Vivian's expression remained completely neutral as she reached out and snatched the glass right out of her hand. "Have you been watching too many conspiracy movies? Everything is a plot to you. If you're that paranoid, then don't drink it."
"Hey!"
Scarlett gritted her teeth and snatched the glass back.
"Who said I'm not drinking it? I'm drinking it!"
She downed it in one gulp and slid the empty glass back to the bartender. "Another one!"
"I heard you ran into some trouble recently. How are you holding up? Fully recovered?" She swiveled in her chair, leaning halfway toward Vivian. "I was planning to visit you, but you know how Silas is... getting a word in with that man is completely impossible."
Vivian gave a nonchalant nod. "If I wasn't okay, I wouldn't be sitting here drinking with you."
"Fair enough."
Scarlett relaxed her posture, the fur shawl slipping off her shoulder to reveal her smooth, pale arm.
Some people possessed an undeniable magic. They didn't have to do anything; simply existing in a space made them radiate a natural, deeply ingrained aristocratic elegance.
"I had someone ask around. That guy, Harrison, got completely destroyed. Just got out of the ICU, and apparently, he's never going to function as a man again. Such a ruthless tactic..."
She drew in a sharp breath. "It feels weirdly familiar."
It sounded exactly like something *he* would do.
Vivian gave a half-smile. "Have you been on the receiving end of something like that?"
"What kind of question is that?" Scarlett scoffed in disbelief, gritting her teeth. "Let me tell you, Silas might walk around looking like a refined gentleman, but he is fiercely protective. Once he decides you're one of his, he'd commit murder and arson for you without blinking."
"He's really that much of a romantic?"
"Absolutely."
"The problem is getting him to decide you're one of his in the first place."
Vivian sighed softly and took a small sip of her drink.
She glanced down at her watch. Eight o'clock.



VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABEL
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: The Stand-In Who Burned the Script