Chapter 511

The nurse met his gaze without hesitation. "All three women who came in this morning were here for pregnancy screenings."

"Pregnancy tests?" Julian Montclair's eyes darkened instantly, an unreadable tempest swirling behind his composed mask as the air around him grew heavy.

His abrupt change startled the medical staff. "Mr. Montclair? Is everything alright?"

Hearing her voice, Julian's expression softened, the icy edge melting away as his usual polished demeanor returned. The nurse blinked rapidly, wondering if she'd imagined the momentary intensity.

Before she could process the strange interaction, Julian had already turned on his heel, pulling out his phone with practiced ease. "Find a way to alter Vivian Hartley's test results," he murmured into the receiver.

Elsewhere in the hospital...

Giselle Thornton wheeled her IV stand toward the restroom when a familiar silhouette caught her eye - a woman in oversized sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat slipping through the gynecological wing. Her breath hitched. "Vivian? What's she doing here?" The realization struck like lightning. "Unless..."

A cruel smile twisted her lips as she watched the retreating figure. Vivian had destroyed her perfect life, and now Giselle would make sure the socialite queen experienced hell on earth - even if she had to light the match herself.

On the bustling set of a luxury perfume shoot, Serena Whitmore lounged beneath a striped canopy, engrossed in her phone while absently sipping an iced latte. Her legs were crossed in an unladylike sprawl that would have horrified her PR team.

Miranda Graves scanned the perimeter before discreetly tapping Serena's bouncing knee with a straw. "Must you sit like a truck driver? There are cameras everywhere."

Serena didn't even glance up. "Who cares? Once I'm in Switzerland, these vultures can choke on their gossip columns. All that fake admiration while they secretly hope I fail? I'm done playing nice."

Miranda massaged her temples. In fifteen years of talent management, she'd never encountered an actress so openly contemptuous of her fanbase. "Your cardiac treatment isn't guaranteed to work," she reasoned quietly. "What if you need to return to the industry? Best not to burn every bridge."

The comment ignited Serena's temper. She hurled her drink to the ground, sending dark liquid splattering across Miranda's cream-colored dress - an exquisite designer piece gifted by Adrian Blackwood specifically for today's client meeting.

Adrian showered Serena with enough haute couture to stock a boutique, while Miranda received only the occasional thoughtful trinket from the mogul himself. Sometimes she wondered how different life might have been had Adrian assigned her to manage Vivian instead. But destiny rarely offered do-overs.

Dabbing frantically at the stains with wet wipes, Miranda hissed, "You're walking on thin ice this time. Control your temper."

The ruined fabric mocked her efforts - another casualty in Serena's endless drama. Across the set, photographers adjusted their lenses, oblivious to the silent war raging beneath the glamorous surface.