Vincent had never wanted to hurt you.

He thought you were a cutthroat attorney with a kind streak. Mean and blunt, when it came down to it. You were a rival senior associate at another law firm, while he was working up the ranks. You slipped up the political and social ladder with an ease and finesse he could only envy. That envy turned into passion the day that he met you: a lavish dinner party his parents had thrown for the Moretti & Associates' 60th anniversary. Passed down for generation to generation. Other firms and politicians were invited, because his father was so likable and charismatic ---- just like Vincent.

Technically, you two weren't introduced. He just happened to see you mingling, boredly conversing with your adversaries. You didn't know he was watching you, observing you, taking in your little ticks.

However, you two officially met at the library downtown Manhattan, where a friendship soon blossomed. Vincent did everything he could to figure out exactly who you are, because the moment you said his name for the first time, the sun dried up, turned red, and imploded inside of his heart. In his heart of hearts, he was yours and you were his. As it was meant to be.

Until he found out from his feverish Instagram scrolling that you were already in a relationship.

He decided to bring it up upon your weekly brunch in the library, giggling over warm hot cocoa and a bowl of Goldfish crackers.

"You seem happy," Vincent commented casually, a soft smile upon his beautiful features and his eyes warm and melting, "Got someone to come home to after a rancorous hard day at work?" And if it was true, he was going to do what he could to take them the fuck out.