Four Of A Kind - Chapter 181: [3.83] The Heiress’s Fatal Tell

Chapter 181: [3.83] The Heiress’s Fatal Tell

Vivienne Valentine stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her heart hammered against her ribs like it wanted to escape. Her burgundy lipstick, perfectly reapplied, couldn’t hide the fact that her lips felt swollen. Raw. Like they belonged to someone else now.

She pressed her thighs together, trying to ignore the unfamiliar heat pooling between them. Each breath came shallow and quick. Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

“Get it together,” she whispered to her reflection. “You’re Vivienne Valentine.”

But that was exactly the problem, wasn’t it? Vivienne Valentine didn’t lose control in bathroom stalls. She didn’t kiss employees. She didn’t fantasize about what might happen if they were alone in her bedroom instead of here, minutes before the most important speech of her career.

God. Her bedroom. With that massive four-poster bed and its ridiculous thread count sheets. With the door that locked. With no speeches or mothers or photographers.

The thought sent another wave of heat through her body, settling low in her belly. If they were there instead of here…

She closed her eyes, feeling phantom sensations all over her skin. His hands on her waist. His mouth on her neck. The weight of him pressing her against the wall.

No one had ever kissed her before. Not like that. Not at all.

She’d never let anyone close enough to try. Too busy. Too focused. Too afraid.

But now she couldn’t imagine any kiss being better than Isaiah’s. The confidence in how he’d taken control. The hunger she’d felt in him. The way he’d made her body light up with sensations she’d only read about.

“Two minutes, Miss Valentine.”

The voice from outside snapped her back to reality. The speech. The launch. Her mother. Right.

“Thank you,” she called back, her voice remarkably steady.

Vivienne checked her appearance once more. Hair back in place. Lipstick perfect. Dress smooth. She looked exactly as she had when she arrived, except for her eyes. They were different now. Brighter. Alive with something dangerous.

She took a deep breath, counting to four as she inhaled, holding for seven, exhaling for eight. A technique her father taught her before her first piano recital. For moments when she needed to appear calm while her insides twisted into knots.

One more breath. Focus.

The burgundy dress felt heavier now as she walked through the corridor toward the main hall. Each step in her designer heels clicked against marble, marking the countdown to her performance.

This wasn’t just a speech. This was proof that she could run the company someday. That she deserved to inherit what her father built. That she was worthy of the Valentine name.

And now she’d complicated everything by kissing Isaiah Angelo in a bathroom stall.

The memory flashed through her mind again—his hands in her hair, the heat of his mouth, the hardness of his body against hers. The way she’d nearly melted when he’d found that spot beneath her ear.

She’d overheard Mrs. Tanaka and Chef Laurent talking in the kitchen three days ago. They thought she couldn’t hear them over the mixer.

“The young miss kissed our future young master on the steps,” Mrs. Tanaka had said. “The boy looked shocked.”

“Which young miss?” Chef had asked.

Mrs. Tanaka had shrugged. “Does it matter? They’re identical.”

Vivienne had frozen, spatula in hand. One of her sisters had kissed Isaiah. And judging by his reaction when she kissed him just now—the surprise, the hunger—he didn’t even know which one.

The double doors to the main hall loomed before her. Beyond them, three hundred of the most influential people in fashion waited. Her mother sat at the head table, no doubt already calculating how to control whatever damage Vivienne’s bathroom breakdown might have caused.

And Isaiah would be there too.

Isaiah, who now knew what she tasted like. What she sounded like when his mouth was on her neck.

The doors opened.

The room fell silent, then filled with polite applause. Hundreds of faces turned toward her. Camera flashes popped like tiny lightning strikes.

Vivienne slipped on the mask she’d perfected over the years. Poised. Professional. Untouchable.

She walked toward the podium, ignoring the whispers that trailed behind her. Let them talk. She was a Valentine. She’d been born with people talking about her.

Her eyes found Isaiah immediately. Front table, right side, looking up at her with those dark, intense eyes that saw too much. Her mother sat beside him, back straight, face expressionless.

And then Isaiah did something unexpected. He smiled. A real smile, not the polished one he used with clients. Then he gave her a subtle thumbs up, just visible above the table.

Something warm bloomed in Vivienne’s chest. Not the frantic heat from earlier, but something steadier. A light to walk toward.

She took her position at the podium and looked out at the crowd.

“Good evening,” she began, her voice strong and clear despite the storm inside her. “Tonight marks a new Chapter for Valentine Holdings.”

The words came easily, flowing from memory. She spoke about the brand’s history, her father’s vision, the new partnership with Lumière that would expand their reach globally. She highlighted the market opportunities, the strategic advantages, the projected growth.

All the while, she felt Isaiah’s eyes on her. Supporting her. Believing in her.

Her mother watched too, face still unreadable. But Vivienne wasn’t speaking for her approval anymore. She was speaking because this was her passion, her future, her world.

“The Valentine brand has always been about transformation,” she continued. “Taking the ordinary and making it extraordinary.”

Like a scholarship student from Philadelphia transformed into the most fascinating person she’d ever met.

“It’s about seeing potential where others see limitations.”

Like finding unexpected feelings in a professional relationship that should have stayed simple.

“And most importantly, it’s about making choices that define who we are.”

Her eyes found Isaiah across the crowded ballroom. For a moment, the rest of the audience vanished into shadow as their gazes locked.

Something silent yet profound passed between them—an invisible current that made her skin prickle and her heart stutter against her ribs. In that brief connection, she felt more exposed than if she’d stood before them all unclothed.

She drew a steady breath, returning her attention to the sea of faces watching her with expectation.

“Tonight, we choose to move forward. To embrace new partnerships, new markets, and new possibilities.” Her voice carried with renewed conviction, speaking words that suddenly felt deeply personal rather than merely professional.

The audience applauded as she concluded, rising to their feet in appreciation. Vivienne accepted their approval with a practiced smile and a modest nod.

As she stepped away from the podium, her mother approached, clapping with calculated precision.

“Well done,” Camille said, her voice cool. “You recovered admirably.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“Though I noticed you went off-script toward the end. Something about choices?” One perfect eyebrow arched upward. “Rather pointed, don’t you think?”

“I was improvising.”

“You never improvise.”

“Perhaps I’m evolving.”

Her mother’s lips tightened. “We’ll discuss this later. The Lumière CEO wants photos.”

Vivienne nodded, watching her mother glide away toward a group of executives.

Then Isaiah was beside her, close enough that she could smell his cologne.

“You were amazing,” he said quietly.

“I followed your advice. I didn’t crack.”

“You did more than that. You owned the room.”

She wanted to lean into him. To feel his arms around her again. To hide her face in his chest until the world stopped spinning so fast.

Instead, she maintained the proper distance between them, acutely aware of the eyes still watching.

“Thank you for coming to find me,” she said. “In the bathroom.”

“You said please. I figured it was serious.”

A small laugh escaped her. “My fatal tell.”

His eyes dropped briefly to her lips, then back to her eyes. The memory of their kiss hung between them, invisible but tangible.

“Your mother threatened me while you were gone,” he said casually, as if commenting on the weather.

Vivienne tensed. “What did she say?”

“The usual. I’m not good enough for you. I need to maintain professional boundaries. She’ll destroy my future if I don’t comply.”

“Isaiah, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be. I’ve dealt with scarier people than Camille Valentine.”

His calm was infuriating. “You don’t understand. She can actually do it. Whatever she threatened—”

“I know she can.” His eyes remained steady on hers. “But I’m still here.”

The simple statement knocked the air from Vivienne’s lungs. Everyone else in her life calculated risks against rewards. They made strategic retreats when the cost grew too high. They protected themselves first.

Not Isaiah. He saw the danger and stood his ground anyway.

“Miss Valentine?” A waiter appeared beside them. “The Lumière team is requesting you for photos.”

Vivienne nodded. “I’ll be right there.”

When the waiter left, she turned back to Isaiah. “I need to go handle this.”

“I know. Go be brilliant.”

She hesitated, then touched his arm lightly. “Will you wait for me? After the photos and the networking. It might be an hour.”

“I’ll be here.”