VIVIAN

"What did you say about Creighton not being able to come home again?" I mumbled through a mouthful of scones. Two in my hands, another barely chewed in my mouth.

Eli gave me a look that hovered between disgust and concern.

"Did they not feed you there?" he asked, judgment evident in his eyes.

I shook my head as I chewed. "No, Eli. They starve models three days a week. Didn't you know?"

His expression dropped, a wedge forming between his brows. "I'm serious, Viv."

I chuckled, wiping my mouth with a napkin. "The only thing keeping me from running back home was the food. Though, I couldn't eat as freely and scrappily as I can in front of my own brother in my own house. But no, I didn't starve. Not most of the time, at least."

Eli looked half convinced and half ready to report me to Dad. Sensing the conversation veering into dangerous territory, I changed the subject.

"How's Creigh doing, ever since... you know?" I let the question hang.

I had been in the middle of a three-day group photoshoot when I heard the news about Creighton getting shot. Every instinct had screamed at me to drop everything and take the first flight home. But the photoshoot was a big deal for a newcomer like me. Dad had convinced me that Creighton was fine, that they'd take care of him, and that I needed to finish what I had started. And so, I had stayed.

I knew my brother. I knew he'd never hold it against me. But guilt doesn't seek permission. It doesn't need acknowledgment. It simply resides within you, festering, growing, until it consumes you whole. Another regret to add to my ever-growing list.

Eli's voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"He's been good. Great, even. He and I had a talk. Things have been hard for him, but you know him—he's strong. And he's not alone."

Eli reached for my hand resting on my lap.

"And neither are you," he said softly.

I tensed. The moment I realized what he was implying, I pulled my hand back and looked away. Eli knew me too well. If he really saw me, really looked, he'd figure everything out. And the shame I carried would spill out for everyone to see.

I cleared my throat. "You're right. Creighton has always been a survivor." I pushed back my chair. "I should get going. I haven't unpacked yet, and there's so much to do—"

"What happened to you, Viv?" Eli's voice stopped me mid-step.

I kept my back to him. "What do you mean?"

"The article. The pictures. You haven't mentioned them once since you came back. If you think we haven't noticed that you're hiding something, you're wrong. Mom and Dad are giving you space, but they don't see you the way I do."

I took a deep breath and turned around with a smile. He was standing now, towering over me.

"What are you talking about, Eli? I'm not hiding anything. It was just a stupid scandal. These things happen all the time in my industry. And I didn't come home because of that. I had been planning to return for a while. This was just the final push. I needed a break, that's all."

I hoped he'd buy it. Lying wasn't usually difficult, but lying to Eli? Impossible. There was always a slip of the tongue, a missed detail. And he always caught it.

He studied me for a long moment before releasing a deep sigh. "Alright. Take your time if that's what you want. But if you ever need someone, you'll always have me, even if you're miles away. Got that?"

I nodded quickly. A voice called for Eli from upstairs—Mom. He left, and I was alone again. Two days back home and I already didn't know what to do with my life. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the list of things I wanted to do in my leisure time. Since five years, this list and the one containing my regrets have only grown longer, it was time I at least ticked off some things from one of them. I checked the bullet points one after another and just like that I knew where I was supposed to go today.

An hour later, I found myself at a salon staring in the mirror, at the pure work of art which happened to be my brand new blonde hair. 

I was originally blonde; I had gotten it from mum. But when I started modeling three years ago, my agent once pointed it out. She told me that brown or black hair was 'more preferred'. I told her I liked my hair the way it was. She never mentioned it again. She never said anything when I showed up with my hair coloured deep brown, three months later at an event. 

The industry had a way of reshaping you before you even realized it. Living with my family, I'd never felt the need to change or modify anything about myself, but the moment I took a step in the outside world, all I saw were mirrors reflecting everything about me that needed to be 'fixed'.

"Fix your hair, Vivian", "You should get a nose job, Vivian", "What have you done to your face, Vivian?" "That belly could go about two inches in easily, Vivian"

The voices, they never stopped.

And I did try to resist it, to look away, I really did. But after a point, the need to fit in became so strong that I began to slice away chunks of me until I became a version of myself I didn't recognize anymore. Staring in the mirror, right now, dyeing my hair back to what they used to be, felt like a drop in an ocean, quite insignificant, except that it wasn't. To me, it was like receiving a piece of myself back, the one I'd thought I would never see again. It was like getting back the control of my life. I had spent years sitting in the backseat while someone else drove my life down the directions I had no idea about. Perhaps, it was about time I lunged onto the steering wheel and turn this shit around.

The employee standing behind me asked me, "Do you like it, ma'am?"

I met my own reflection and, for the first time in a long time, the answer didn't feel like a lie.

"I love it."

_________________________________________________________

By the time I returned home, feeling satisfied with my small achievement of the day, night had already fallen. A few shopping bags hung from both arms, but unlike this morning, I felt lighter. Happier.

Lively chatter drifted from the lounge, pulling me toward it. As soon as I stepped in, all eyes turned to me. Mom and Dad sat across from Grandfather and Grandmother, their conversation halting mid-sentence.

"You changed your hair back," Mom observed with a warm smile. "You look beautiful, honey." She reached out, brushing a soft curl that rested on my shoulder.

Before I could respond, arms wrapped around me in a firm embrace.

"Oh, Vivi, I missed you so much!" Grandmother cooed, holding my face between her hands. "Look how grown up you are."

A flush of embarrassment crept up my neck. She took the bags from my hands, setting them aside, then pulled me toward the sitting area.

"Jonathan and I have been waiting for you. It's so good to finally see you," she said warmly.

I settled beside Mom, catching Grandfather's eye. He gave me a small nod. He was a man of few words, but there was always an unspoken understanding between us. His silence carried meaning.

A lull settled over the room—not exactly uncomfortable, but weighty. Like everyone had something to say but no one knew where to begin.

I broke the silence first. "So, what were you discussing before I interrupted?"

Dad answered without hesitation. "We were discussing you, Vivian."

"Aiden!" Mom scolded, her voice a sharp whisper before she quickly turned to me with a forced smile. "Your father meant to say that we were just talking about how happy we are to have you back." She shot him a pointed look, but he didn't seem to mind.

Dad leaned forward, his expression firm. "She's not a child, sweetheart. She's old enough to understand the value of certain things. And she'll know sooner or later, so we might as well tell her now."

I glanced between them, my stomach twisting. "Tell me what?"

Mom averted her gaze, looking instead at Dad. A silent battle passed between them before he finally broke eye contact and turned to me.

"We're arranging a marriage alliance for you," he said.

For a moment, I was certain I had misheard him.

"A marriage alliance?" My voice barely rose above a whisper. "I don't understand, Dad. Why? And without even asking me first?"

I turned to Mom, searching for support, but she remained quiet. My gaze shifted to Grandfather, whose silence only confirmed that he had already approved this arrangement.

Dad remained unwavering. "I'm asking you now, sunshine."

I shot up from my seat. "No, you're not asking. You're informing me." My pulse thundered. "Mom, say something!"

She looked at me, sadness flickering in her eyes. "Your father wants what's best for you, honey." She reached for my hand, but I stepped back.

"I just came home, and you're already pushing me into marriage?" My voice cracked, disbelief settling like ice in my veins.

I had always known arranged marriages were common in families like ours, but my parents had been different. I had grown up hearing how they fought for each other, how marriage pacts nearly tore them and others apart. I never imagined they'd do this to me.

"Sit down, Vivian," Dad said, his tone calm but unyielding. "I'm not asking you to get married tomorrow. Meet the boy. Go on a few dates. Get to know each other. You can take as much time as you need."

But I knew better. This wasn't a request. It was a path already paved for me.

"And what if I don't like him? Would you still force me into this marriage?" My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

A shadow passed over Dad's face. "That's a conversation for later. Until then, this discussion is over. I'll arrange a proper meeting between you two soon."

No. It wasn't over.

Words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. "I want to apply for college. I want to finish my arts degree in fashion and design."

Silence. Even I wasn't sure where that had come from. Had I really wanted this, or was it just an escape? I didn't know. But there was no turning back now.

I squared my shoulders. "I've been thinking about it for a while. I want to finish my degree."

Dad studied me, his expression unreadable. "Okay."

One word.

"Okay?" I repeated, stunned.

"If you want to go to college, then that's what you'll do. I'll ask Eli to apply for you at his college. The new semester starts in a week. You can make it if you leave with him in two days."

My mouth fell open. I had expected resistance, not immediate agreement.

"But," Dad added, and there it was—the catch. "You'll still meet the boy I've selected for you. And at the end of your degree, you'll get married."

"Dad, I—"

His voice cut through mine. "Those are the terms, sunshine. I don't want to hear any more about it."

The finality in his tone left no room for argument.

I swallowed hard and whispered, "Yes, Dad." Then, without another word, I grabbed my bags and rushed to my room.

I shut the door and waited for the tears to fall. But they never did.

Every fiber of my being felt like breaking, but no sobs came. No tears. Nothing.

I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing. Why was Dad pushing this so hard? Did he really not believe I could handle myself?

Maybe he was right. Maybe I had failed him.

I wasn't just Vivian.

I was Vivian King. Aiden King's only daughter. King's heiress.

With cold fingers, I reached for my phone and searched: Vivian King: Paris Fashion Week.

The results loaded, but there was nothing. No articles. No scandals. No mention of me at all.

Dad must have gotten them all taken down.

I threw my phone aside, pressing my face into the pillow.

If only I had proven I was capable of carrying the King name, maybe he wouldn't have needed to resort to a marriage pact.

Two days. I had two days before I left for college.

A fresh start. One last chance to prove myself.

And quite possibly, my final chance.

-x-x-x-x-

This is the end of Chapter 2. How are we liking the pace? A little slow? Maybe a little boring? It's okay! All great stories start slow. Stay with me, a great plot is forming. Share your views, comment, and don't forget to vote! Follow me on my Instagram (: authornephthys and paperhearts.x) for more updates!

Thank you for reading,

Nephthys.