Jealous Of The Billionaire's Dog

The scent of fresh roses lingered in the air as the Whitmore Gala continued in full swing, the room filled with the clinking of champagne glasses and the murmur of high-society conversations. Dressed in a sleek black gown, Vivian forced a practiced smile as she engaged in idle chatter with a group of socialites, though her mind was elsewhere.

She was watching Elijah Sterling.

He was everything Damian wasn't—polished, charming, and unrelentingly ambitious. Though he carried himself like an ally, Vivian knew better. He was an opportunist, a man who waited for weakness before he struck. Tonight, his piercing blue eyes were locked onto Damian, and that made her uneasy.

"Enjoying the party?" a smooth voice interrupted her thoughts.

Vivian turned and came face-to-face with Charlotte "Charlie" Whitmore, the journalist. Dressed in a tailored emerald jumpsuit, Charlie had an aura of effortless confidence. Her dark curls were pulled back into a loose ponytail, and in her hand was a cocktail she had barely touched.

"You've been watching Elijah like a hawk," Charlie observed, her lips curling into an amused smile.

Vivian's mask didn't slip. "Just being aware of my surroundings."

Charlie tilted her head. "That's funny. You didn't seem so aware when I called your name three times."

Vivian exhaled slowly, knowing she had been caught in her distraction. "Alright, what do you want, Charlie?"

Charlie's amusement faded. "An exclusive story. You and Damian are the hottest topic in the city right now, but I'm more interested in you, Vivian. No one knows where you came from before you met him. Your past is… a bit of a mystery."

Vivian's fingers tightened around her glass. "I don't give interviews."

Charlie smirked. "Everyone has a past, Vivian. The real question is—what are you hiding?"

Before she could respond, the sound of laughter interrupted them. Across the room, Daphne Lancaster stood beside Damian, her golden curls cascading down her back, her emerald dress shimmering under the chandelier light.

Vivian's grip on her champagne flute tightened.

Daphne.

She hadn't seen Damian's estranged cousin in years. The woman had vanished from the Lancaster family after a scandal that was carefully buried, but now she was back, smiling at Damian as if she had never left.

And Vivian didn't like it.

Meanwhile, outside the gala, Wesley "Wes" Hawthorne stood near the valet, adjusting his tie and checking his watch impatiently. A renowned dog trainer, he had received a last-minute call from Damian himself.

A challenge, Damian had said.

Wes had trained aggressive German Shepherds, unruly Rottweilers, and spoiled Chihuahuas. But Damian's dog, Tiberius, was something else entirely. The billionaire wanted Tiberius to be more open to new people, and Wes had agreed to take on the job.

But first, he had to get inside the party.

"Name?" the doorman asked.

"Wesley Hawthorne."

The doorman scanned the list, then gave a short nod before stepping aside. "Go ahead."

As Wes entered, his eyes swept the lavish ballroom, his gaze briefly landing on Damian. Then, across the room, his attention snagged on someone else—Lucinda Vaughn, the celebrated philanthropist and socialite.

Lucinda looked serene as she engaged in conversation, but there was something about her. Something unsettling.

Wes didn't trust people who hid their true faces behind good deeds.

And Lucinda Vaughn was hiding something.