Discarded By Him, Claimed By The Zillionaire

Vivian held the heavy black dress box against her chest with her good arm. She stood in front of Landon's desk, feeling like a prisoner waiting for the executioner's final words.

Landon walked around the mahogany desk. He looked incredibly pleased with her submission.

"Don't look so miserable, Vivian," Landon said, his tone dripping with fake magnanimity. "Once the wedding is over, you'll stay on as my assistant."

He leaned against the edge of the desk. "I'll move you into a nicer apartment in Back Bay. I'll increase your monthly allowance."

Vivian's stomach rolled. The bile rose in her throat, but she forced herself to keep her face completely blank.

"And," Landon continued, his eyes gleaming with sick generosity, "when I'm eventually tired of this arrangement in a few years, I'll make sure you're taken care of. There's a VP in equities who has always liked you. I wouldn't mind gifting you to him."

The word gifting struck Vivian like a physical blow to the head. The blood in her veins instantly turned to ice.

In Landon's eyes, she wasn't even a human being. She was a depreciating asset. A toy he could pass down to a subordinate to buy loyalty.

The sheer horror of his words burned away the last remnants of her grief. A strange, absolute numbness washed over her brain. The panic stopped. The fear stopped.

She looked at Landon. She didn't argue. She didn't scream.

"I will make sure everything goes smoothly tonight," Vivian said. Her voice was completely hollow, devoid of any human emotion.

Landon smiled, satisfied that he had finally broken her. He did not touch her. Instead, he looked at her with the cold, detached satisfaction of an owner admiring a caged animal. He gestured toward the door with his chin. "Go to the restroom and change," he ordered flatly.

Vivian turned around. The second her back faced him, the deadness in her eyes sharpened into a razor-thin focus.

She walked quickly down the hall and pushed into the women's restroom. She locked herself inside the handicap stall.

She dropped the black box onto the toilet lid. She pulled out her phone and dialed the encrypted number.

Alex Dunn answered on the first ring. "Miss Snow."

"Is the meeting still on for tonight?" Vivian asked, her breathing fast and shallow.

"Mr. Vance-Beaumont will be waiting for you at nine o'clock at the Ritz-Carlton Residences penthouse," Alex confirmed.

Vivian checked her watch. It was four in the afternoon. Five hours until she could escape this hell.

"I have one condition before I sign," Vivian said, gripping the phone tight. "I need Julian's legal team to take over the St. Agnes Orphanage land lease by tomorrow morning."

There was a one-second pause on the line.

"Consider it done," Alex replied smoothly.

Vivian hung up. She let out a long, shuddering breath. She looked at her pale face in the mirror.

She opened the black box. Inside was a blood-red, deep-V evening gown with a completely open back. It was designed to make her look cheap. It was designed to humiliate her in front of Boston's elite.

Vivian stripped off her clothes. Wincing as the fabric caught on her fiberglass cast, she pulled the red dress over her body.

She applied a coat of bright red lipstick, turning herself into the exact vulgar prop Landon wanted.

She walked out of the restroom. Gus was waiting by the elevators, his eyes sweeping over her with blatant disrespect.

Vivian lifted her chin. She stepped into the elevator, the countdown ticking in her head. Five hours.