Chapter 93

Vivian's breath caught when she noticed Serena deep in conversation with Margaret Blackwood and Bianca Thornton. She had intended to slip past unnoticed, but a particular phrase made her pause mid-step.

Her ears burned as she realized they were discussing her.

Serena was offering to introduce her to industry connections? Including a screenwriter supposedly on par with Vivian Hartley herself? The irony was almost laughable.

Setting down her champagne flute with deliberate care, Vivian approached Margaret with practiced grace. "Mrs. Blackwood," she greeted with measured politeness.

"Vivian." Margaret's response was clipped, her smile not reaching her eyes.

Social appearances meant everything to Margaret. Though she clearly despised Vivian, she'd rather die than cause a scene at such a public event.

Bianca stood nearby, her gaze so venomous Vivian could almost feel it pricking her skin. The younger woman's eyes raked over Vivian's ensemble with barely concealed envy. How did this nobody carry herself with such effortless elegance? Even that bold emerald green—a color that would make most women look garish—only accentuated her poise. How could someone from such a nouveau riche family possess such natural refinement?

Vivian met Serena's gaze directly, her voice crisp. "Ms. Whitmore, there's no need to concern yourself with my professional connections. If you have such valuable resources at your disposal, I suggest you utilize them for your own benefit rather than wasting them on me."

Though they looked down on her, Vivian had no intention of revealing her true identity as the acclaimed screenwriter Vivian Hartley—her most carefully guarded secret.

Bianca, still smarting from the earlier confrontation about invitations, couldn't resist sneering, "Acting so high and mighty about not needing help? Then why even show up at these events?"

Serena jumped in with exaggerated enthusiasm. "This screenwriter has several major hits under her belt—some say her work rivals Vivian Hartley's. If you're interested, I'd be happy to arrange an introduction."

The claim was laughable. Screenwriters of Vivian Hartley's caliber were unicorns in the industry. Serena's offer was clearly disingenuous—even if she knew such a writer, securing a meeting would be nearly impossible.

Vivian's smile remained unshaken. "I'm quite satisfied with my current project's screenwriter."

Serena's eyes sparkled with mischief. "How loyal of you. Though if I recall correctly, wasn't Damien Vaughn also a screenwriter? His works never quite achieved commercial success, did they?" She paused dramatically. "Ah, but given your... close relationship, of course you'd want to support his work. My apologies for overstepping."

The implication was clear—Serena was subtly suggesting an inappropriate relationship between Vivian and Damien.

Bianca gasped theatrically, lowering her voice to a scandalized whisper. "You're involved with another man? Vivian, you're married!" Her eyes darted around nervously, clearly torn between wanting to cause a scene and fearing the social repercussions.

Vivian's expression darkened. "My personal life is none of your concern," she said icily, recognizing Bianca as nothing more than Serena's pawn—too naive to understand the larger game being played.

"You—!" Bianca sputtered, stamping her foot in frustration.

The tension crackled between them like static before a storm.