Back in the country, the Hill was alive with movement. It was a strange, silent parade. Second-generation heirs walked from their parents' sprawling estates toward Carrie's front gates, while others zipped over in whisper-quiet electric golf carts.
Inside the Wilson estate, Carrie was a pillar of professional ice. She was on the phone, her eyes full of tears even as her voice froze the air in the room. "This is the optimal time to pull the contracts. I want it done for market open tomorrow," she said, looking up to see a sea of her peers flooding her foyer. Mimi, Gigi, and Natalia stood at the front.
Gigi didn't say a word, but Carrie's eyes dropped to the copy of The Hill News tucked tightly under her arm. The massive headline was impossible to miss: CARRIE WILSON GETTING A DIVORCE?
A heavy, collective silence crossed the threshold with the crowd, a stark contrast to the usual loud chatter of the Hill-heirs. Through the open double doors, Carrie could see even more of them slowly making their way up the long driveway—two more figures walking shoulder-to-shoulder in the distance, their expressions somber.
The sight of it broke the dam. Carrie stayed on the line, finishing the business call with terrifying stability while the tears tracked through her makeup. Only when she clicked "End" did she let the first sob escape.
The room surged forward. "We've got you," Mimi whispered, pulling her into the center of the circle. Words of affirmation filled the room—a rare moment of Hill unity. They weren't just neighbors; they were a fortress.
"Don't cry," Natalia insisted, her voice dropping into a soft, soothing register as she reached out. "We are going to clean you up, get some makeup on, and we're still going to have a fun day."
Gigi, with her normal lack of tact, stated rather frankly, "I'm going to the match."
Mimi and Natalia snapped their heads toward her, giving her a collective look of 'what the fuck.'
Gigi rolled her eyes defensively. "I'm just saying. I have to go."
Carrie wiped the tears from her eyes, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. "It's fine, I'll go to the match. My divorce... has been a long time coming."
Looking past the supportive circle of her friends, Carrie's gaze drifted through the open double doors of the foyer, staring out at the vast blue sky and wondering what her life would truly look like without Peter.
High above, soaring on a blanket of clouds, the flight back to Omakian was remarkably peaceful. Inside the private jet, Vivian and Gunner traveled in relative silence, the quiet hum of the engines providing a calm backdrop. Gunner remained buried in his seat right beside her, his stylus a blur of constant motion as he meticulously sketched out a complex schematic on his tablet. He was attempting to recreate a masterpiece he'd seen in Mr. Klamburg's collection—a legendary vehicle that could actually be fueled by water. Though he knew he would never own the original, he was determined to reverse-engineer the concept.
Vivian had her earbuds in, completely absorbed in the latest episode of the We the Netizens podcast, listening closely to the host's interesting take on the sudden Wilson Group stock drop.
A sharp chime echoed through the cabin, interrupting their thoughts. Captain Trisha's voice came over the speaker, standard and professional. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are entering Omakian airspace and will be landing shortly. Please ensure your seat belts are securely fastened."
Absent-mindedly, his mind still half-locked on the recreation of the schematic, Gunner reached over and handed Vivian a gift bag.
Vivian peered inside the bag and pulled out a breathtaking green chiffon dress, matching jewelry, and shoes. A soft smile touched her lips when she realized the shade of forest green was a perfect match to the polo Gunner was already wearing. She looked right beside her at him. He was still buried in his seat, his focus entirely centered on the screen as his stylus flew across the glass. Rising from her seat, she walked past him toward the private cabin bathroom. "Thank you," she murmured.
Gunner simply nodded in acknowledgment, never once breaking his rhythm as he kept sketching away. Vivian changed, preparing herself for the crisis that awaited them the moment they got off the private plane.
The jet's tires screeched violently as they touched down on the tarmac, the engines roaring in reverse before the aircraft taxied to a smooth, complete stop. The captain's voice chimed one last time over the speaker: "Welcome to Springbrook Private Airstrip."
Gunner immediately began packing his tablet and stylus into his bag. Vivian simply stood up, smoothing the chiffon of her dress, and walked toward the exit—leaving her luggage and everything else completely behind. Gunner caught the movement, his eyes tracking her empty hands. He didn't say anything, silently assuming she must be planning to flee the country again before the day was out.
When the stairs lowered, Gunner was the picture of chivalry, holding his hand out to help Vivian step down onto the tarmac. Waiting for them were two vehicles: Vivian's familiar, safe town car driven by Mr. Travis Smart, and Gunner's low-slung, predatory sports car.
"Ride me," Gunner said, nodding his head toward his vehicle with a dangerous, playful tilt of his lips that instantly aired out the tension between them.
Vivian raised an eyebrow, a small, genuine chuckle escaping her. "You're an idiot," she said, bypassing her town car and slipping right into his passenger seat.
"I can never remember if it's on or with," Gunner murmured as he watched her get into the car, ignoring his obvious provocation.
The moment her door latched, Gunner floored it. The tires screamed, burning rubber on the tarmac as the car shot forward like a bullet.
"Gunner!" Vivian let out a shocked yelp, her manicured nails digging deep into the custom leather seats as her stomach felt like it stayed behind on the runway.
Behind them, Mr. Smart's jaw set in a hard line. He threw the town car into gear, his eyes flashing with irritation as he gave chase to keep his "Young Miss" in sight, the rest of the entourage trailing behind them like a frantic tail.
The moment Gunner slammed on the brakes into an empty parking spot, Vivian's neck whipped forward before her head slammed back into the headrest. She threw him a razor-sharp glare. "I will never get in this car again," she snapped, her tone harsh as she pushed the door open and slammed it shut with an unnecessary amount of strength.
Gunner chuckled. He didn't care if she never wanted to get into this specific car again—he had so many more. Stepping up his pace, he easily fell into step beside a fuming Vivian as they walked toward the gates.
The polo match was already in full swing when they arrived, a blur of high-energy movement. The rhythmic thud of hooves and the crack of mallets against the ball echoed over a massive sea of people packed into the general standing area. Vivian kept her eyes locked on the exclusive, covered canopies that sat strictly separate from the viewing public, scanning the elite crowd until her search instantly landed on a shock of red hair. "Carrie," she breathed.
Gunner's hand rested on the small of Vivian's back, quietly enjoying the warmth and the public claiming of the gesture. But Vivian was already moving. She pulled away and threw her arms around Carrie in a fierce hug, ignoring the stares of the surrounding socialites.
"We're getting a drink," Vivian announced to the group, giving a quick wave of greeting to her seated friends before steering Carrie away.
Gunner stood there, his hand still frozen mid-air, successfully ditched. He shook his head with a resigned sigh.
"Gunner! Over here!"
He looked up to see his mother, Aubrey, smoothly beckoning him over from a prime seat under the canopy. He walked over, knowing exactly what was coming.
"So," Aubrey started the second his back hit the chair, her eyes sparkling with an insatiable curiosity. "Qalmeira? Matching outfits? Is this a date? I can't remember ever seeing Miss Kane in any vehicle but her own. Especially one my idiot son is driving over 150 kilometers per hour. You have a lot to tell me! And don't you dare be vague."
As Vivian walked away, she glanced back one last time and noticed Aubrey turning completely toward her son in her chair. A rapid spiral of questions seemed to shoot from her lips to him. Gunner just sat there silently, his eyes pinned forward, staring intently at the match. Vivian could see his lips moving in a quiet response, but she couldn't hear a single word over the crowd.
Turning back to the white granite bar, Vivian leaned in close to Carrie. The space was a quiet island of calm away from the frantic energy of the match. "Are you truly alright?" Vivian asked, her voice low. "Do you think Peter is going to be a problem?"
"Peter!" Carrie laughed, though it was a brittle sound. "He's still buzzing around. Last I heard, he's trying to find a lawyer that will take him on as a client."
"If you hire every top-tier attorney in town—" Vivian trailed off, allowing Carrie to make her own conclusion. If Peter couldn't get a high-powered attorney, his leverage would be low, and the most he'd be able to do was be a mild irritant until he took whatever settlement Carrie was willing to give him. As she said this, Vivian started to reach for her drink, but her hand froze mid-air over Carrie's shoulder. She spotted them.
Conrad and Charlotte Kane.
"Hmm. I've thought about it," Carrie said. "I don't want to make anything harder than it has to be. I'm angry. But I don't hate him. And I don't want to get there any faster than I have to."
Vivian nodded in understanding. As Conrad and Charlotte Kane moved ever closer, Vivian's posture didn't just improve; it solidified. Her spine became a steel rod. It had been eighteen months since she stood in their shadow, and the phantom weight of their expectations settled on her like a heavy cloak.
Vivian approached her parents with a smile that was the height of engineering—mild, friendly, and utterly devoid of warmth.
There was no hug. No "I missed you." Charlotte didn't even look her in the eye initially; her gaze performed a lightning-fast audit of Vivian's green chiffon dress, her jewelry, and the state of her hair. Satisfied that her daughter didn't look like a commoner, she offered a curt nod. Conrad, meanwhile, gave her the same pleasant, distant smile he might give a shareholder at an annual meeting.
"You've been in town quite often," Conrad noted. Though his words sounded like those of a concerned father, his tone washed away any misunderstandings. This was just another task he was managing.
"I was ordered to be in town by Sunday," Vivian countered smoothly. "It's Saturday. I'm early."
"Our most obedient child," Charlotte said. Her lips curved upward, a rare, sharp smirk highlighting the fact that Vivian was her only option.
"Hahaha," Vivian deadpanned, her eyes remaining flat. "As amusing as ever, Charlotte."
Conrad ignored the friction. "There is a function that requires the entire family's presence tomorrow. You will be picked up by one of my drivers." He looked her over, his gaze cool, as if he didn't trust her to properly dress for the occasion. "I'll send clothes."
Ignoring the obvious slight, Vivian asked, "What even is it for?" Her voice came out far more curt, the question she'd been carrying across continents finally bubbling over.
"Does it even matter?" Charlotte's interest evaporated instantly. She detached her arm from Conrad's as she spotted Evelyn Castle in the distance. "We call, you come. It's the circle of life." Without another word, Charlotte drifted away, her face lighting up with genuine joy as she prepared to embrace her real love—Evelyn.
Vivian and Conrad stood in the wake of her departure, both staring after the woman.
"Ever get jealous of Charlotte's real love?" Vivian smirked, glancing up at her father.
Conrad's expression lightened ever so subtly, his tone taking on a more casual air. To Vivian, it almost sounded paternal. "Not necessarily," he muttered. There wasn't any love between him and his wife; he wouldn't begrudge her what fleeting joy someone like her could find. He let out a lighthearted huff. "Evelyn Castle is worth more than all of us combined. Only a Castle could measure up to Charlotte's expectations. Of course she is her great love. Do you think I would waste my time being jealous where I simply do not measure up?"
He reached out and patted her shoulder awkwardly. The sheer strength of his haphazard pat made Vivian's shoulder drop, a slight pain radiating through her collarbone. It was a weird, poorly executed attempt at paternal affection.
Recovering her posture, she couldn't help but give him an awkward smile. It seemed ridiculous that the father who only called her when he needed a task completed would decide, after not seeing her for over a year, that they were in a place to have playful jokes and banter. She couldn't stand them. Either of them.
Conrad, feeling uncomfortable with the exchange, sighed in resignation as he pulled his hand away. He noted silently that Vivian was a carbon copy of Charlotte—cold, indifferent, hostile.
"Off you go. I can't imagine you intend to spend the day at my side," Conrad said.
Vivian let the smallest of smiles slip onto her lips. It wasn't one of genuine warmth, but sarcastic indifference. "It was good to see you, too, Conrad," she said before walking off.
Before she could get a few steps away, he spoke up. "Are you well?" he asked.
"Yes. The space..." She paused. "...was helpful."
For that millisecond, Vivian felt as if her father cared. Though she knew he didn't. Because caring meant that he would have called or texted, or even showed up just to say hi. He gave space because it was easy. It meant he didn't have to be a father—something that he had grown far too used to.
"Good," Conrad said, his eyes turning back to the match, the business mask sliding back into place. The slight warmth he showed his daughter was genuine, even if it had to be fleeting. "Because you know the space is over," Conrad said, his words leaving an ominous atmosphere.
Vivian sighed, the weight returning. She turned away, scanning the covered seats, looking for sanctuary.
Her eyes connected with Gunner's. He gave her a subtle nod, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. But Vivian saw the lineup: his mother Aubrey, his father, and his grandfather, all seated like a judicial panel.
Not a chance, she thought. She wasn't ready for a cross-examination. Besides, she was still harboring a massive grudge after the near-death experience she had just suffered by being a passenger in his car.
Turning her back on the Royalty row, she found a seat near the back, tucked between a few lower-tier elites who had fallen from grace years ago. They were quiet, invisible, and exactly what she needed.
Author's note:
This chapter has been kicking me in the teeth. This is all still chapter 23 that I'm breaking up into sections. There's still more. And for some reason my attention span is at zero. I can't believe it's already Wednesday. Y'all deserve better. One more chapter coming!