Jealous Of The Billionaire's Dog

The Whitmore Gala was a grand spectacle, but beneath the shimmering chandeliers and clinking champagne glasses, invisible battles raged. Words were sharper than knives, smiles hid venom, and every move was a calculated step in a dangerous game.

Vivian felt it all. The tension. The eyes watching her. The undercurrents of manipulation. She had spent years perfecting the art of blending into high society, yet tonight, something felt different. The battlefield was shifting beneath her feet, and she didn't like it.

Across the room, Damian—her Damian—stood beside Daphne Lancaster, laughing at something she had whispered in his ear. His hand rested lightly on her waist, a casual gesture, but one that made Vivian's blood simmer.

She took a slow sip of her wine, masking the storm brewing inside her. Daphne's return was inconvenient. No, it was infuriating. She had reappeared as if the past had never happened, slipping back into Damian's life like she belonged there.

But she didn't.

Vivian would make sure of that.

A low chuckle interrupted her thoughts.

"You're practically setting her on fire with your glare," Elijah Sterling murmured, appearing at her side. His voice was smooth, dripping with amusement. "Jealousy isn't a good look on you, darling."

Vivian didn't flinch. "I don't get jealous."

Elijah smirked. "No? Then why does it look like you're ready to throw that glass at her?"

She turned to him with a practiced smile, tilting her head ever so slightly. "If I wanted to throw something, Elijah, it wouldn't be a glass. It would be something far more destructive."

His chuckle deepened. "That's what I like about you, Vivian. You have that… edge. The question is, how far are you willing to go to protect your place at Damian's side?"

Vivian narrowed her eyes. She knew better than to play games with Elijah. He was dangerous—charming, intelligent, and utterly ruthless. He wasn't just here to enjoy the gala. He was here to assess, to study, to find weaknesses.

And she refused to be one of them.

"Let me give you a piece of advice, Vivian," he continued, swirling his drink lazily. "Daphne didn't come back just to reminisce about family. People like her always have an agenda."

Vivian already knew that. The real question was—what was Daphne's plan?

The Dog Knows

While the humans played their games, another set of eyes observed from the edges of the ballroom.

Tiberius.

The massive dog sat near the entrance, his presence a silent warning. Most people ignored him, too caught up in their own affairs to notice the way his amber eyes tracked everything. He was a creature of instinct, trained to detect deception, and tonight, his senses were screaming.

He didn't trust Daphne.

He had met her before, long ago, when she and Damian had been close. But something about her now smelled… wrong.

And then there was Lucinda Vaughn.

She moved through the gala like a queen among peasants, all grace and charm. But Tiberius knew better. Her scent carried something beneath the perfume and silk—something artificial. A carefully constructed lie.

Tiberius's ears twitched as Wesley "Wes" Hawthorne approached.

The dog trainer knelt beside him, speaking in a low, easy tone. "You feel it too, don't you, buddy?"

Tiberius huffed.

Wes chuckled, scratching behind the dog's ear. "Smart boy. You see through the masks."

His gaze flickered toward Charlie Whitmore, who was watching everything with a reporter's eye, filing away secrets for later use.

Wes had been hired to train Tiberius, but he was beginning to realize something.

Maybe, just maybe, this dog wasn't the one who needed training.

Maybe it was everyone else in this damn room.