Vivienne's fingers trembled as she gripped the birth certificate, her name boldly printed across the top—Vivienne Althea Rothsford—followed by two redacted names in place of her parents. The cold, clinical document stared back at her, more damning than any threat Ivy had ever made.
She stood motionless in the center of the hotel suite, heart pounding in her ears. Not a Rothsford?
That couldn't be true.
No—it shouldn't be true.
Yet something in her gut said otherwise. She'd always sensed a distance from Arthur, an emptiness in Elizabeth's smile. The warmth was always conditional, brittle, performative. In her childhood, Ivy got the hugs. She got the handshakes.
"Viv?" Rhys's voice cut through her storm of thoughts.
She looked up slowly. He was standing in the doorway, watching her closely. She didn't realize she'd started crying until she saw the damp spots on the certificate.
"This... this changes everything," she murmured. "They're saying I was never a Rothsford."
Rhys walked over, gently taking the document from her. "Where did this come from?"
"It was hand-delivered. No name, no sender. Just this and a note."
She handed him the card.
Rhys read it aloud. "You were never meant to inherit anything, Vivienne. You're not even a Rothsford."
He went silent for a moment, then looked at her carefully. "You think it's true?"
"I don't know what to think anymore."
Mira, hearing the commotion, emerged from the bedroom. Her eyes fell on the paper, and her expression changed instantly.
She reached out. "Let me see that."
Vivienne handed her the certificate. Mira examined it in silence for a long moment, her jaw clenched.
"I was afraid of this," she said softly.
Vivienne's chest tightened. "Afraid of what?"
Mira hesitated.
Then finally, she spoke.
"You're not their daughter, Vivienne. You never were."
The words hung in the air like thunder after a lightning strike.
"I was there when you were brought into the family. You were a ward, a foster child placed under Arthur and Elizabeth's care through a private agency. No one outside the inner circle knew. They renamed you, gave you everything, trained you like an heir because Elizabeth couldn't conceive for years. You were a placeholder, Vivienne. A convenient secret."
Vivienne's knees buckled slightly, and she caught herself on the arm of the chair.
"A placeholder," she repeated, hollowly.
"I fought to adopt you permanently," Mira said, her voice tight. "But Holloway intervened. He said it would compromise the image of the family if word got out that the heir was not of blood."
Vivienne's head spun. She could barely process the weight of what she was hearing.
"All this time…" she whispered. "They trained me. They taught me to be one of them. Then tossed me out the moment Ivy returned."
Mira nodded, guilt etched in every line of her face. "I should've told you sooner. But I was trying to protect you."
Vivienne took a deep breath. The world she'd built—her identity, her revenge—was fracturing. And yet… in the cracks, something stronger began to form.
"No," she said quietly. "This doesn't change my goal. They made me a Rothsford. They gave me the education, the training, the power. I earned it. And now I'll take it back."
Rhys raised an eyebrow. "Even if you're not legally family?"
"I don't need blood to claim what's mine," she said. "I just need proof, leverage, and a stage."
That night
Vivienne sat at the desk, staring at the Zurich files once more. But her thoughts weren't on bank statements or shell companies.
They were on her real parents.
"Rhys," she asked suddenly, "can you find out who my birth parents were?"
He glanced up from his laptop. "You want that now?"
"I need the truth. No more lies."
He nodded. "Give me a few hours. If there's any record, I'll find it."
Meanwhile – Holloway's Office
Gregory Holloway stood before a wall of monitors, each screen displaying a different feed—news channels, Rothsford Holdings stock performance, private security footage. His empire was teetering on a knife's edge, and he could feel the pressure closing in.
"She's going to the press," he muttered.
Ivy paced behind him. "Jared is ignoring my calls. You were right—he's flipping."
Holloway rubbed his temples. "We need to break Vivienne before she breaks us. We need something... irreversible."
Ivy turned to him slowly. "You still have that security footage from the night we framed her, don't you?"
He nodded. "Why?"
Her smile was cold and sharp. "Let's show the world what kind of monster she really is."
48 Hours Later – A Leak Goes Public
Rhys's anonymous leak hit the business world like a detonation.
"Rothsford Holdings Accused of Offshore Laundering: Whistleblower Sources Point to Ivy Rothsford and Gregory Holloway," screamed the headlines. Financial blogs exploded. Stockholders panicked.
Arthur Rothsford remained publicly silent.
But behind closed doors, chaos ruled.
Vivienne, for her part, wasn't finished.
With Mira's help, she prepared the next phase: a press conference scheduled under the name Callista Ward—her legal identity from before the Rothsfords had claimed her. She'd present herself not as a victim, but as the trained mind behind the Rothsford empire.
"I want to hit them where it hurts," she told Rhys. "Their credibility. Their image. Their legacy."
But just before she could send out the press invitation, Rhys returned with news.
"I found your birth parents," he said, voice low.
Vivienne looked up slowly. "Who?"
He hesitated. "Your mother died two years ago. Your father… his name was Elias Ward. He died in prison."
Vivienne blinked. "Prison?"
Rhys nodded. "White-collar crime. He was a stockbroker who embezzled millions. Turns out your mother tried to raise you alone after he was arrested. But after her death, you were placed in the system. That's when the Rothsfords took you."
Vivienne sat back, stunned. "So I come from criminals."
Rhys shook his head. "You come from survivors. Your mother worked three jobs. She loved you, Vivienne. There's proof—photos, letters. She fought to keep you, but the system was stacked against her."
Vivienne's throat tightened. "And they erased her."
"Yes," Mira said softly. "But you can bring her back."
Vivienne looked down at her hands. They weren't Rothsford hands. They were her mother's. Her real mother. The woman who'd died trying to protect her.
She straightened.
"Then we fight," she said. "In her name."