Jealous Of The Billionaire's Dog

The Whitmore Gala continued in a haze of elegance and tension. Laughter and music echoed through the ballroom, but beneath the polished façade of high society, power plays were being orchestrated.

Vivian's sharp eyes tracked Daphne Lancaster, who moved through the crowd with practiced grace, her emerald dress shimmering under the golden light. She had inserted herself at Damian's side with unnerving ease, whispering something into his ear that made him smirk.

Elijah Sterling, ever the predator, stood near the bar, watching Damian as if he were assessing a new acquisition. His tailored navy suit was crisp, his posture relaxed but calculating.

Vivian clenched her jaw. She had spent too much time solidifying her place in Damian's world to allow these vultures to circle him. She turned her gaze to Charlie Whitmore, who was still lingering nearby, sipping her drink and watching Vivian with an expression of keen interest.

"You're still staring at me, Charlie," Vivian said smoothly.

Charlie grinned. "You just have one of those faces people can't look away from."

Vivian let out a soft chuckle. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

Charlie tilted her head. "You know, Vivian, everyone at this party has a history. You and Damian are still new to this world, no matter how much money you have. I wonder, if I dig deep enough, what I'll find?"

Vivian's fingers curled around the stem of her glass. "You won't find anything."

Charlie smirked, unbothered. "That's what they all say."

Across the room, Wesley "Wes" Hawthorne observed the exchange as he nursed a whiskey. He wasn't here for high society games—he was here for Tiberius.

He had been told the dog was difficult, but after meeting him earlier that evening, Wes had come to a different conclusion. Tiberius wasn't just a pet; he was a guardian, trained to protect Damian from threats both seen and unseen.

And the dog didn't like Vivian.

Interesting.

Wes turned his attention to Lucinda Vaughn, who was the picture of refined elegance as she entertained a group of philanthropists. She laughed at something one of them said, but her dark eyes flitted around the room with intent.

She was searching for someone.

Wes had seen her type before. People who spent their lives crafting a perfect public image were usually the ones hiding the most.

He was curious.

Meanwhile, Daphne finally turned her gaze toward Vivian, and the corners of her lips curled into a smirk. "You look tense, dear. I hope you're not feeling… threatened?"

Vivian held her ground, her smile sharp as glass. "Should I be?"

Daphne laughed, looping her arm through Damian's. "Of course not. Damian and I go way back. Family is everything, after all."

Vivian's nails dug into her palm, but she refused to let her mask slip.

This was war.

And she would not lose.