(Vivienne’s POV)
I can’t believe it.
Grace—pathetic, worthless Grace—is standing in the middle of the ballroom wearing a gown that costs more than my car.
She looks beautiful. No, worse than beautiful. She looks powerful. Like she just walked off the face of a luxury magazine.
How is that possible? How can that be Grace? She looks better than me, and Grace—pathetic, worthless Grace—never looks better than me.
It’s why Alex never fell in love with her, despite living with her under the same roof.
And Dorian Cross—Dorian f*****g Cross—has his hand on her waist like she's something special.
I recall the jail cell. The stench. The hard bench. Five days of pure, screaming hell that ruined my reputation in a single week.
Anger boils up so fast I see red spots around the edges of my visio
