Chapter 325:
She rushed to the mirror again. She smashed her fist against it. It didn’t break. It was reinforced safety glass.
She screamed. She screamed until her throat bled, until the nurses came with the sedatives.
As the needle pierced her skin, Vivian had one last coherent thought before the darkness took her.
She took my light. I will take her eyes.
But it was a hollow threat. She was alone. She was broken. And somewhere, thirty thousand feet in the air, Aurora Vance was drinking champagne.
As the flight attendants prepared the cabin for departure, Aurora adjusted her seat. The delay in their schedule had forced this commercial option, but fate, it seemed, had a sense of humor.
She glanced two rows ahead. A familiar, grating laugh floated back to her.
It reminded her of the encounter at Bergdorf Goodman, just two days prior.
The memory played in her mind like a film reel. She had gone there specifically to prepare for the London trip, knowing she would need to face the Duchess on her own turf, dressed in a way that commanded respect.
Aurora stood in the center of the VIP room at Bergdorf Goodman, surrounded by racks of silk and cashmere. Yvonne was holding up a hideous neon pink dress.
“It screams ‘Look at me, I have money and no taste,'” Yvonne said, grinning. “Perfect for a disguise.”
“I’m trying to look like a Duchess’s granddaughter, not a traffic cone,” Aurora deadpanned, flipping through a rack of vintage scarves.
She spotted it. A Hermès scarf from the 1950s collection. Rare. Subtle. Elegant. It was the exact shade of blue her grandmother loved.
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She reached for it.
At the exact same moment, a hand with long, acrylic nails painted in garish gold grabbed the other end.
“I saw it first,” a voice sneered.
Aurora looked up.
Standing there was a woman who looked like she had been dipped in glue and rolled in a designer outlet bin. Gucci belt, Louis Vuitton bag, Balenciaga shoes. It was brand vomit.
“Zoe Chase,” Yvonne whispered behind Aurora. “Instagram influencer. 1.2 million followers. Mostly bots.”
Zoe yanked the scarf. “Let go. It’s for my boyfriend’s mother. She lives in London. She’s royalty, practically.”
Aurora didn’t let go. She held the silk firmly, her grip like iron. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” she said calmly. “And I believe my hand was on the silk, not the price tag.”
Zoe’s eyes narrowed. She was holding a venti latte in her other hand. With a flick of her wrist that was too calculated to be accidental, she tipped the cup.
Hot, brown liquid splashed onto Aurora’s white silk blouse.
Yvonne gasped. “You little—”
“Oops,” Zoe laughed, covering her mouth with feigned shock. “My hand slipped. Maybe you can use the scarf to wipe that cheap shirt. It’s ruined anyway.”
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