They buried the ashes of Rosemoor in silence.
Not with a funeral, but with strategy.
In the quiet shadows of Montreuil, Vivienne built her new empire—not with riches or titles, but with information, alliances, and fury disguised as an attractive elegance.
She had become what Valentin feared most: a woman with nothing left to lose.
Damien traced the marble lines of the city's underground architecture one night as they poured over blueprints spread across the oak table.
"You ever wonder why Rosemoor had tunnels underneath?" he asked.
Vivienne nodded. "They were built by my great-grandfather. He smuggled paintings, people… secrets."
"Well, some of those tunnels lead straight to the Ministry of Finance," Damien said, tapping a section on the map. "And another? Beneath the Grand Musée."
Vivienne leaned in, eyes glittering. "You're suggesting infiltration."
"I am not suggesting infiltration but a demonstration."
She considered it. A precise strike—an exhibition not of chaos, but of control. Her enemies hid behind facades of power. She would make sure to rip the veils away one by one.
Three nights later, a gala was held at the Grand Musée de l'Héritage—a celebration of "philanthropy and peace," sponsored by the very corporations tied to Orséa's blood money.
Vivienne arrived alone, in a sculpted white gown that shimmered like frost. Her lips were red as sin, her eyes lined with vengeance. She was no longer a D'Arcy heiress.
She was a weapon.
Inside the museum, gold-leafed ceilings glittered with indifference. Champagne flowed. Artifacts stolen in war were celebrated as "heritage." The men who had signed her mother's death sentence toasted in silk gloves.
And then the lights flickered.
Only for a second.
But when they came back on, every screen in the exhibit played a single message—a digital ledger unraveling the secret transactions of Project Lys, listing names and bribes in real time.
A voice followed. Distorted. Elegant. Female.
"In velvet, we walk unseen. In shadows, we claim what was stolen.
The ghosts you buried now bury you."
Panic rippled. People scrambled. Phones buzzed.
And above it all, Vivienne stood still—watching it unfold like a slow symphony.
Then, she turned and left.
Beneath the museum, Damien guided her through the tunnels, breathless from the adrenaline. "You just declared war."
"No," Vivienne said, voice calm, like nothing serious just transpired. "I just unveiled the truth. The war started long before I was born."
He looked at her then—really looked—and for the first time, he saw the queen her father had once tried to smother and Valentin had tried to erase.
"You are not afraid?" he asked.
She paused.
"I am terrified," she whispered for once saying how she truly felt about the whole situation
"But I'm more afraid of doing nothing." she replied again, this time firmer than the last
As they reached the surface, the city raged behind them—flashing lights, crashing headlines, a legacy unraveling.
Vivienne stepped out from under the marble veil.
And into the fire she had lit herself.