Chapter 6: The Vance Estate
While the Davis family drowned in their self-created nightmare, the black armored SUV smoothly passed through the iron security gates of the Vance estate on the outskirts of the city.
The sprawling property was a sanctuary of quiet elegance—surrounded by centuries-old oak trees, manicured gardens, and a private lake that reflected the starry night sky. The main manor was a masterpiece of classic architecture, illuminated softly by discreet landscape lighting.
When the vehicle came to a gentle stop in front of the grand portico, Arthur stepped out immediately and opened my door.
"Welcome home, Ms. Vance," he said warmly, offering a steady hand to help me out of the low-slung SUV.
"Thank you, Arthur," I said, smoothing down the remaining intact fabric of my pale blue maternity gown.
As I walked up the stone steps and pushed open the heavy oak double doors, the familiar, comforting scent of cedarwood, old books, and jasmine tea washed over me. This was the home I had grown up in—a place where strength didn't need to be loud, and wealth didn't need to be flashed on a designer handbag.
"Vivienne?"
A deep, warm voice echoed from the direction of the study.
My father, Robert Vance, stepped into the grand foyer. Despite his graying hair and sixty-something years, he stood tall and imposing, his eyes sharp and bright behind wire-rimmed glasses. But the moment his gaze landed on me—specifically on the torn fabric of my dress and the tired expression on my face—all the corporate sternness vanished from his features.
"Oh, sweetheart," my father murmured, rushing forward and pulling me into a fierce, protective embrace. He carefully avoided putting pressure on my stomach, holding me close. "Are you alright? Did those animals hurt you?"
For the first time all evening, the armor I had forced myself to wear cracked just a little bit. I rested my head against my father's shoulder, letting out a long, shaky breath.
"I'm okay, Dad," I whispered. "Just... exhausted. Physically and mentally."
My father pulled back, his hands gently framing my face as he inspected me with a mixture of fierce anger and profound tenderness. "Arthur briefed me on the way in. When he told me that woman ripped your dress off in front of a crowd... I wanted to fly down there myself and dismantle their entire social circle brick by brick."
"You didn't have to," I said softly, a small smile touching my lips. "Arthur handled it brilliantly."
"Arthur is just doing his job," my father replied gruffly, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. He looped his arm through mine and guided me toward the warm, brightly lit family kitchen at the back of the manor. "Come on. The chef made that mushroom soup you love, and the doctor said you need to keep your blood pressure down for the baby's sake."
As we entered the spacious kitchen, the rich, savory aroma of hot soup filled the air. A steaming bowl was already waiting on the marble island, alongside a pot of soothing herbal tea.
I sat down on one of the high stools, gratefully wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic bowl. The heat seeped into my fingers, chasing away the residual chill of the ballroom.
My father sat on the stool next to me, watching quietly as I took a few slow sips of the soup.
"So," my father said after a moment, his tone turning contemplative. "It's finally over with the Sterling family?"
"It's over," I replied, looking down at the swirling broth. "Three years of pretending to be someone else, three years of trying to give Dominic the benefit of the doubt... and it ended the second his sister accused me of being a thief. He didn't defend me once, Dad. Not a single word."
"He was a weak, shallow boy who only cared about the surface," my father said firmly, placing his hand over mine. "You knew that when you married him, Vivienne. You wanted to test if people could love someone for who they are beneath the status. You found your answer."
"I did," I agreed quietly. "And honestly? I don't regret it. Because out of those three years, I have our baby coming. That’s the only part of this entire chapter that matters."
My father’s expression softened completely. He reached out and gently rested his palm against my eight-month-pregnant stomach. As if sensing his touch, the baby gave a gentle kick against my palm.
A deep, genuine laugh escaped my lips. "Well, looks like someone agrees with Grandpa."
"Good," my father said, smiling warmly. "Because from now on, you and this little one are staying right here where you belong. No more hiding. No more pretending."
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"Agreed," I said.
Little did we know, while we were sitting peacefully in the Vance estate kitchen, Dominic Sterling was discovering that the federal investigation Arthur had mentioned was just the tip of a very deep, very dangerous iceberg.
