Chapter 265

Vivian arched an eyebrow, her voice dripping with cool amusement. "Darling, my cheekbones are worth more than your entire designer collection."

Clarissa's face twisted in irritation. She opened her mouth to fire back when a wicked idea suddenly lit up her eyes, making her lips curl into a smug smile.

Her gaze raked over Vivian with undisguised contempt. "Vivian Hartley, always acting like you're too good for this world. Tell me, what self-respecting billionaire would ever look twice at someone like you?"

Vivian's laughter rang out, light and unbothered. "Oh sweetheart, are we taking dating advice from someone whose last three relationships ended with restraining orders?"

"At least I have options!" Clarissa snapped, tossing her chemically-treated hair. "I've always been the popular one - since kindergarten. And mark my words, I'll marry into money that would make your head spin." The words came out sharper than intended, revealing more insecurity than confidence. Her manicured nails dug into her palms as she desperately clung to her fading superiority.

Vivian merely smirked. "Do send me an invitation to the wedding. I do love a good comedy." With that, she turned on her heel, the click of her Louboutins echoing louder than any insult.

Clarissa's jaw clenched so tight her veneers threatened to crack. The dismissal stung more than any direct attack ever could. Frustration bubbled up until she stomped her Jimmy Choo-clad foot like a petulant child.

At the curb, Ethan stood waiting beside the matte black Bentley, casually sipping from a water bottle. Spotting Vivian's approach, he immediately set it down on the leather seat and straightened his tie. "Mrs. Blackwood, may I offer you a ride?"

Vivian waved him off with a graceful flick of her wrist. "Don't trouble yourself, Ethan. The café is just around the corner."

Ethan hesitated, then reached into the car's mini-fridge. "At least take some water. The street vendors' bottles are questionable at best." He extended a crystal-clear bottle of Voss toward her.

Vivian's gaze flickered between the artesian water in Ethan's hand and the generic plastic bottle he'd been drinking from moments before. A knowing smile played on her lips. "Actually, I'll take the San Pellegrino. The citrus notes pair better with my mood."

Without missing a beat, Ethan swapped bottles. Vivian accepted it with perfectly manicured fingers, twisting the cap with effortless elegance before taking a slow, deliberate sip.

Just then, Clarissa burst through the building's doors - and froze. Her Botoxed forehead actually managed to crease in shock as she took in the scene: Vivian chatting casually with a devastatingly handsome man in a tailored Tom Ford suit, standing beside a car that cost more than her parents' house.

Her mind reeled. Was this...? Could this possibly be Vivian's husband? The man behind the mysterious luxury car she'd been fantasizing about all morning?

Acid-green jealousy surged through Clarissa's veins. Her grip tightened around her knockoff Birkin until the cheap leather squeaked in protest. How? How did Vivian Hartley - the scholarship case with the dead mother and absentee father - end up with someone like this? While she, Clarissa Thornton, with her perfect upbringing and socialite training, was still swiping right on mediocre trust fund babies?

She'd had everything - private schools, debutante balls, a nose job at sixteen. Sure, Vivian had those ridiculous natural cheekbones, but Clarissa had worked hard for her looks. Weekly facials, monthly fillers, annual laser treatments. She'd invested in her appearance like it was a stock portfolio.

Yet here stood Vivian, looking effortlessly chic in off-the-rack Zara, being handed designer water by what appeared to be her personal driver-slash-bodyguard. The injustice burned like cheap tequila.

Then Clarissa noticed something peculiar. Vivian wasn't getting into the car.

The realization hit her like a champagne cork to the forehead. This wasn't Vivian's husband. This was... help. Hired help.

A slow, vindictive smile spread across Clarissa's face as she adjusted her posture, preparing to strike. The game wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.