Chapter 7
Vivian's POV
A few days after I returned to Sunlight City to continue working, an anonymous email arrived.
I opened the attachment.
In the photograph, Allen was holding Dylan's hand on one side and Hazel's on the other, beaming at the camera with the unconstrained joy of a child who has no idea he's being observed. The background was a theme park full of color, flooded with just the right kind of afternoon light.
Dylan was wearing a pale gray polo shirt — less formal than I had ever seen him, a fraction more like an ordinary person. The set of his mouth was relaxed. It was an expression I had almost never seen on him. Hazel was smiling her gentle smile, cradling one of Allen's toys in both hands. Allen looked like he might burst from happiness.
A complete family. Picture-perfect.
I stared at the photo for a long moment, then turned off the screen and set the phone face-down on the desk.
I let out a quiet, soft laugh.
Good. They all had something bright ahead of them.
A few days later, I returned to Oceancrest City for good.
The project had entered a critical phase, and I needed to be fully present.
I was mid-discussion with several researchers about parameter adjustments when my front desk assistant approached with an apologetic look. "Ms. Wilson, there's a Ms. Hughes at the entrance. She says she's here representing Hudson Group."
The pen in my hand paused. Something cold passed through my eyes and was gone.
"Keep going — I'll be right back."
In the reception room, Hazel was already seated on the sofa. Beige blazer, precise makeup, hair falling in soft waves. Polished and entirely composed.
She rose when I entered, professional smile in place. "Vivian. Sorry to drop by unannounced."
I sat down across from her. "What is it?"
She opened her bag and slid a document across the table toward me.
"Hudson Group has completed a revised assessment of your laboratory's investment profile and concluded that the risk-to-return ratio is no longer aligned with the Group's current strategy." Her voice was measured and pleasant. "The Group has decided to formally withdraw all financial support. The applicable legal provisions and subsequent procedures are attached."
I didn't touch the document. I simply looked at her, and let one corner of my mouth lift slightly. "Dylan sent you?"
Her eyes shifted, just briefly. "This is a formal company decision. Mr. Hudson has authorized me to handle the matter."
"Effective from the date this notice is received," she continued, her tone becoming almost solicitous, "the laboratory must immediately cease use of all equipment and materials procured with Hudson Group funds." She paused, then added with exquisite gentleness: "Of course, should the laboratory find itself in difficulty as a result, Vivian is welcome to speak with Mr. Hudson and me at any time. We would be happy to work something out based on the circumstances."
She and Dylan. Working something out together.
I almost laughed.
I leaned forward slightly and held her gaze. "Are you finished, Hazel?"
She shifted, visibly uncomfortable under the directness of it, and managed a stiff nod. "That covers the main points. The specifics are all in the document—"
"Then it's my turn."
I cut her off cleanly.
"First: any withdrawal by Hudson Group must strictly adhere to the breach of contract provisions in the investment agreement. Every penalty clause will be enforced in full."
Hazel's smile faltered.
"Second: regarding the use of laboratory equipment — Hudson Group's initial investment was eighty million, of which approximately fifty million went toward equipment procurement. Two weeks ago, I had my attorney return that fifty million in full to the Group's account."
Her smile stopped entirely.
"What?" She couldn't stop herself. "You returned it? That's not—" Her fingers closed white-knuckled around the strap of her bag. "That's not possible—"
She was Dylan's chief assistant. A wire transfer of that size and she had no idea it had happened?
"Did you not review the company accounts before coming here?" I said, raising an eyebrow with mild curiosity. "Or did Mr. Hudson forget to mention it when he sent you over?"
She had no answer.
She had come here expecting to watch me scramble. She hadn't considered that the fifty million might already be gone.
"Additionally," I continued, settling back against the sofa, "the laboratory is currently well-funded and operating without difficulty. No need for your concern." I stood. "If there's nothing else, I won't see you out — this is a restricted area. Non-essential visitors are not permitted beyond the entrance."
I let each of those last words land distinctly.
"You—" Hazel shot to her feet, composure cracked open, her face going tight and unhappy. "Don't get too comfortable, Vivian. Without Hudson Group behind you, how long do you think this little lab of yours is going to last?"
She snatched up the document, turned, and walked out.
I thought that was the end of it.
But just before the end of the workday, Daniel came in at a near-jog. "The CEO of Hudson Group is here. He's asking for you."
Dylan.
A wave of fatigue and irritation hit me in equal measure. I took off my lab coat and walked to the reception room anyway.
When I pushed the door open, Dylan was sitting on the sofa with a face like a coming storm. Hazel stood at his side.
Of course she was still here.
He looked up when I walked in and went straight to it. "Vivian. Where did that money come from?"
Five years of marriage. He knew as well as anyone that I couldn't have produced fifty million on my own in that timeframe.
"What does that have to do with you?" I had no patience left for this.
"You're still my wife," he said, his knuckles going pale where his hands rested on his knees. "Legally. Everything you say and do reflects on Hudson Group's reputation."
There it was. He needed to confirm that his wife-in-name-only hadn't done anything that could blow back on him.
Just then, a clear, unhurried voice came from the corridor outside.
"Vivian. You're not answering your phone. I was starting to think something happened to you."
Dylan's head turned sharply.
In the doorway of the reception room stood a tall man — early thirties, striking bone structure, wide-framed sunglasses, hands in his pockets and an energy about him that took up space without effort. He swept a quick read of the room, and the corner of his mouth curved into something that was not quite a smile and entirely dismissive.
"Everything alright?" He walked in and positioned himself at my side with the ease of someone who had every right to be there, dropping one hand onto my shoulder.
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. I felt it from where I was standing.
"Who is he?" Dylan's voice was low, and the cold in it was a different quality from his usual composure. His eyes were fixed on my face.
Before I could speak, Hazel drew a sharp, quiet breath. She looked at me with an expression of wounded disbelief. "Vivian — regardless of how you feel about Mr. Hudson — Mr. Hudson is still standing right here."
She left the sentence incomplete. The implication was perfectly clear.
"So that's why you've suddenly grown a backbone." Dylan bit each word off with deliberate precision. "You had someone waiting in the wings. All this time. And I had absolutely no idea what kind of person you actually were."
