Chapter 39

Sophia Evans's knuckles turned white as she gripped her phone.

The heavy breathing coming through the receiver was unmistakably intimate.

How could there be a woman with Ethan Roscente?

For three years, she'd schemed endlessly without getting close to him. Now some woman had beaten her to it?

"Ethan, are you two—"

"Not now!" Ethan's hoarse voice cut her off before the call disconnected abruptly.

He turned to glare at Vivian Laurent. "You've got a death wish?"

Vivian tilted her head, mischief dancing in her eyes. "What? Going to hit me, Mr. Roscente?"

She subtly tensed her muscles. Though Ethan was a skilled martial artist, she was Shadow—the Dark Web's top operative.

"You're absolutely—" Ethan's temple throbbed with anger.

"Shouldn't you go comfort your superstar?" Vivian drawled. "Wouldn't want her crying now, would you?"

She slid smoothly into the driver's seat and sped away.

Ethan's figure grew smaller in the rearview mirror.

Vivian smirked. The man was probably fuming right now.

Ethan stood rooted to the spot, chest heaving.

Where had the docile Vivian gone?

This sharp-tongued version could drive a man to madness.

Yet somehow, she seemed more vibrant than ever.

...

Vivian had barely stepped inside when her phone rang again.

"Viv, when can you deliver the designs?" Amy's anxious voice came through.

AN Atelier's lead designer AN was Vivian's other identity.

Socialites worldwide clamored for AN's exclusive gowns—only ten unique pieces released annually.

"I've been busy. Soon."

"There's something else," Amy hesitated. "The perfume line wants Julian Cortez as spokesperson..."

Julian Cortez—the untouchable A-lister who never endorsed products.

Vivian laughed. "Leave it to me."

After hanging up, she walked to the sink.

Water washed away her disguise, revealing breathtaking features in the mirror.

Porcelain skin. Luminous eyes.

Vivian made a face at her reflection. What had she been thinking, falling for Ethan Roscente?