, she straightens up and shoots his reflection a dazzling smile. She firmly states that she is wearing the dress, whether he likes it or not.

Recognizing the sharp, playful edge in her tone, Damon's brow deeply furrows. He finds her lively demeanor captivating, but trapped in his own twisted perception of her, he incorrectly assumes her stunning appearance and sassy banter are a deliberate, pathetic attempt to seduce him back into her bed. He sharply snaps at her to stop messing with him.

Cruelly, he states that even if she were standing there wearing nothing at all, he still wouldn't give her a second glance. With that venomous parting shot, he aggressively retreats from the room and heads down to the waiting car.

Exactly an hour later, their luxury vehicle pulls up to the sprawling grounds of Crestview Manor at the base of the mountain. The car meanders along a winding road lined with tall, leafy sycamore trees. The dense canopy overhead creates a shadowy tunnel, making it feel like they are driving into another world. Suddenly, the trees part, revealing the grand, imposing, castle-like structure. The estate is heavily buzzing with an endless parade of luxury cars, high-society elites, and impeccably dressed waitstaff in crisp white shirts and black vests greeting the arrivals.

Stepping inside the cavernous hall, Vivienne is genuinely awestruck by the sheer, unadulterated wealth of the Kensington family on display. The heavy, ancient doors swing open to reveal an incredibly rare, handwoven Kasmira red carpet cushioning her steps. Crafted from wool, cotton, silk, and woven with authentic threads of gold and silver, the top-notch material is worth tens of thousands of dollars per square foot. She takes in the priceless ancient ceramics lining the walls, a massive Aethelgard grandfather clock standing tall, and massive, ornate crystal chandeliers that aggressively decorate the huge space.

The scale of the banquet is staggering, accommodating hundreds of guests. Eleanor Kensington has chosen a classic hosting style, assigning name cards to every seat. The Winslow family is politely but firmly assigned to table 99 out of an exact hundred, highlighting their lower-tier status among the elite.

Standing nearby, Vivienne’s sharp ears overhear a pair of family friends, Diane and Helen, loudly marveling at the incredibly exclusive guest list, noting the heavy presence of powerful mayors and high-ranking government officials.

"Look over there! Isn't that the director of the Department of Land Administration in the black suit? And isn't the guy in white the mayor of Kaeloria?"

"Forget about the mayor of Kaeloria; the mayor of Valerius is here too, along with several high-ranking officials. Eleanor must have some serious connections. Out of a hundred tables, our city only gets two invites, and we're at tables 99 and 100. Given all the other important people, just being at 99 and 100 is an honor."

Plastering on a flawless, polite smile, Vivienne approaches the two women. Diane and Helen hail from top-tier families and run in the same social circles as Vivienne's estranged adoptive mother, Miriam. She greets them with perfect social grace. "Good evening, Diane, Helen."

Diane and Helen’s animated expressions immediately shift into a look of mild, uncomfortable sympathy the moment they spot her.

Diane lets out a surprised exclamation, noting Vivienne's presence at such an elite gathering. "Oh, Vivienne, you're here too."

Without missing a beat, Helen quickly nods her head toward a specific group gathered nearby. She points out that Miriam and Bianca—the Carter family figures tied to Vivienne’s painful past—are currently over by the main stage, busy presenting their extravagant gifts to Eleanor Kensington, and awkwardly suggests that Vivienne should probably go over and say hi.

"Miriam and Bianca are over there, giving gifts to Eleanor. You should go say hi."