Curves For The Agent Cowboy

Chapter 35

The city below glittered like a field of fallen stars — and Vivienne watched it all from the high-rise suite that had once been her throne.

She stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glass of wine trembling slightly in her hand. Her reflection stared back at her — still beautiful, still composed — but the sharpness in her eyes had dulled. The lipstick was perfect. The smile wasn't.

Her phone vibrated on the marble counter, dragging her attention from the skyline.
She glanced at the name flashing across the screen — Damon — and answered with a hiss of irritation.

"Tell me you have good news," she said.

A pause. The faint sound of static. Then a male voice: "They slipped the grid. Again."

Vivienne's fingers tightened around the glass. "That's impossible. I paid enough for results, not excuses."

"They've got help — military-grade clearance. Whoever buried their digital trail knew what they were doing."

Vivienne turned sharply from the window. "I don't care if they've got ghosts scrubbing their records. Find them."

Another pause. "It's not just them, Viv. Word is, the agency's turning their eyes on you now. You made too much noise."

Her laughter rang hollow in the dim room. "Let them look. They won't find a thing I don't want them to."

But as she hung up, her pulse betrayed her.
They were getting closer — she could feel it. The walls around her empire were tightening, the alliances she'd relied on fracturing one by one.

She poured another glass of wine, but her hands shook this time, red droplets spattering across the white countertop. She ignored them.

"Kerian," she whispered, as if saying his name might summon him.

She'd told herself it had started as a business arrangement — his skills, his reputation, his proximity to power. But somewhere between the briefings and the missions, she'd started to imagine what it might be like if he looked at her the way he looked at Catalina.

That light in his eyes — that devotion.
Vivienne wanted it. Needed it.
And when she couldn't have it, she'd sworn no one else would.

She crossed the room to her desk, where photos and files were scattered like a battlefield. Satellite images. Financial records. A surveillance shot of Catalina, heavily pregnant, hand resting protectively over her stomach.

Vivienne's expression twisted.

"That should've been mine," she murmured, tracing a finger over Catalina's face.

She didn't even notice Damon stepping quietly into the suite until he cleared his throat.
She turned sharply, eyes flashing.

"Did you ever think," he said slowly, "that maybe you pushed this too far?"

Vivienne smiled — a cold, delicate curve. "Too far is how you win."

He hesitated, studying her. "Or how you burn."

She set down her glass, the crystal ringing sharply against the desk. "Then maybe it's time to light the match."

An hour later, Vivienne stood in front of a mirror, buttoning a sleek black blazer over her silk blouse. Her reflection was flawless again — calm, calculated, commanding.
Behind her, Damon watched in silence as she holstered a compact pistol at her thigh.

"You're going after them yourself?" he asked.

Vivienne's smile didn't reach her eyes. "If you want something done right..."

She turned, her perfume leaving a faint, chilling trail as she passed him. "Have my jet ready. We're going to make sure Kerian understands exactly who he underestimated."

"And the baby?" Damon asked quietly.

Vivienne paused in the doorway, her eyes narrowing, voice low and venom-sweet.
"The baby," she said, "is the only reason she's still breathing."

Then she left — heels clicking like gunshots across marble.

Outside, thunder rolled across the night sky.

The storm was coming.