Opening a fashion house isn't quite like riding a bike.

Just because I'd done it once didn't mean it was easy the second time around.

July was pure chaos because not only was Vienne House formally opening its US headquarters in an old brick dance hall in Sidley Yard, Cobalt Bay's oldest neighborhood, Fashion Week was right on its heels and we still had a collection that was going to debut in New York in just over a month. I was sleeping very little these days, spending most of my hours in the studio, still sneaking around to stay with Oliver when I did need to sleep, and trying to keep a friendly but polite distance from Tate whom my father seemed to be bringing everywhere. He even tried to talk me into taking Tate as my escort for the opening gala but I shut that down quickly.

Oliver was going to be my date and it was our first appearance together in public with him in that official capacity. We figured we could let people outside of our inner circle get used to the idea of us being at least romantically linked before we casually mention that we've been married for seven years now.

He didn't wax poetic about it but I could tell Oliver was highly pleased.

The secrecy had been more of a strain for him than it had been for me but he'd done his best to give me time.

And that time had run out and while so much of me was still apprehensive, in dread of his reaction, I'd made up my mind to finally tell him.

I was going to take Oliver with me to Paris when I leave early September.

I needed to tell him the truth.

To explain my secret.

To trust that he would understand.

To see if we would still be together in the end.

"I don't know how you managed to stay away from a man like that," Marg said as she sidled up next to me in the loft where I'd come to take photos of the party below us. There was an official photographer making rounds but this was for my own public blog.

This party was larger than the one we held in Paris when we first opened doors there but this was California and there was an excess of celebrities and socialites all eager to lead the next trend with the hottest, most exclusive designer creations.

"Better yet," Marg added, smirking when we saw Oliver turn away from the group he'd been talking to and lift his head toward where I stood in less than a second. "I don't know how a man like that managed to stay away from you. Even when you think he's preoccupied, he's never detached from you. He always knows where you are, touches you constantly even for the briefest second as if the contact keeps him alive, and he seems to always hold his breath until you smile at him."

I laughed, my cheeks warming. "You've been here, what, three days? And you already noticed all of this about Oliver."

Marg raised a brow at me. "You didn't think I would be curious? Vivienne, I've seen you pull yourself out of an almost certain grave in Paris. I know that the man who put you in it in the first place and the one who made you crawl out of it is one and the same. You can't blame me for being curious."

My humor faded but instead of taking the default route and talking around the truth, I admitted some of it. "It's a lot more complicated than that, Marg."

"Oh, I know," she said, her tone turning gentle. "And from the looks of you, I suspect you still haven't told him. If it's complicated, Vivienne, it's because you left it to become exactly that."

That quiet reproach stung and I almost lashed out at Marg to tell her that she was presuming too much about something she knew very little of. But then, here I was, the only person who knew the entire story, and I had nothing to show for it. Maybe the devil was really in the details.

"Now, cheer up," Marg cajoled, bumping me on the arm. "It won't do for the belle of the ball to look so heartbroken. You've accomplished so much of yourself the past several years, Vivienne. Whatever the loss, whatever the pain, you've pulled yourself from that. You're stronger, braver and more compassionate than you've ever been and that's more than enough reason for you to celebrate."

I hastily blinked back my tears as Marg and I burst into emotional chuckles.

Before she could wave me away, I pulled her into a tight hug. "I've missed having you around, you know? If Jude and little Adeline didn't need you, I'd insist that you stay here with me."

"Maybe it won't be long before you and Oliver have your own little one to keep you busy," Marg said with a comforting pat on my back as I slowly pulled away. "You can come visit us a few times a year and the children can play together."

I laughed and dabbed at the damp corners of my eyes, grateful for waterproof mascara. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, okay? For now, wish me luck that everything holds up after all the cards are down on the table."

I was in a buoyant mood by the time I made my way back downstairs. Oliver found me right away, his arm looping around my waist to pull me to the dance floor just as a slow song started. Set up in a dance, no one would think too hard on how close he held me, how our faces were tipped toward each other that we were just a breath away from a kiss.

"Honey, have you been crying?" he asked softly, his brows pulling together.

"I never cry," I instantly defended only to sniffle at the end. I pouted. "Okay. Maybe a little. I haven't seen Marg in a while and we had a bit of a heart to heart."

Oliver smiled a little. "I'm assuming she didn't give you the same pert little lecture she gave me. Yesterday, out of the blue and out of anyone's earshot, she told me if I drove you away again, she's keeping you in Paris for good. She said she'd have a pistol with my name on a bullet waiting for me at the door if I ever showed my face, not that I ever had the guts to before."

My eyes widened in mortified amusement. "She said that?"

Oliver's eyes sparkled with humor. "Yes, in her very refined, poised French accent like we were discussing a new painting. She's fiercely loyal to you."

I bit my lip. "She is. She was my only real, close friend in Paris. She'd seen me in my best and worst."

Oliver raised a brow in feigned hurt. "I thought that was me."

My smile was a little pained. "Oh, no. You haven't seen me at my absolute worst and maybe that's for the best."

Oliver touched his forehead against mine, his fingertips slowly coasting up and down my bare spine showcased by my open-back evening dress. "You've never kept so many secrets from me before, Vivienne."

I met his gaze with my own steady one. "I could say the same thing about you, Oliver."

"Fair enough," he said with a husky laugh. "I'll do my best to share everything with you—may it be good or bad. I don't want us to get burned again."

I closed my eyes and just let him carry us both along with the music, hoping we'd survive the fire one last time to make it to the other side.

But the night had more in store for us because... drama.

"You're a very nice, young woman, you know that?"

I paused from pinning back a stray lock of hair and glanced at the woman who'd just entered the cozy restroom and came to stand next to me by the sink.

Edith Klein—socialite-turned-travel author, fabulously fashionable and wealthy, thanks to three previous, highly-lucrative marriages. I didn't know her personally but she was a front-row name in the LA fashion scene that my media agent insisted we invite.

We'd spoken briefly upon introductions and I remembered her slight unease.

Since it's not unusual for me to get a little hate from people who want me to give a fuck when I don't, I ignored it. But something in this moment told me she really wanted me to give a fuck.

"In another context, what you just said will sound like a compliment," I said quietly, turning back to the mirror to finish fixing my hair. "But pardon me if I'm presuming too much in saying that right now, it's meant to cushion a warning. Or an insult. Something less complimentary anyway."

She flinched and I inwardly sighed.

I hated being right with people sometimes.

"What I'm trying to tell you is that you might be too nice—too naive—to see past his looks, his charm, his talents," she said in a hard voice. "But Oliver Yates is not a nice man. His bottomline is money and you've got dollar signs all over you."

Ah. So I finally meet one of them.

It had occurred to me before that to return to Oliver's side was to prepare myself for our inevitable collision with the past. I hadn't known exactly how I would feel—jealous, angry, embarrassed—and while all those emotions were definitely stirring the pot, there was so so much more rising to the surface all at the same time.

Then in my mind I saw the jagged edges of the broken brick and stone, the blood that was everywhere, the cold, hard dirt under my knees.

This—this is nothing.

And with that, a sense of calm pervaded my senses.

"It's actually crystal-beaded Chantilly lace all over me if we're to get real technical but you're speaking metaphorically, of course," I said patiently, inspecting my dress in the mirror before turning to face the woman fully. "But I'll speak plainly to avoid any confusion. First of all, is this a genuine act of concern or just an act of spite? Because I have very different responses to each of those options."

Her lips thinned into a hard line. "As much as I'd love to see Oliver rot in hell, I wouldn't wish him on any woman."

I sighed because if what Oliver had admitted to me was true, he was by no means blameless. But I wasn't going to be made to pay for his sins—not again.

I calmly reached sideways to turn the lock on the bathroom door, aware that Edith's gaze followed my every move. She visibly swallowed in discomfort but kept her chin high up.

"I won't defend Oliver because we all own the consequences of our actions," I said, every word low-toned but weighted. "And that includes you. A devil's bargain needs more than just the devil to make. Remember that."

Her eyes flashed in anger. "He betrayed people and lived off of it! He's despicable and if you still want to make your bed and lie in it with him, then go right ahead. You'll find out soon enough."

Been there. Done that. Just don't have the T-shirt yet but then I'm not a T-shirt kind of girl.

Rubbing the spot between my brows to ward off the start of a headache, I exhaled sharply and met Edith's furious gaze. "You have the right to your anger. You have the right to believe the only thing you know about him. And I have the right to do the same. Maybe it'll come down to the kind of Oliver we know. So I won't try to change your mind and I hope you let me make up mine."

"So smug," Edith muttered, her expression souring in disdain. "But then pride comes before the fall."

I gave her a serene smile. "Or maybe I've just hit solid ground after the fall and I know where I stand and who's there beside me."

Edith squared her shoulders. "For your sake, I hope you're right."

"Thank you," I said graciously before reaching out to unlock the door again. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll go get some fresh air. Shaking out old dirty laundry isn't always pleasant business."

I turned and walked out of the room in a perfectly unhurried pace.

The past isn't going to send me running again. It's our lives, our terms.

But just because I left that scene with my dignity and poise intact, didn't mean I wasn't sufficiently affected by it.

And when Tate got in my way as I wove through the crowd, insisting on a dance, I snapped my refusal at him. Then I got a good look at his face which pretty much matched the one he had on that night in New York at Pete's Tavern and I was slammed with guilt.

So I sighed, extended my hand and told him to dance with me.

"It's okay, Vivienne," he said with too flat a smile. "You've always made it abundantly clear whom you didn't want and that's me."

I raised my brow at him. "I'm not going to disagree with you just because it's the polite thing to do when someone's being self-depracating. It was true back then and it's still true now."

Tate winced even as he laughed. "And you've also always been abundantly blunt."

I smiled and extended my hand to him again. "And I've also always been persistent when I want something and right now, that's for you to dance with me."

He didn't argue with me further on that.

Tate wasn't shy though about pulling me a bit too intimately close to him and the last person I wanted in the audience was the first one I zeroed in from over Tate's shoulder.

Oliver's expression was glacial hell—a contradiction only he could pull off.

I opened my mouth to signal to him not to worry about it when I spotted the woman who glided over to him.

Edith had presented a strong case against Oliver but whatever respect I had for her for it vanished when I saw her throw him a flirtatious smile and put a hand on his arm that looked a little too proprietary for my liking. Thankfully, Oliver flexed his arm so that her hand fell away but she didn't get the hint.

She said something and Oliver had to lean in slightly to listen. She took advantage of that and slid an arm up to his shoulder.

I stiffened but before I could react appropriately, Tate swirled me around and where I fell back didn't have the same view of Oliver and the hypocrite. From the gaps between guests, I caught sight of them again moving off into the distance with Oliver's grip on the back of Edith's arm.

My temper flared.

I wanted to hit Oliver in the head for being stupid enough to neglect the optics of the situation and to slowly skin Edith alive for her nerve.

"Um, is everything okay, Vivienne?" Tate asked in a perturbed voice, drawing me to look up at his even more perturbed expression. "You look like you want to kill someone."

I laughed and beamed at him despite my stomach churning. "Oh, no. Some people are not even worth the effort of a murderous thought."

Whatever Tate took away from that, I would never know because as soon as the song ended, I marched away like a queen with her head held high. I went straight for one of the smaller offices that had been closed off, in search of Oliver and his ex-sugar mommy.

Luckily for them, they were a good three feet from each other when I swung the door open. Oliver had a grim look on his face while panic was all over hers.

I didn't even narrow my eyes at her. My face felt like granite and it probably looked that way to anyone.

"Get out," I said to Edith in a low, cutting tone. "Not just from this room but from this party and, for your sake, from out of our lives. If you ever prey on Oliver again, I will decimate you and there won't be enough left for society scavengers to even pick on afterwards. If you won't take my word for it, just try me. I'd gladly show you."

Oliver must've picked up on something I said because he straightened up and interceded, "Edith was just leaving, Viv—"

"I prey on Oliver?" she repeated in a grand show of indignation. "He's the predator!"

I raised a brow. "Then why the fuck aren't you running for the hills? For someone who doles out unsolicited advice, you sure can't take your own. I can shove it down your throat if you'd like."

She flinched as if I'd slap her and that made me smile—coldly, for sure—but smile nonetheless.

She pulled herself up to her full height and tried to stare me down to which I just elegantly yawned.

"No need," she muttered. "I can see that the two of you perfectly deserve each other."

"I know," I smirked as she brushed past me. "Don't cry too much over it."

The moment she was gone with the door slamming behind her, I turned to Oliver.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I said, unable to keep a lid on my anger. "Have things been feeling too perfect and happy that you decided it's time to mess it up again just to keep things interesting?"

Oliver's expression hardened. "No. I removed Edith from public view because she had been all riled up and ready to make a scene. Apparently, she didn't like your attitude when she tried to warn you about me and she wanted to prove you wrong."

"By trying to entice you into a playing one more round in my face?"

Oliver shrugged. "Edith didn't take my dismissal well. She's still bitter about it to this day."

My eyes narrowed. "I don't care if she decides to stay bitter for the rest of her life. She's welcome to it. Where she's not welcome is anywhere near you."

"I made that clear to her after she tried to resurrect the past," Oliver said mildly, watching me with alert eyes as if I was a creature who was about to transform into anything—like his worst nightmare. "I had to remind her of what I knew. She doesn't know I no longer hold any real evidence but what I know is still dangerous."

"Well, she doesn't have to worry about that," I huffed in terrible frustration. "Not after I'm done with her anyway."

Oliver was silent for a while, watching me as I prowled back and forth in front of him. "I didn't once touch her or give her the slightest encouragement that there could be anything between us ever again."

I took a deep breath, trying to dislodge the tight cluster of emotions within my chest as I tried to compose myself. "This isn't going to be the last time we bump into some woman from your past, Oliver."

"I know," he said quietly. "And I don't expect it to be easy for you but if it ever happens again, I want you to think of one thing, Viv—I'm done with all the other women. I feel nothing for them. Not when I hear their name or run into them—nothing. I never felt anything for them, which is why I was able to do what I did with them before. The only woman I've felt anything for is you and that's never going to change."

Tears pricked my eyes and I lifted my face up to the ceiling to blink them back. I felt myself shiver and I wrapped my arms around myself. "Do you know that my heart races before I go into a room where I know you're with another woman? I'm not afraid of getting what I saw out of my mind because that's faded. But I'm still in terror of what I'll walk into sometimes. Of how else you could still hurt me. Of how I'm going to manage to withstand another blow."

Oliver sounded like he was in pain and when I glanced at him, his face was pinched, his jaw clenched, his fist pressing hard against his mouth.

Before I knew what I was doing, I walked over to him and put a gentle hand on his fist until his grip eased. He yanked me against him, his fingers digging into my waist, his forehead pressing against mine, his eyes fluttering close. "Do you know that my heart stops when I'm in a room with a woman and I see you appear at the door? I'm seized by this panic that you're going to turn around and run and never come back."

"We're still really screwed up, you and I." In spite of everything, I managed a smile. "We're afraid of a lot of things but we're too stubborn about being together to stand down. We're never going to give each other up."

Oliver opened his eyes and sought mine. "Never."

I pressed my lips against his. "Never."

He kissed me with a desperation and I responded with every tumultuous emotion inside of me, wondering which one of us would break first.

It wouldn't be Oliver because this was something of far greater value to him than his own soul, his own salvation.

And it wouldn't be me because I was forged by the same fire that burned my innocence all those years ago with one senseless tragedy.

I pulled away and looked at him. "I need you to come with me to Paris."

Oliver's pale blue eyes glittered in the light. "I'll go wherever you want me to go."

I need you to come with me to the past... so we can face the future.

***

When I bought my Mini Cooper, I thought Oliver was never going to be part of my life the same way ever again. His head wasn't exactly smashed against the roof but he did look pretty adorable with those long, muscular limbs all tucked neatly inside such a small car. He didn't find it nearly as amusing but Oliver wasn't complaining about anything in this trip. He met me in New York right after Vienne Couture successfully launched its collection to the US market in the second day of Fashion Week there and flew out with me to Paris incognito. We only had three days to spend together before he needed to fly back home and I had to make my rounds in London, Milan and Paris for the rest of Fashion Week. Despite the hectic schedule and too short a time we had in between, he was all too happy to be finally tagging along even when we had to keep it on the down low from my family and most of my staff.

I decided that before we put it out in the open, I should tell him what I brought him all the way here for first. It would mitigate the fallout should we finally splinter apart for good, finally too damaged to be ever put back again.

"I feel like I should be riding down on horseback with you in my arms," Oliver said as we rolled through a long, tree-lined drive that wrapped around a bend in the road. "This feels like a fairytale."

It was the second week of September and while the leaves haven't completely turned colors yet, there was a distinct yellow tinge to their edges that signaled the coming change and almost filtered the countryside view through a sepia lens.

The Normandy region of France has always been a majestic sweep of rugged coastline and lush and dramatic landscapes that had seen so much history. Every visit had always felt like stepping back into time especially in the small town of Verneuil where much of the past remained—grand castles, secret gardens, ancient churches and even a rustic way of life.

It had felt like the woods in a storybook where one could run away and hide. And amidst the woods, of course, was my own little tower—one I once thought could protect me from the real world and the very real consequences of my actions. It wasn't long before that tower turned into what had felt like an impenetrable fortress where no sun could spill to dry the blood that was still on the ground. Now, despite its newly reinforced bones and shiny new veneer, it was back to being the ruins of something good once again.

"I'm the queen of this castle, Oliver," I mumbled absently as we finally turned into the straight path that led to the enormous iron gates bearing entrance to the chateau. "If anyone can conquer its fierce dragons and restless ghosts, it's me."

God knows I've lived with them and lived to tell the tale—at least once.

"Did it ever seem lonely here?" he asked, craning his neck forward to survey the grounds as we rolled past them.

I smiled faintly. "I don't think loneliness comes with the place. I think it always comes with the heart. You can be standing in the middle of a crowd and feel absolutely alone. That's why distraction can only work for so long."

I felt Oliver's hand grasp mine in a firm squeeze and I glanced at it before looking up to his face. It was somber as hell, as if he himself was well-acquainted with that same isolation.

"I'm so sorry, Vivienne," he said. "I know that while you never cared much about having so many people in your life, you never felt alone. You only ever did because I landed you in a miserable secret you couldn't tell anyone. What you know of silent suffering had been all mine to teach."

I squeezed his hand back. "Well, it's been said before. The people with the power to bring you the greatest joy can also bring you the most unbearable pain. The choice the other person makes between the two and the risk you take yourself determine where you both end up."

His smile was wistful. "We've already brought each other the most unbearable pain. Can it be joy's turn now?"

"We can hope," I quipped just before we pulled up in front of Chateau Le Roux's main building. It was mostly brick and white stone, about four-hundred years old, and set in the heart of a twenty-five-hectare park which also featured an orangery, a hedge maze, two spacious, free-standing cottages, a family chapel, a stable, four stone fountains, and a winding creek.

Oliver stood there for a good many minutes just admiring the building and I could see his brains working the gears in summing up a property and its potential. I wasn't surprised but then, he didn't know what else this place meant to me.

"Mademoiselle!"

I looked up and saw the white-haired, middle-aged caretaker rush over to us from around the side of the house with his rosy-cheeked wife right behind him. My heart squeezed at the sight of them, feeling grateful as always.

"Valerian! It's so good to see you!" I greeted in perfectly fluent French as I leaned in to hug the old man. Then I turned to his wife and hugged her as well. "Claudette, you as well!"

We started rambling in French to catch up when Oliver cleared his throat behind me, smiling sheepishly when we all remembered he was there.

"Oh, I totally forgot!" I grinned and pulled Oliver upfront. "Valerian, Claudette, this is Oliver Yates. Oliver, this is Valerian and Claudette Cardin and they look after the entire estate whether I'm around or not. Four generations of Val's family have been groundskeeper here."

I switched to English because while the couple preferred French, they could comfortably communicate in English. The previous owners, while hardly in residence, had been a British aristocratic family who'd acquired it just after the first world war.

"It's very nice to meet you," Oliver said as he shook hands with the couple. "I hope I'm not imposing too much by coming along."

"Oh, no! Absolutely not!" Claudette exclaimed. "This house has been quiet for so many decades. We always welcome guests and mademoiselle's staff is usually here every month or so for a photo shoot or a showing so we've really been getting used to having visitors around. We can prepare you a room, sir, without delay."

There might be a telltale blush on my cheeks but I smiled at the couple and slid my arm around Oliver's. "There's no need. Oliver's staying with me. If you have an extra pair of hands around today, we just need to get our bags brought up to my room. And maybe some dinner around six. You're both welcome to join us."

Valerian shook his head. "You young ones should enjoy a nice, quiet evening all by yourselves. Maybe a tour later today or tomorrow. We can saddle you some horses if you'd like to ride around the estate."

I gave Oliver a teasing glance. "What do you say, white knight?"

Oliver grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

The old couple gushed about all the other grand plans they would arrange for us in the few days we were here before showing us inside and calling up some staff to help us unload. It was a long procession to my room which was on the east wing of the house because Valerian lovingly gave a detailed history of every room or heirloom we passed for Oliver's sake.

Then, Claudette dutifully interviewed us for the kind of food we might like to see in the next few days so she can stock up and plan a menu. We lingered by the hallway discussing details we probably hadn't needed to give. It was almost as if the couple were both terribly curious about Oliver and understandably cautious of leaving me alone with him at the same time. If Oliver noticed, he made no comment and supplied answers in earnest instead.

"The Cardins don't have any children of their own so when I came here, they fussed over me like I was their own daughter. They can be very protective of me," I told Oliver when we were finally alone in my room. "I survived what I did largely because of them. Them and Marg."

Oliver's eyes narrowed, studying me with piercing concern. "What do you mean survive, Vivienne?"

I turned away. "It's a long story."

Oliver caught my elbow before I could distance myself from him. Gently, he turned me back to him, his hand slowly lifting my face to his. "Whatever the story is—long, short, good or ugly—we don't keep it to ourselves anymore, Viv. We have to tell each other the truth. That's the only way we're going to work."

I dragged in a deep breath, hot tears blurring my vision even as I struggled to blink them away. "I know, I know. And I'm going to tell you the truth, Oliver. God help me, I will. I'm going to tell you because you have a right to know and because I can't keep this buried inside me forever."

I continued gulping down air to rein back the sobs but my voice started to crack and tremble. "I need to tell someone before this is just another faded memory. He doesn't deserve that."

"Who are we talking about, Vivienne?" There was a hint of panic in Oliver's voice now as he tried to keep my gaze on him when it was darting wildly around as if I were looking for an exit. He drew me into his arms, caging me in to keep me from bolting and sinking into the floor at the same time.

You're ready for this, Vivienne.

Even if I wasn't, I knew I didn't have a choice.

I had to own it.

I had to have the courage I lacked all those years ago.

It's not enough to be strong. You have to be brave too.

I calmed myself with several steady breaths until my eyes didn't sting anymore and my heart rate was slow enough to let me speak again.

Oliver gave me wide berth even though I could feel the desperation reverberating from him.

He was going to be a hell of a lot angry—and probably a great many other things—but if what I'd always known of Oliver remained true all these years, he wasn't going to turn his back on me no matter what.

I tipped him a small, wobbly smile and extended my hand. "Walk with me."

And as I expected, his large hand enveloped mine and the gesture anchored me somewhat.

There was a long hallway outside of my room which happened to bookend this wing. It separated the bedrooms on one side and the bay of large windows on the other. There were six more bedrooms after mine before the hallway opened to the grand staircase which split this wing of the house from the other.

I stopped just before the stairs and looked back over my shoulder to my bedroom at the end of the hall. My hand tightened around Oliver's.

"One night, seven years ago, a man held a pillow down my face while I was sleeping in my room," I said, the words whispered so low I wasn't sure if Oliver had heard them. It was only the sudden stiffening of his arm that confirmed he did.

"I fought him—kicked and thrashed and swung my fists at him as I tried to keep my lungs from collapsing," I continued even through Oliver's swift, furious oath under his breath. "He was heavy and determined and he kneed me hard in the stomach. I managed to claw down his face—I felt the warm, sticky trickle of blood on my fingers. He released the pillow to grab his face and I bolted and ran out of the room, screaming for my life."

I risked a look at Oliver's face and if violence had a visage, it would look like him. His eyes were hot blue flames of sheer outrage and if I hadn't been holding his hand, he would've probably hit something by now. And I wasn't even halfway done.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to finish what I started no matter how terrified and helpless I was starting to feel again. I moved to stand above the stairs, looking down at the ornate marble steps that twisted three flights down. "He chased me down and caught me by the back of my night gown. He backhanded me and shoved me down the stairs. I ended up down the first landing, my body on fire with so much pain I couldn't move to save my life."

Oliver squeezed his eyes close, the space between his brows pinched. "Jesus Christ, Vivienne. God help this man because I'm going to fucking murder him."

In spite of myself, I managed a faint smile. "There's no need. The man's dead, Oliver."

***

So, what do you guys think? 

I know, I know. You hate the cliffhanger but now's the time to debate all the speculations and figure out which theory hit the nail on its head.

I can't believe this book is almost over. I feel like this has been in the works for a few years now. 

Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Vivienne was a bit fierce in this chapter. That's not really unusual for my characters but Vivienne's not afraid to throw her weight around or cut more sharply. But the next chapter will show just how vulnerable she is.

See you next week!

♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: When The Darkness Comes by Colbie Caillat ♪♪♪

Underneath the echoes

Buried in the shadows

There you were

Drawn into your mystery

I was just beginning

To see your ghost

But you must know

I'll be here waiting

Hoping, praying that

This light will guide you home

When you're feeling lost I'll leave my love

Hidden in the sun

For when the darkness comes

Now the door is open

The world I knew is broken

There's no return

Now my heart is not scared

Just knowing that you're out there

Watching me

So believe I'll be here waiting

Hoping, praying that

This light will guide you home

When you're feeling lost I'll leave my love

Hidden in the sun

For when the darkness comes