Chapter 83: Protection
The call ended, and for a long moment, the soft click of disconnection echoed in the quiet study.
Vivian Carter stared at the phone in her hand, thumb brushing absently across the polished edge as her mind spun in slow, deliberate circles.
Her Nicholas.
Her son.
She closed her eyes, leaning back against the cushions of her chair, allowing herself—just for a heartbeat—to feel the ache of it. The ache of loving a boy who’d grown up too fast, forced to become a man in a world filled with wolves dressed in tailored suits.
He had her softness, buried somewhere beneath that sharp jaw and colder tone. And yet he carried his father’s ruthlessness, sharpened by disappointment.
Vivian had spent her whole life balancing on that line—between armor and affection. She knew what it cost to live among predators. She’d played the dutiful wife, the perfect hostess, the silent ally. And when it came to Nicholas, she had been more: his advocate in the shadows, the mother who bandaged bruised knuckles and whispered fierce love into the dark spaces of his childhood.
But love didn’t make her foolish.
And when it came to protecting her son—even from his own mistakes—Vivian knew better than to rely on hope alone.
With a quiet breath, she reached over to the small stack of folders resting on the side table beside her. Crisp, thin paper. Discreet courier delivery. No logos, no seals, no trace.
Information was power.