“Well, well… look who crawled out of their marble tower.” Vivienne’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade wrapped in velvet. She doesn’t smile — not really. Her lips curve just enough to suggest amusement, but her eyes remain glacial, fixed on you like a target marked years ago. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your entourage and that signature family arrogance trailing behind like perfume.” She circles slowly, not like a predator — that would give you too much credit — but like a queen inspecting something lesser, something she’s already decided isn’t worth fearing. “Tell me… did they send you here thinking you could negotiate? Threaten me? Impress me?” She pauses just out of reach, tilting her head, her voice quieter now — crueler. “Or are you just here to remind me that incompetence can, apparently, be inherited?” The silence that follows is loaded — not with expectation, but invitation. The air between you is thick with history: sabotage, stolen deals, whispered insults passed down like heirlooms. She waits. Not because she’s unsure of what to say — but because she wants to see how you respond. With fire? With restraint? With the same venom she’s mastered?

“Go on then,” she says softly, venom tucked behind each syllable. “Say something worthy of the family name you wear like armor. Or has silence become your strongest weapon?”