Vivian POV
The car Evans sent pulled up outside my apartment at six sharp, a sleek black sedan that looked out of place against the graffiti-stained walls. I stood on the curb, clutching a duffel bag with everything I owned, some clothes, a toothbrush, and that damn photo of Bella I couldn't throw out. My stomach churned as the driver, a guy with a buzz cut and zero smile, opened the door.
"Miss Grants?" he said, more command than question.
"Yeah, that's me." I slid into the backseat, the leather cool against my jeans. As we pulled away, I glanced back at the crumbling building I'd called home. Good riddance, maybe. Or maybe I was jumping from one mess to another.
The city blurred past, neon lights giving way to tree-lined streets and houses that screamed money. We stopped at a wrought-iron gate that swung open like it knew we were coming. The mansion beyond it was massive, white stone, tall windows, the kind of place you saw in magazines, not real life. My palms went clammy.
The driver dropped me at the entrance, where a woman in a crisp uniform waited. "This way, Miss Grants," she said, leading me through a foyer with a chandelier bigger than my old apartment. I gripped my bag tighter, feeling like a stray dog in a palace.
"Vivian!" Evans' voice echoed as he appeared at the top of a curved staircase, his smile easy but guarded. He was in a tailored shirt, sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the man who'd pulled me out of that café yesterday. My heart did a stupid flip, and I cursed it. He's just being kind, I told myself, but the way he looked at me made me want to believe it was more.
"Thanks for this," I said, climbing the steps to meet him. "I didn't know where else to go."
"You don't owe me thanks," he said, taking my bag like it weighed nothing. "Come on, I'll show you your room."
We walked down a hallway lined with paintings, serious faces staring from gold frames. I wanted to ask about them, about him, but my tongue felt glued. Instead, I blurted, "This place is huge. You live here alone?"
"Not quite," he said, glancing back with a half-smile. "My mother's here, and Nate, my right-hand man. You'll meet them."
We stopped at a door, and he pushed it open to reveal a bedroom that could've swallowed my old place whole. A four-poster bed, a desk, a window overlooking a garden, I stared, dumbstruck.
"It's yours as long as you need it," Evans said, setting my bag on the floor. "Get settled. Dinner's at seven."
I nodded, my throat tight. "I'll pay you back somehow. I'm not a freeloader."
His eyes softened. "I know you're not. Just take it one day at a time, alright?"
He left, and I sank onto the bed, the mattress so soft it felt like a trap. I wanted to trust him, to believe this was a fresh start. Maybe even something more. But guys like Evans didn't just save girls like me for no reason, did they?
I unpacked, hanging my two shirts in a closet bigger than my old kitchen. At 6:50, I smoothed my hair, put on my least-worn jeans, and headed downstairs, determined to show I belonged. The dining room was another shock, long table, crystal glasses, and a woman at the head who looked like she'd stepped out of a boardroom.
"Vivian, this is my mother, Madeline Newton," Evans said as he pulled out a chair for me.
Madeline's eyes flicked over me, sharp as a blade. "So you're the stray Evans brought home," she said, her smile all teeth. "How… charitable of him."
My cheeks burned, but I forced a nod. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Newton. Thanks for having me."
"Ms. Newton," she corrected, sipping her wine. "And don't thank me. This is Evans' whim, not mine."
"Mother," Evans said, his tone clipped. He sat across from me, but his attention shifted as a man walked in, tall, broad-shouldered, with a cautious smile.
"Vivian, Nate Carter," Evans said. "He keeps things running around here."
Nate shook my hand, his grip firm but not crushing. "Welcome, Vivian. Hope you're settling in okay."
"Yeah, it's… a lot," I said, managing a smile. He nodded, sitting beside Evans, and I caught the way he watched him, like a guard dog waiting for a signal.
Dinner was steak and some fancy salad I didn't recognize. I focused on cutting my food, trying to ignore Madeline's stare. "So, Vivian," she said, leaning forward, "what exactly do you do? Besides needing rescue, I mean."
I swallowed a bite too fast, coughing. "I'm a waitress. Was, anyway. I'm looking for something better."
"Charming," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "And your family? Surely they'd help you out."
My fork froze halfway to my mouth. "I don't have family," I said, keeping my eyes on my plate. "Not anymore."
"Enough, Mother," Evans cut in, his voice low but firm. "Vivian's our guest."
Madeline raised an eyebrow but didn't push. Nate cleared his throat, changing the subject to some business deal about a merger. I tuned out, focusing on Evans instead. He answered Nate smoothly, but his jaw was tight, like he was holding something back. I wanted to impress him, to show I wasn't just some charity case.
"Evans," I said when the conversation lulled, "I'm good at organizing. Maybe I could help with something around here. Filing, errands, whatever you need."
He looked at me, surprised, then smiled faintly. "We'll figure something out. No rush."
It wasn't much, but it felt like a win. I caught Madeline rolling her eyes, and my resolve hardened. I'd prove her wrong, and maybe get closer to Evans in the process.
After dinner, I offered to help clear the table, hoping to linger near him. The maid waved me off, so I wandered to the foyer, pretending to study a vase. Voices drifted from a cracked door down the hall, Evans and Nate, their tones low.
"I told you, it's handled," Evans was saying, sharp enough to make me pause. "They won't trace it back."
"You're playing with fire," Nate replied. "If this goes south, "
"It won't. Drop it."
I froze, my pulse racing. Trace what? I edged closer, but footsteps approached, and I darted back to the vase just as Nate stepped out. He glanced at me, his expression unreadable.
"Lost?" he asked, not unkindly.
"Just… looking around," I said, forcing a smile. "Goodnight, Nate."
He nodded and walked off. Evans didn't follow, but the door stayed ajar, and I heard him on the phone now, his voice a harsh whisper. "No delays. Get it done, or you're out."
I backed away, my stomach twisting. What was he into? And why did I suddenly feel like I'd walked into something bigger than a free room?