Chapter 102

A wave of rebellion coursed through Vivian as her fingers clenched around her phone, her voice turning icy. "That's not happening. This isn't the Middle Ages—you can't just auction me off like some prized livestock!"

Richard Dawson snatched the phone from Daphne's grasp, his tone dripping with menace. "If you refuse Maxwell and won't settle the debt, I'll have that dump of an apartment demolished and turned into a parking lot!"

The words confirmed what Vivian already knew—whatever familial ties remained between them had long since dissolved into bitter animosity.

Slumping against the wall, Vivian drew her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them as she curled into herself like a wounded animal.

That crumbling apartment was her last sanctuary, the only place where fragments of Catherine's memory still lingered. No matter how dilapidated, it was the sole tangible piece of her mother she had left.

After steadying her breathing, Vivian responded with measured calm. "I'll have my attorney review your so-called 'offer' to determine a fair settlement. If you're not satisfied, take me to court. But mark my words—I won't be your bargaining chip anymore. Consider our business concluded."

She ended the call with finality before they could respond.

On the other end, Daphne and Richard exchanged stunned glances. Richard took a slow sip of his whiskey, forehead creased in thought. "Since when did she grow a backbone? She swore she'd leave that marriage penniless. Where's this sudden fortune coming from? And what do we tell the Sterlings?"

Daphne rolled her eyes as she perched on the armrest. "Honestly, Richard, must you overcomplicate everything? If she has the money, we'll get it eventually. If not, she's exactly where we want her. Besides, cash burns quickly—especially with that hospital bill looming over her head. One bad turn with that old woman's health, and our little songbird will come crawling back."

Vivian tried to stand, but her legs betrayed her, leaving her slumped on the floor in helpless frustration. The weight of her family's expectations pressed down like storm clouds, their shadows stretching endlessly no matter how fast she ran.

With trembling fingers, she recounted the situation to her attorney, who confirmed the nine hundred thousand sterling demand was legally enforceable.

Her advance payment from Ivory Phoenix Productions—eight hundred thousand sterling—had been a rare kindness from Damien Vaughn, who'd taken pity on her post-divorce situation. Asking for more would risk appearing ungrateful.

Borrowing crossed her mind, but Audrey was embroiled in her own family crisis. There was no one else to turn to.

After a long moment of contemplation, Vivian squared her shoulders. If no one would help her, she'd help herself.

Changing into her most confident outfit—a tailored blazer and heels that clicked like armor—she marched to the bank. Within hours, she'd secured a line of credit, withdrawn the remaining funds, and combined them with her advance.

The moment the transaction cleared, she called her attorney. "Transfer the title immediately. I want this done before they can change their minds."

Her voice didn't waver, but her knuckles turned white around the phone.

This was war.

And for the first time, Vivian Hartley was fighting back.