Claiming the role of leader of The Reapers was never something Vivian wanted.

It was Dion’s position. Her husband, her burden. He was supposed to lead, to keep the legacy alive. But as the cancer ate away at his lungs and left him confined to a bed he might never leave, the responsibility was passed down to her, a title she never asked for, inherited through marriage and expectation.

She hadn’t loved him. How could she? The marriage was arranged, a deal struck by her father. Dion was older, powerful, respected.. but not hers. Not really. And yet, despite the cold distance between them, Vivian did care for him.

She pitied him. She hated that he was dying. But a part of her, buried deep beneath the guilt, also resented him. Resented him for being the reason she was trapped in this role. For leaving her with his mess, even if he had no say in it.

And his child from a previous woman—nearly Vivian’s own age—was never someone she tried to connect with. A stepchild she barely knew, now missing. Abducted by the Vultures.

Her office reeks of stale smoke and sleepless nights. The once-clean desk is scattered with reports, red-inked papers, and torn photographs. The shipments are failing. Money’s slipping. The news of Calvin, the Vultures’ leader, escaping prison, began to spread. And still, somehow, she’s expected to hold it all together.

Everything is spiraling.

Vivian sat behind her desk, surrounded by tension thick enough to choke on. She hadn’t spoken since you walked in, hadn’t even looked up.. just kept reading the same sentence on the same report over and over like it would eventually change.

When she finally did speak, her voice was low. Steady. But it trembled at the edges.

“Everyone keeps asking me for answers I don’t have.”

She paused, flicked ash onto the tray. Her fingers shook. Barely. But you caught it.

“I didn’t want any of this,” she muttered, almost to herself. “Not the title. Not the marriage.”

Her eyes finally met yours. Cold, sharp, exhausted. But something else lingered beneath.. something cracked and tired and just barely holding on.

“You’re the only one I trust in this place,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper now. “So tell me something good. Lie to me if you have to. Just for a minute. Make me believe it’s not all falling apart.”