The night was still as Vivienne, Rhys, and Mira made their way out of Rothsford Towers. Every step away from that cursed vault felt heavier than the last. Vivienne clutched the "Project Rebirth" file like it was oxygen, the weight of its contents pressing down on her chest like a boulder. The truth was so much darker than she had ever imagined.
She hadn't just been used. She had been designed.
The streets of the city were nearly empty as they returned to Vivienne's suite. The city lights flickered through the windows as Mira double-checked the blinds and swept the place for bugs. Rhys locked the door and turned to Vivienne, who was already spreading the file's contents across the desk.
"We need to go through everything, line by line," she murmured. "I need to understand it all."
Rhys nodded, but his gaze lingered on her. "Are you sure you're okay?"
She paused, eyes still fixed on the documents. "No. But I don't have the luxury of not being okay."
Mira pulled a chair beside her. "Let's work."
They spent the next three hours in silence, broken only by Mira's occasional muttering as she scanned technical jargon and Rhys flipping through old banking statements. What emerged was a narrative that chilled them all.
Project Rebirth wasn't just about an heir—it was about control. Arthur Rothsford had initiated the program decades ago in secret, after watching rivals fall due to poor succession plans. He wanted a legacy he could shape entirely. A child whose mind could be molded, whose loyalty could be engineered. A child raised to serve the Rothsford empire without question.
Vivienne had been the crown jewel of that vision. Her intelligence, her poise, her adaptability—none of it had been a coincidence. From the elite tutors to the emotionally withholding environment she grew up in—it was all calculated.
But something had gone wrong.
Her mother.
According to the notes in the file, Vivienne's mother—Margot—had grown increasingly resistant toward the project. She began pushing back, asking questions, threatening to leave. Her growing independence was a threat. And when she discovered Arthur had been diverting funds to a second project, one involving Ivy's bloodline, she tried to leak it to the press.
She never got the chance.
A car crash, publicly reported as a tragic accident, was orchestrated by a Rothsford loyalist. The file didn't name the perpetrator. But the implication was clear. Arthur had her eliminated.
Vivienne's vision blurred as she stared at her mother's name on the death certificate copy.
"She died trying to protect me," she whispered. "She died… because she loved me."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Mira said, voice steely, "They made you a weapon, Vivienne. But they forgot something."
Vivienne turned to her, eyes glassy but burning.
"What?"
"You're no longer their weapon. You're your own."
Elsewhere – Rothsford Manor
Arthur Rothsford stared at the television as the news anchors continued their coverage of the growing scandal. Anonymous documents had been released to the media, and although no direct proof had yet been pinned on him, the leaks were damaging. Clients were calling. Partners were backing out of deals.
He turned off the TV.
"Ivy!" he barked.
His biological daughter appeared in the doorway, face pale and shaken. "Yes, Father?"
"What did you do?"
She blinked. "What?"
"I told you to keep tabs on her. You said she was taken care of. And now look. She's exposing things I thought I had buried twenty years ago!"
Ivy clenched her fists. "She was supposed to be out of the picture. She had nothing. I don't know how she's doing this…"
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "She's not doing it alone."
He walked to the bar, poured himself a drink, and downed it in one shot.
"She's getting help. Someone on the inside. Maybe Jared. Or that tech brat she used to work with."
"You want me to handle it?" Ivy asked, her voice trembling between fear and eagerness.
Arthur stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment.
"No," he finally said. "You've done enough. Leave her to me. This time, I'll finish what I should have done the day we brought her into this family."
The Next Morning – Vivienne's Suite
The air was thick with the gravity of what they now knew. Vivienne hadn't slept, but her mind was clear. A terrible clarity born of truth.
She opened her laptop and began drafting the next leak: details of Project Rebirth, Margot's murder, and the financial records that showed the off-the-books funding.
Rhys leaned over her shoulder. "Are you sure? Once this goes public, there's no going back."
"That's exactly why I'm doing it," she said without hesitation.
But just as she was about to hit send, Mira's burner phone buzzed.
She answered. Her face changed. "Vivienne. You need to see this."
She held up the phone. A video was playing.
It showed a man, bound and beaten, bruises blooming across his face. Rhys stepped closer.
"That's—Jared!" he exclaimed.
Vivienne's stomach twisted.
The video played a distorted voice: "You want to dig into secrets that aren't yours? This is what happens to traitors. Back off, Vivienne. Or next time, we send you his body instead of a warning."
The screen cut to black.
Vivienne stared at the empty screen, fury pulsing through her like electricity. "They took Jared."
"More than that," Mira said, her voice grave. "They're watching us. We need to move. Now."
Rhys nodded. "I'll prep the car. We can disappear."
"No," Vivienne said.
They turned to her in surprise.
"We're not running. We're going after him. And when I get Jared back—I'm going to bury Arthur Rothsford."