Chapter 4 - The Enemy's Wife
I didn't move toward the car.
I stood in the pouring rain, letting the cold water plaster my hair to my face.
"I don't make deals with the devil's wife," I said loudly over the sound of the storm.
Vivian let out a sharp, elegant laugh.
"Oh, honey, Walter isn't the devil," she replied smoothly.
"He's just an arrogant middleman."
"I am Julian Vance's younger sister."
The revelation hit me like a physical blow to the chest.
Vivian wasn't just a trophy wife; she was part of the family that ruined my life.
"My brother is a monster, Claire," Vivian continued, her smile fading into something much darker.
"He wants to merge his assets with Walter's and cut me out of my rightful inheritance."
"If Julian's dancer wins the underground tournament, I lose everything."
She leaned forward, her perfectly manicured fingers gripping the leather door handle.
"Dance with Ethan."
"Beat my brother's team."
"If you do, I will give you the police files proving Julian ordered the hit on your car twelve years ago."
My breath hitched in my throat.
Justice.
Real, undeniable justice against the man who stole my future.
"Why should I trust you?" I asked, shivering violently.
"Because if Ethan loses, my husband will throw him in federal prison to secure Julian's money," she stated coldly.
"I am a terrible mother, but I draw the line at letting my son rot in a cage."
Before I could answer, headlights swept across the wet pavement from the opposite direction.
Ethan's sports car screeched to a halt right behind Vivian's Mercedes.
Ethan jumped out, his jacket held over his head to block the rain.
He froze when he saw his mother sitting in the luxury car.
"Get away from her, Mom," Ethan growled, stepping defensively in front of me.
Vivian simply rolled up the window, her expression unreadable.
The Mercedes glided away into the dark, rainy night.
Ethan turned to me, grabbing my freezing shoulders.
"What did she say to you?" he demanded, panic edging his voice.
"She told me everything," I whispered, looking up into his frantic eyes.
"Take me to the studio, Ethan."
"We have a tournament to win."
Ethan's tense shoulders dropped in immense relief.
He ushered me into the warm cabin of his car and slammed the door.
As he drove us toward the city, I opened the glove compartment to look for a napkin to dry my face.
Instead, a heavy metal object tumbled out onto my lap.
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It was a loaded silver revolver.
And wrapped around the barrel was a bloody silk ribbon from my old championship dancing shoes.
