Chapter Five: He is back

*Vivienne*

Here is an official statement:

"Recent photos and speculation about Liam's personal life have led to unnecessary scrutiny and misinformation. We would like to set the record straight.

Liam and Vivienne are simply friends who are getting to know each other. 

We are disappointed in the reckless and irresponsible reporting by some media outlets and individuals. We will not stand idly by as Liam's reputation is tarnished by false and malicious rumors.

We promise to take legal action against anyone who continues to defame Liam's character. We will vigorously protect his rights and reputation.

We appreciate the support of Liam's fans and ask that you join us in dismissing these baseless rumors.

Thank you for your understanding and support.

Sincerely,

Emily Romanoff, Publicist for Liam"

“I thought you said that night at the club was the first time you met him?” Tara murmured.

My eyes narrowed on the official statement that was released by Liam's PR team this morning. “It was,” I affirmed with a tight jaw.

Tara frowned. “This statement seems to say otherwise.” she pointed to my computer screen. “It's actually saying that you guys are friends.”

I gave her a pointed glare. “And I just said I didn't know him from anywhere. Talk more about being friends with him.”

She gave off a shocked squeak. “Do you even know who Liam Ryan Pryce is and the power he wields in the entertainment world?”

“No, and I don't care,” I snapped at her.

Tara backed away with her hands in the air. “Alright, Alright.”

My eyes returned to the computer as his previous words from the other day flashed through my mind. 

What the hell is this man planning?

And with me in the middle of the whole mess.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and slowly massaged my forehead with my fingertips. 

“How did the media react to this statement?” I asked Tara. 

“Not so bad but not so good either,” she responded. “People are still torn over the photo of you guys kissing, because apparently, friends do not kiss each other.”

My eyes snapped open and I leaned forward. “I thought that article had been taken down.”

Tara shrugged. “Doesn't matter. By the time it was taken down, people had already taken screenshots of the article and posted them on their social media. That was actually how it went viral.”

Of course, screenshots.

I placed my hand on my chest and rubbed the pounding part that was cutting off my air flow. I reached forward and retrieved my pillbox from the top drawer of my desk. 

“You still take those things?” Tara asked.

I paused for a minute and nodded. “Vitamins,” I lied, and popped the white, oval shaped pill into my mouth.

“Hmm.” Tara nodded but looked unconvinced.

My severe anxiety and panic disorder wasn't something that I'd made public, and neither was I proud of my addiction to Xanax.

“I have been meaning to ask you this, Vivi,” Tara started and I looked at her. “Did you… actually kiss Liam. I mean, you guys were captured in a photo, but—”

“Don't you have anything to do this morning?” I interrupted her with an arched brow.

She smirked knowingly. “So you guys kissed.” she pursed her lips. “Kinda explains the tension between you two. I have never seen you riled up that much.”

I pressed my lips together and sighed. “There was no tension whatsoever. I have no intention of being associated with that man, do you understand?” my voice was low and firm.

Tara nodded. “Can I say one more thing?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Since you don't want to be associated with Mr. Pryce, shouldn't you release a statement or something? Better still, hold a press conference to clear up the rumors,” she suggested. 

My teeth clenched in response. “No.”

Tara blinked, momentarily stunned at my sharp refusal. “No?” she whispered.

“Yes… no,” I repeated.

Her jaw dropped. “But why?”

I cocked my head to the side. “I'm not about to engage in whatever stunt he's trying to pull. Releasing a statement or holding a press conference would mean acknowledging that there is indeed something going on between us,” I explained. “I've got better things to do like running my business and not engaging in some meaningless rumor.”

Tara blinked yet again and slightly shook her head. “Wow,” she breathed. “You sure do have a way of explaining things, huh?”

I rolled my eyes. “Here.” I tossed a few documents in front of her. “Review them and turn them in early tomorrow morning. It's a proposal from Raina's beauty care line.”

Her eyes widened in shock as she picked up the documents. “Raina's beauty care line?” she gasped. “How on earth did you manage to get a proposal with them?”

I leaned back and woke up my computer with a tap. “I have my ways,” I evasively said.

“Ahh, keeping secrets now,” she cooed and wiggled her brows.

I gave her a blank stare and then pointed at the door. “Get out of my damn office.”

A wide smile broke out on her lips and she threw me a mock salute. “Yes ma'am.”

Sometimes, it does seem like Tara was the weapon fashioned against me. “One of these days, imma make good on my promise and fire you,” I grumbled under my breath.

“No, you won't,” she countered with a sugary sing-song voice and blew me a kiss.

Not only was Tara an efficient manager, she also helps out with massages sometimes. So yeah, she is a gem.

Shaking my head, I watched her exit my office and busied myself with getting some work done. 

Moments later, I found myself drumming my nails impatiently on the desk as I waited for my online search to come up.

I told myself I wasn't curious about who Liam Pryce was, it was more like getting acquainted with who I was facing off with and who was terribly intent on disrupting my well planned life.

Soon enough, I was looking at the biography of Liam Ryan Pryce, boldly displayed on the screen of my laptop.

Liam Ryan Pryce sure wasn't a peasant in the entertainment industry nor in high society.

His personal biography was like a typical Hollywood script: a talented actor who achieved stardom on his own merit, alongside a parallel legacy as Executive Director of his family's foundation, carrying on a tradition of philanthropy and service.

The man practically broke free from the shadows of his famous family to create a groundbreaking career in the entertainment industry on his own terms.

He was solely described as a critically acclaimed actor, philanthropist and a dedicated humanitarian. With a career spanning over 12 years, he has already solidified his position as one of Hollywood's most versatile and respected talents.

His breakthrough role in his debut TV show—while he was still in college, had instantly catapulted him to a tremendous fame and landed him numerous awards which included the Academy Award for Best Actor. And also within four years of being in the industry, he achieved the coveted “Triple Crown of Acting” by winning an Oscar, an Emmy and a Tony multiple times. 

I scrolled down the page and saw a list of other notable accolades in recognition for his humanitarian work and acting prowess. I also scrolled through articles of him supporting charitable organizations and using his position and platform for the greater good. 

All these articles should have calmed my nerves about what type of man he was but it instead aroused my suspicions even more.

Something about him piqued my curiosity but he also made me wary of what his motives could be.

He was like a double edged sword. 

Sighing, I dropped my head into my palms, my mind a jumble of rioting thoughts. 

I took my phone and on opening my voicemails, I came across a voicemail from Sarah, one of the clerks at New Hope Memory Facility where my mother; an Alzheimer patient, was admitted. 

 I immediately straightened in my chair and played the voicemail. “Hey Vivi, just wanted to let you know that your brother stopped by this morning. I need to talk to you about your account. Give me a call the moment you get the chance.”

My brother? What was Dean doing at Mama's facility? He rarely visited her.

With a furrowed, confused brow, I placed a call to her line. “Hey, Sarah. It's Vivienne Reynolds. Is something wrong?”

“You need to change Gloria's account here, hon,” she said immediately after exchanging pleasantries. 

A pit of dread began to form in my stomach. “Why? What happened?” I asked.

“Your brother, Dean, is listed as one of her responsible party, alongside you. Dean came in today and demanded a refund on some of the money you prepaid on your mother's account. He could have taken it if not for the manager having taken a sick leave.”

My heart dropped, my stomach sinking along with it. “He didn't… Please tell me Dean didn't do that.”

Somewhere deep inside of me, I knew it was true but I chose not to believe it. Dean wouldn't stoop that low… not when Mama is involved.

“Sorry, hon,” Sarah apologized. “I just wanted to let you know.”

Was it because of the six grand that I had promised him? What sort of shit had Dean gotten himself into for crying out loud.

“No, thank you for letting me know. I really appreciate it. Let me know if anything else comes up,” I said. “I will change the account shortly,” I promised and hung up with shaky hands. 

I raked my fingers through my hair, and tried getting myself under control. 

Because control was all that matters. For me and for my mom. 

And I wasn't about to relinquish that control to anyone. Not after everything. 

*****

“Thank you,” I greeted the cab driver as I stepped down from the car in front of my apartment building.

I exhaled deeply. Today has been such a tiring day and I couldn't wait to get to the end of it.

I dipped my hand into my purse to retrieve my key card as I walked into the lobby, my heels clicking softly on the marbled floor.

“Enne?”

I froze in my steps as I heard that one voice. What the hell was he doing here?

I exhaled yet again and turned with a neutral expression. And standing just behind me was my cheating ex; Mark Simpson. 

Mark was quite the attractive man with his blond hair and striking blue eyes. His easy going and calm personality had been what attracted me the most but thank God I got to see the viper hidden under that mask of beauty.  

“Mark.” I nodded at him.

“Can we talk for a moment?” he implored with a gentle smile. 

My brows slowly extended to my hairline. “Sure,” I answered and crossed my arms over my chest.

Even though Mark had betrayed me, he had been one of my closest friends and my partner. I'd even thought of him as family until recently. 

He blinked when he realized I wasn't moving an inch. “Are we going to talk here?” he spared a glance around the bustling lobby filled with residents returning from work.

I raised my brow, my expression unyielding. Like hell I was going to allow him into my house again. 

He smiled awkwardly and dropped his head. “You still hate me, don't you?”

“What is it, Mark? I'm sure you are not here just to exchange pleasantries.” I was starting to get annoyed. 

“No, of course,” he chuckled awkwardly again.

Nervous.

He was nervous.

“Look here, Mark. I'm just coming back from work and I am tired. If you don't have anything to say to me, then I suggest you be on your way.”

He held my gaze for some seconds and his shoulders dropped. 

“I just wanted to officially apologize for what happened—”

“You don't have to,” I interrupted him with an aloof tone. I tilted my head to the side. “You cheated and we broke up. End of story.”

“Enne, please, just listen to me.” he took a step towards me.

I threw up a hand, instantly stopping him in his tracks. “What are you doing here, Mark? What happened to your girlfriend? Isn't she going to be upset that you're here?”

He sighed and rubbed his hands down his face. Another nervous habit of his. “We broke up,” he said. 

I frowned. “What?”

“We broke up,” he repeated, this time a little bit louder. 

I scoffed. “Let me guess, you cheated again.”

He stared at me, the light in his eyes dimming. “She wasn't you.”

My expression turned flat and pissed off. “Then you shouldn't have cheated on me to begin with.” I shook my head in disgust. “Go home, Mark. We are over and done with.”

Without waiting to see his reaction, I spun on my heels and continued my walk to the elevators. 

How dare he?

My hands folded into tight fists, my jaw clenched. Just as I approached the elevator, Jack; one of the part-time security men intercepted me.

“Miss Reynolds?” he called.

“Hello there, Jack.” I nodded at him as I slowed down. 

“Someone left a package for you,” he told me and extended a small box roughly the size of a paperback book and is wrapped in a plain brown paper material that has a smooth, slightly textured finish. 

“For me?” I frowned. I wasn't expecting anything from anyone. Either way, I took the package. “Thank you.”

Jack nodded and left.

I weighed the box in my hands but it was light. What was in it?

The paper itself had a subtle scent, perhaps a hint of cardboard or paper pulp, but it's faint and unobtrusive.

I checked for a return address but couldn't find one.

I stepped inside the elevator and the doors closed. Curious at what could be inside the box, I ripped the paperback material off and was met with a small sturdy box.

My forehead creased and I slowly opened the box. Neatly packaged inside was a miniature black gothic phantom mask and a small old newspaper clip.

Just then, a terrible sense of deja vu descended on me, momentarily freezing my insides. The hairs on the back of my neck rose to eerie stiff points. 

It can't be…right?

It has been years.

With the sound of my blood rushing in my ears and my heart pounding fiercely behind my ribcage, I reached inside the box and took the newspaper clip with shaky hands.

As I read the headline, my eyes widened as my breath hitched in my throat. My legs wobbled unevenly but I quickly braced myself by holding onto the elevator walls to help support my weight. 

My eyes caught a small note which was initially hidden under the newspaper clip. I picked it up and read the note:

“Your true face will never be hidden. You can't escape the truth.”

I gasped, my chest constricting painfully which also made it hard for me to breathe properly. The box slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor with a loud clatter, landing a few meters away from my feet.

I broke out in cold sweat, my hammering heart intensifying by the minute. I thrust my hand into my bag, retrieved my pillbox, and clutched it tightly.

I squeezed my eyes shut as the familiar sensation of a panic attack washed over me, which made my already racing heart and labored breathing triple. 

I struggled to open the pillbox, my fingers fumbling with the lid. Finally, it popped open, but my shaky hands couldn't grasp it securely. The pillbox slipped from my grasp, falling to the floor with another loud clatter.

I could only watch with horrified, wide eyes as the pills spilled out, scattering across the elevator floor. Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes as I fought to get my panic attack under control. 

I bent and wrapped my arms around my middle, muttering words of encouragement to myself. 

I wanted to hide. To hide from that box.

But I couldn't because he was back.