"Jennifer." Vivienne watched him carefully, her voice dropping a fraction. "Jennifer Vanderbilt. Perhaps you've met her?"

The name landed between them like a challenge.

He knew exactly what she was doing. He decided to give her exactly what she wanted.

Alex let something cold move through his chest. He allowed old memories to surface... slick, immediate. The ballroom. The laughter. The phone screens. The scoring. Jennifer's voice, counting him like a lesson.

His eyes flickered. Just for a moment. A micro-expression of pain and humiliation, carefully measured for her benefit.

Then he shook his head slightly, forcing the memories back into their cage, but leaving the door cracked just enough for her to see the darkness inside.

"Jennifer Vanderbilt," he repeated, his voice carefully flat. "The name sounds familiar."

Vivienne leaned forward slightly, her coffee cup cradled in both hands. Her eyes never left his face. She had seen the flinch. She had seen the shadow pass behind his eyes.

"Just familiar?" A knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth. "The way you said that... it sounded heavy."

Alex met her gaze. Held it.

He let a flicker of discomfort cross his features... a tightening of the jaw, a brief, defensive glance toward the window.

"We... crossed paths," he said slowly, choosing his words like he was stepping around broken glass. "It didn't end well."

"Oh?" Vivienne's voice softened, becoming coaxing, intimate. She tilted her head, her expression shifting from curiosity to sympathy. "What did she do?"

He was silent for a long moment. He let the silence stretch, forcing her to lean in closer, forcing her to wait for him.

Then he shook his head, a sharp, dismissive motion.

"Old wounds," he said, his voice rougher now. "Not worth talking about."

But his eyes... he let them carry just a hint of something darker. Something wounded. Something that begged to be healed.

Vivienne watched it all. Absorbed it. Filed it away.

Behind her polite mask of concern, Alex could practically feel the satisfaction radiating off her.

She wasn't just sympathetic; she was thrilled. A broken man was a project. A project was a toy. And a toy broken by her own daughter?

That was irresistible.

"I knew it," she murmured, shaking her head as if his words confirmed her darkest suspicions. "I didn't expect anything less from her."

"That girl is a spoiled, vicious brat," she spat, the venom in her voice startlingly real. "She walks through life thinking the entire world revolves around her, that people are just... props in her little play. She breaks things because she knows she can."

She looked Alex dead in the eye, her expression twisting into shared disgust.

"And her mother is no better. Honestly? They're both bitches. A matching set of nightmares."

Alex watched her, suppressing the urge to laugh.

The performance was flawless. The indignation, the bitterness, the weary frustration of a servant pushed to the edge... it was all perfect. Hearing the great Vivienne Vanderbilt call herself a "bitch" just to maintain a cover story was a level of irony he hadn't expected to enjoy this much.

'You're committed, I'll give you that,' he thought. 'You'll burn your own reputation to ashes just to get what you want.'

He let a small, knowing smile touch his lips.

"Sounds like you have your own scars from them," he said quietly. "I didn't realize the view from the inside was just as ugly."

"Uglier," she said without hesitation. "At least you got to leave. I have to see her face every day. Listen to her schemes. Clean up her messes." She leaned back, exhaling like she'd been holding the frustration in for years.

"The woman thinks she owns the world. And Jennifer? She's learning the same lessons."

Her hands found his... both of them... wrapping around them with surprising gentleness. The gesture looked like comfort. Sympathy. A shared moment of understanding between two people wounded by the same family.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her thumbs brushing across his knuckles. "Really?"

But her touch wasn't just comforting.

It was exploratory.

Her fingers traced the calluses on his palms... evidence of training, of labor, of a life that had required him to build himself from nothing.

She felt the strength in his hands, the coiled power just beneath the surface. Her grip tightened slightly, testing, measuring.

'Strong,' she thought. 'Much stronger than he should be.'

Her thumbs continued their slow movement, mapping the terrain of his hands like she was reading a text written in bone and muscle.

Alex felt it all. The assessment disguised as concern. The curiosity masked by empathy. She was cataloging him, piece by piece, trying to understand what he'd become.

He let her.

"It's in the past," he said finally, his voice deliberately flat, closing the door on the topic.

Her hands lingered for a moment longer... one final, gentle squeeze... before she withdrew them slowly, reluctantly.

"Is it?" She tilted her head, studying him with the focused intensity of a surgeon examining a wound. "People like Jennifer... they leave marks. Even when the bruises fade."

Her fingers brushed his forearm... light, almost accidental, but deliberate enough to make him aware of the contact.

"But you're not broken, are you?" Her voice was barely above a whisper now, intimate, conspiratorial. "You're here. In this villa. Looking like..." Her eyes traced the line of his jaw, his throat, the open collar of his shirt. "...like you've turned into something they never expected."

She didn't move her hand.

Alex didn't pull away.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken things. Her touch lingered, a test. A question without words.

Then she smiled... slow, dangerous... and withdrew her fingers, picking up her coffee again as if nothing had happened.

"Anyway," she said lightly, the shift in tone almost jarring, "if you ever need someone to complain about that brat to, I'm happy to listen. God knows I've wanted to vent about her for years."

Alex couldn't help it. He laughed.

The sound seemed to surprise her. She blinked, then smiled... genuine this time, not calculated.

"What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head, still grinning.

"I'll keep that in mind."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Something unspoken settled between them... not agreement, not threat. Recognition.

Vivienne rose smoothly to her feet, smoothing her blouse.

"This place really is beautiful," she said, glancing around. "I can see why my… Vivienne was disappointed to miss out."

She looked back at him, one brow lifting.

"Would you mind showing me around? I'm curious how the rest compares."

Alex stood.

"Of course," he said easily. "Why not."

As he led her deeper into the villa, Vivienne followed with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

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