"This is my office. Bought with the money that I made. I made you who you are. Without me you’d be nothing more than a starving, working-class tramp scraping by on minimum wage to pay the bills. So, unless you want bad things to start happening, I suggest you apologize right f*cking now." From the outside, Vivienne's life looks like a fairytale: a nobody waitress swept into Hollywood stardom and the arms of a rich husband. But behind closed doors, it's a nightmare, and one that's about to get much worse. The only one willing to protect her now is Marcus, an ex-military, ex-mafia shifter who won't let anything hurt her. Yet problems still loom. Vivienne's stalker is still at large, her abusive husband and his family threaten her, and Marcus's position as an alpha shifter means even the other packs are against his feelings for a regular human. Can the two of them survive and find happiness together, or will these obstacles tear them apart forever?
View MoreAlthough being an actress certainly had its share of perks, the downsides tended to be far more harrowing. Mostly because they had the tendency to be broadcast throughout the world. There was hardly such thing as personal privacy when one wrong move could get your name and face plastered on every gossip column this side of the west. The high life was a dream, but a fragile one. Appearances were everything, and secrets were the ropes that bound them up. Vivienne knew that better than most because she was hiding several ugly little truths of her own.
Like right now. Vivienne Hardison pushed open the door of her manager’s office to a sight that stopped her dead in her tracks. Biting back the gasp in her throat, she braced herself against the expected wave of sadness and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb of her manager’s office; arms folded loosely across her chest as she watched cinema’s newest up-and-coming star bounce away on his lap. From this angle, Vivienne couldn’t see his face, which wasn’t too much of a loss in her opinion. It was already bad enough that she was watching her husband cheat on her in the middle of the day, she didn’t need to see what his face looked like while he was balls deep in another woman.
At least they both had the decency to be mostly dressed, Vivienne mused to herself, tapping the tips of her painted acrylic nails against her upper arm. The movement was rhythmic, deliberately so, as she ensured that each one pinched in time with her breathing. This must have been a quickie, and probably not the first if she had to guess. Liam knew her schedule best after all; when she was on-set, off-set, in make-up, getting out of make-up, on-break, and having hour long lunch meetings with rich producers for future roles.
A part of Vivienne, the part that wasn’t in the middle of a sobbing breakdown, was almost impressed by his rigour. According to the ticking hands of the clock on the wall, she had only left the room half an hour ago, and in that short span of time her boyfriend had somehow managed to sneak Cammie Thorn onto his dick without being spotted or accosted by the ever-creeping paparazzi that always seemed to stalk the footsteps of anyone who carried the slightest bit of clout. Many called them dogs, tearing and clawing over the tiniest bit of meat, but Vivienne found that rude. At least a dog could be taught the meaning of the word no.
A high-pitched, almost cartoonishly pornographic whine jolted her from her thoughts, and Vivienne nearly rolled her eyes. Deciding that she’d had enough of this farce, she raised a hand and rapped her knuckles very loudly on the wide-open door.
Instantly, Liam shot up to his feet, which had the unfortunate but still amusing result of toppling Cammie off his lap and straight to the floor. Oh well, at least it was carpeted. Saxony pile wasn’t cheap, and Vivienne hoped the actress’s butt appreciated every single weft of the woolen fibres that had cushioned her ignominious fall.
“Vivi! H-Honey!” Liam pasted an unnaturally bright grin on his face, fingers working busily at his crotch. While that was the obvious clue to his crime, anyone would be able to piece together what exactly had been happening by the rumpled hair and faint outline of hickeys that were not quite hidden by the partially unbuttoned shirt. Not to mention the pair of high heels kicked next to the couch, a size too small for Vivienne’s feet, and the bright pink Chanel handbag tossed carelessly onto the desk. The lip of the accessory was splayed so wide that several of the contents must have tipped out already.
The sound of Liam’s pant zipper being hastily dragged shut was deafeningly loud between the three of them. Face unchanging, Vivienne only arched an eyebrow and slid a single questioning gaze over to Cammie.
To the younger woman’s credit, or perhaps it was more down to a wellspring of pure audacity, it didn’t take long for Camellia to get back to her feet. She didn’t even look ashamed. Oh, she was embarrassed about being caught certainly, Vivienne could read the mortification in the red of her cheeks, the wide eyes, and the shallow furrow between her perfectly plucked eyebrows. However, the sugar-sweet grin on Camellia’s face as she patted down her skirt was nothing short of unbearably peppy. The sight reminded Vivienne of herself three years ago: young and desperate and dreaming, and so excited to have a handsome man take an interest in her stupid fantasies.
Liam, with his swooping blonde hair, easy smile, and utterances of support. He had been so nice, promising her the moon and stars, and Vivienne really had swallowed every single claim, hook, line, and sinker.
“Oh, where are my manners!” Liam took a step closer, and Vivienne went tense. For a horrible second the actress was terrified that he was going to touch her, kiss her even, and she would just have to smile and bear it without emptying the contents her stomach onto the aforementioned wool carpet. Not that there would have been much, considering how the lunch had gone. Luckily, he only turned and gestured to Vivienne, as though she were a particularly beautiful piece of art that he wanted to show off. “Vivi, this is Cammie Thorn. Camellia, this is–”
“Vivienne Hardison!” Camellia interrupted, nearly bouncing on the tips of her toes with obvious and unexpected excitement. “I am such a huge fan!”
As far as fan meetings went, this certainly ranked extremely low on the list, but you wouldn’t know it from Cammie’s expression. Hell, Vivienne could see what the media liked about the younger woman. She was charming in that sweet, slightly naïve countryfied way that was nigh impossible to find in Hollywood. Immaculate milk-white skin contrasted beautifully against flawless seashell pink lips and waves of thick mahogany brown hair devoid of flyaway curls. Big blue eyes surrounded by long lashes gave Ms. Thorn the aura of an innocent ingenue, which was a powerful siren call for certain types of men when paired with slender curves wrapped a green skintight minidress.
The combination of jealousy and pity tasted strange on Vivienne’s tongue. Sour and bitter at the same time, burning the insides of her cheeks and the curl of her tongue. Yet she managed to dredge up the weak approximation of a normal smile.
Before she could return the greeting, or even say a word, Camellia was already bulldozing on. “I saw you in the last season of Depeche Mode last November and I adored every single episode you were in,” she gushed. “Bianca was my favourite character, did you know? I mean, I know she was the bad guy, but she was such a fantastic villain, and you played the character so well! It was like you totally embodied the subtle, aloof bitchiness; you know? It was like you weren’t even acting at all!”
“Yes well…” The corners of Vivienne’s lips tightened. She maintained her smiling mask while she carefully put a few more inches of distance between herself and the overly effusive actress “Thank you for the praise. I’ve had a lot of practice in such roles.”
“That’s right!” Liam re-inserted himself into the conversation, having managed to fix his shirt and hair in the few seconds neither woman’s eyes were on him.
Truly a man of efficiency, Vivienne hummed dryly, suppressing a twinge of hurt that travelled through her chest. It might sound boring to some, but Liam’s organizational skills were one of the reasons she’d been attracted to him in the first place. Three years ago, she’d thought his coordination and confidence made him mature and competent. A real man instead of the flirty playboys who only stayed conscious long enough to drink themselves back into oblivion. It hadn’t taken long for the fantasy to fall, but by then it was too late.
“Vivienne also played Julia Bayes in Broken Skies and was the cult killer in Sacred Flock. You know, it took a great deal of finagling to land her that audition, but that is the duty of any manager,” he puffed out his chest, flexing nonexistent pectorals. “I have to do the best for my clients, otherwise I’d be no better than a bloodsucking leech!”
No, because at least leeches were an essential part of the ecosystem, and some even found use in hospitals. Leeches were infinitely more useful than Liam could ever dream of being.
Vivienne had landed the role of Bianca Mayfield – main antagonist of season 6 of the drama-filled fashion series Depeche Mode – when she had unknowingly bumped into one of the lead writers in a downtown bookshop. Over a brisk walk to the register, the two had fallen into a discussion of the intricacies of managing audience expectations and overuse of plot-twists in long-running series. Two weeks later Vivienne had received a call from one of the showrunners asking whether she was interested in auditioning for a role in the next season. A similar story went for most of her roles, at least the ones she’d landed after becoming a more recognizable feature on peoples’ screens.
For the moment, Vivienne hadn’t managed to come up with an apt enough descriptor for Liam. Parasite was too obvious for a man whose biggest claim to fame was being born from sperm of a world-renowned entertainment lawyer. The way he swanned around Hollywood, you’d think he’d singlehandedly erected each letter by hand. Truly, he should have been the performer between the two of them, because it was apparent that he was in the wrong line of work and Vivienne was tired of being the one stuck playing the role of the bad guy on everyone’s television screens.
Speaking of which…
“Would you excuse us for a moment?” Vivienne asked through teeth that were only a little bit clenched. “I would like to speak to my…manager about something.”
“Oh, of course!” Cammie chirped. She quickly fluttered about the room, snatching up her handbag and jacket from the desk. Headache pulsing between her eyes, Vivienne wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when the woman ducked underneath her husband’s desk and returned with the spilled contents of her handbag: a tube of lipstick, a bottle of perfume, and a pair of fluffy, Valentine’s Day red handcuffs which she stuffed into her bag with an airy giggle. “It was wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Hardison. See you later, Liam!”
With that, the whirlwind escaped the office, taking with it any pretense at normalcy. Vivienne slammed the door shut and whirled around to glare at her sham of a husband. “Really?” She spat. “Your office?”
“Would you rather I do it in our bed?” As soon as Cammie’s back was turned, the jovial mask retreated into an empty smile and flat gaze. “Sorry dear, time must have gotten away from me. You weren’t supposed to be back yet.”
Vivienne pursed her lips. “I came back early,” she hissed, “because you sent me to lunch with a lech.”
“Watch it,” Liam narrowed his eyes at her and straightened his tie. “That ‘lech’ is one of the biggest names on my roster and a part in his upcoming film project could have put us on the map. Surely you could have played nice for one day.”
“He tried to grope me!”
“And?” Her husband blinked at her, one eyebrow raised as though he truly did not see the problem with that. “What, are your tits made out of solid gold now? Come on Vivi, think. Get your head on straight. You’re a woman, aren’t you? Don’t you know how these things work?”
Red hot annoyance simmered beneath the surface of Marcus's face as he practically dragged Vivienne away from Damien. Luckily she was quite adept at noticing his moods, and simply followed along meekly, not putting up a fight as he led her across the room. Her high hels clicked against the marble floor, before becoming muffled by the soft carpet that covered the exit corridors. As they crossed the border, Marcus's grip shifted, pressing the hard edges of her bracelet into her skin. Vivienne hissed, more out of surprise than actual pain. Marcus, who had all this while been too wrapped up in his thoughts, suddenly halted at the sound. He turned around and looked her over with concern. "Are you okay? Did that bastard-" "I'm fine," she stopped him, and then turned her arm over to show the pale pink imprint left behind by the clear stones. Marcus could tell that they weren't real diamonds, they didn't have the same lustre or the aura of blood that always stuck to precious gems mined in f
After wandering around a bit more, Vivienne finally chose to linger near the walls where someone had set up a gallery. Vivienne wondered if the art pieces were always present, or if they had been set out specifically for the masquerade, decorations meant to adorn the richly decorated space. The artwork seemed to vary widely in style and substance, reflecting the eclectic tastes of the person who had donated them. As she examined the pieces, she couldn't help but be captivated by the wonders that adorned the walls. One particular painting stood out—a masterpiece that seemed to come alive with textured strokes and vivid colours. It depicted a moonlit forest, where shadows and light played in a mesmerizing dance. The impasto technique added depth and dimension, the thick smears of navy and chartreuse making the trees practically leap off the canvas. Vivienne marvelled at the skill of the artist, the brushstrokes revealing a passion and mastery that she was almost envious of. Adjacent to
The grand ballroom of the Red Moon Hotel unfurled before Marcus and Vivienne like a magnetic dream. The air was infused with the heady aroma of flowers, and the soft strains of music enveloped them as they stepped into the heart of the masquerade. The room glittered with the glow of chandeliers, the marble floors catching the streams of light and tossing them back into the air like teardrops. Couples in elaborate masks twirled on the dance floor, creating a scene straight out of a fairytale. Marcus, dressed in his impeccable black suit, kept a protective arm around Vivienne as they entered the enchanting space. Her scarlet gown swirled with each step, and the mask she wore added an air of mystery to her allure. As they surveyed the festivities, Vivienne felt the fingers around her waist tighten with an almost palpable sense of possessiveness, and she bit back a smile. There was her protector, determined to keep her safe in this sea of unknown faces. However, their idyllic entrance w
On the day of the pivotal meeting with Damien, Vivienne decided to indulge in a moment of luxury. The secluded farmhouse had witnessed more than its fair share of tension, but tonight, she wanted to relax. She loved the woods, the smell of petrichor, moss, and fresh-cut wood, but right now she wanted to pretend. She craved a touch of elegance. Something that made her feel powerful and desirable. With those thoughts in mind, she rummaged through her limited wardrobe, eager to find the perfect gown for the occasion. She hadn’t exactly packed her bags with the goal of appearing on a runway, but there were one or two dresses she had hidden at the bottom of her suitcase. Not because she’d planned to wear them, but because they were clothes that she’d bought for herself or been given as gifts, and there was no telling what Liam might do with her belongings once she was out of the way. The man seemed to lack object permanence, where if his wife wasn’t in visible vici
The next few days passed in a whirlwind of unspoken tension, a palpable silence hanging heavy in the air between Vivienne and Marcus. It wasn't the kind of silence born out of anger or resentment; rather, it was a quiet storm of restrained emotions that seemed to swirl around them, growing more and more tumultuous with each passing moment spent without acknowledging the obvious tempest. Marcus had taken to patrolling the perimeter every morning and night, leaving Vivienne alone with her thoughts throughout the day. The haunting echoes of his footsteps as he treaded the familiar path outside the farmhouse became a constant reminder of the walls he erected around his emotions. Vivienne hated it. It reminded her too much of her parents. They’d never argued, but she’d often wished that they had. Coming home to the silent home, afraid to walk through the house for fear that one wrong move would shatter the false peace that mom erected every time dad couldn’t control his fists. Keep your he
The tension that lingered from the previous night seemed to dissipate further as they shared a light-hearted moment, connected by the discovery of unexpected common ground. Vivienne continued flipping through the pages of the tattered romance novel, her eyebrows raised in mock skepticism. "You know, if I were the main character of this story, I would have made a run for it the first night. Kidnapped or not." Marcus chuckled, leaning against the bookshelf. "Oh, trust me, the love interest would have easily caught you, bunny. He’s a shifter too. We’re much faster than humans." “Is that so?” She shot him a haughty glare. "Well, I'd like to think I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Like poison." The look Marcus levelled her with was equal parts amused and disbelieving. "You think an adult shifter wouldn’t be able to smell their food being poisoned?” “Who said anything about food?” Vivienne replied coyly, covering the bottom half of her face with the book an
Vivienne awoke the next morning with a headache, hair stuck to the corner of her mouth, and the uncomfortable sensation that she had done something shameful last night.It didn’t take long for the memories to crash upon her like a tidal wave, bringing with it the taste of Marcus’s tongue in her mouth, the feel of his hands wrapping around her thighs to manhandle her like she was little more than a doll. The weight of his body trapping her against the car-seat, their panting breaths fogging up the window and making it abundantly clear was had been happening inside.The way he had held her, crushed her in his embrace, it wasn’t anything she had expected from the stoic, professional veneer Marcus wore. Last night he had been the one to cross the lines, to tear off the mask to reveal a yawning chasm if insatiable hunger. If that car hadn’t driven past, he definitely would have…A whine escaped Vivienne’s lips as she clapped her h
The tension had escalated until Marcus, unable to bear the strain any longer, made a decision that surprised even himself. In a sudden, sharp motion, he jerked the car to a halt on the side of the deserted road. The black tires screeched against the asphalt, and the vehicle shuddered to a stop. Vivienne's eyes, still glowing with rage, went wide. Her body, briefly airborne and cradled safely by the seatbelts, came down hard on the leather cushions. There was no time for her to recover as she was immediately pressed back against the car door with Marcus looming over her. The abrupt stop had caught her off guard, and now her pulse raced with a mixture of fear and defiance that he could smell rising off her skin. Mingled with the scent of his clothes and the racing of her pulse, it was an intoxicating combination. “Marcus?” The man towered over her with his broad muscular chest. He stares down at you sternly with his deep brown eyes, his solid arms stretched acr
The car cruised along the main road, the engine providing a low humming backdrop to the song of bullfrogs and crickets singing in the trees. Marcus allowed himself to enjoy the moment of calm as mentally he counted down the seconds until Vivienne – figuratively chewing on the meeting and pathologically unable to contain her curiosity for an extended period of time – unleashed a storm of questions. To the man’s surprise, she lasted a good five seconds longer than he had expected. The car actually made it a few yards from the edge of the forest before the interrogation began. "Alright, ‘fess up,” the woman twistedaround in her seat to pin him with a scowl, dark eyes searching his face for any hint of evasiveness. “What the hell was all that? How do you know the Warrens and the Apollyon Organization? And who is Amy?" The barrage came quick and fast, hitting like stones being flung from from a well-trained trained sling. Marcus puffed out a sigh, glancin
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