Chapter 7
Desperate to fight back, Vivienne spent the afternoon contacting every major newspaper publisher, television producer, and social media executive in New York. She sat in the back of a black car, her phone pressed tightly to her ear.
"I want the video leaked!" she demanded into the line, her voice tight with desperation. "I have three witnesses who filmed him striking me in the ballroom! We can destroy his reputation by tonight!"
"Vivienne, stop," the senior editor of the city's largest news conglomerate interrupted tiredly. "No one is publishing that footage."
"Why not?! It’s an assault on high-society royalty!"
"Because Mr. Valerio bought the controlling interest in our parent network twenty minutes ago," the editor replied flatly. "And even if he hadn't, no news director in this country is crazy enough to put Dominic Valerio’s face on television without his written permission. Delete the footage, Vivienne. For your own sake."
The line clicked off.
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Vivienne let her arm drop to her lap. The city felt entirely cold, locked tight under an invisible hand that she couldn't see, touch, or influence.
Every door she tried to push open was already deadbolted from the inside.
