Chapter 9 - THE LAST THING HE EXPECTEDI did not scream.
People screamed.
Champagne glasses shattered.
Security pushed guests toward the exits.
I tried to run upstairs again.
Samuel blocked me.
“Absolutely not.”
“Rachel is up there.”
“So are armed federal agents.”
Another crash came from above.
Then Agent Monroe’s voice returned through my earpiece.
“Suspect fleeing rear stairwell. Weapon belongs to private security. No confirmed injuries.”
I exhaled.
Adrian had somehow escaped the office.
The gunshots had come from a security guard he paid to create chaos.
By the time agents reached the alley, Adrian was gone.
Marcus approached me.
“He’ll leave the country.”
“No.”
I looked toward the doors.
“He won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Adrian would rather be arrested than become irrelevant.”
Vanity had always been stronger than his survival instinct.
The next morning, his face was on every news network.
Authorities wanted him for questioning in connection with wire fraud, financial conspiracy, corporate theft, and obstruction.
His attorneys released a statement claiming he was innocent.
Then Adrian released a video.
He sat somewhere dark.
“Vivian Cross has orchestrated an elaborate campaign to destroy me.”
I watched from my office.
“She manipulated employees, fabricated allegations, and weaponized deeply personal medical tragedies.”
My jaw tightened.
Then he said the words that guaranteed he would return.
“Vale House was my creation. Vivian was merely the money behind the dream.”
Nora cursed at the screen.
I smiled.
“What?”
“He can’t help himself.”
“Meaning?”
“He needs people to believe he created everything.”
I walked toward our archive room.
“If he thinks I’m erasing him, he’ll come back to prove otherwise.”
That afternoon, Vera House announced an exhibition.
THE HANDS BEHIND THE HOUSE.
For the first time, every designer, seamstress, pattern cutter, illustrator, stylist, and artisan would receive individual credit for work created over the previous decade.
And I announced something else.
Adrian Vale’s name would be removed from designs he did not personally create.
The response was enormous.
Former employees began contacting reporters.
Some told stories of Adrian stealing credit.
Others described intimidation.
One former designer produced emails showing Adrian had demanded that staff revise sketches before presenting them publicly as his own.
The myth began collapsing.
Forty-eight hours later, someone set fire to our archive warehouse in Brooklyn.
I arrived as firefighters battled flames.
Hundreds of original garments had been stored there.
Samples.
Patterns.
Historic pieces.
My grandmother’s handwritten notes.
I stood behind the barricade watching smoke pour into the sky.
Nora cried beside me.
“Do you think Adrian—”
“Yes.”
But the building had an upgraded suppression system.
Most of the archive survived.
And the arsonist made a mistake.
A security camera across the street recorded his vehicle.
Police traced it to the same private security company involved in Adrian’s gala escape.
By morning, one of the guards had been arrested.
Faced with federal charges, he talked.
Adrian was hiding at a house in Connecticut.
Agents raided it.
Empty.
But they found laptops.
Documents.
Cash.
And a passport under a false name.
They also found something nobody expected.
A folder labeled VC INSURANCE.
It contained a life-insurance policy.
My life.
Twenty-five million dollars.
Beneficiary?
A trust controlled by Adrian.
The policy had been opened four years earlier.
Three months before my car accident.
When Samuel showed me, I stared at the paper for nearly a minute.
“So the accident…”
“Authorities are reopening the investigation.”
“And the miscarriages?”
“They’re investigating those too.”
I sat down.
For years, I had blamed myself.
Maybe I had worked too hard.
Maybe I had been too stressed.
Maybe my body failed.
Adrian had watched me carry that guilt.
He comforted me while knowing he might have caused it.
That realization hurt worse than the affair.
Celeste came to see me that evening.
Her bruise had faded.
She sat quietly across from me.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve said that.”
“I know.”
“You slept with my husband.”
“Yes.”
“You mocked me while security removed me.”
Her eyes dropped.
“Yes.”
“I may forgive you someday.”
She looked up.
“But not today.”
“I understand.”
I leaned back.
“However, what Adrian did to you wasn’t acceptable either.”
She swallowed.
“I know.”
“If investigators need your testimony, tell the truth.”
“I will.”
“And then build a life that doesn’t require humiliating another woman to feel valuable.”
Celeste nodded slowly.
“I will.”
She left.
For the first time, I felt the story moving away from revenge.
I did not want Adrian destroyed because he embarrassed me.
I wanted him stopped because he had hurt people.
There was a difference.
At 11:46 that night, my private phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Adrian.
“Hello, Vivian.”
Police had installed tracing software.
I kept him talking.
“You burned my warehouse.”
“You can’t prove that.”
“You tried to kill me.”
Silence.
Then a soft laugh.
“You always were dramatic.”
“Where are you?”
“Closer than you think.”
The office lights suddenly went out.
My blood froze.
Emergency lighting flickered on.
Adrian whispered through the phone.
“You wanted your company back.”
Footsteps sounded outside my office.
May you like
“Now let’s see what you’re willing to lose for it.”
My door handle began to turn.
