chapter 4 step sisters trouble
1423 Words
The luxury sedan pulled up to the administrative roundabout of Crestwood University with a sharp squeal of imported tires, and out stepped two girls dressed in head-to-toe designer labels that practically screamed for attention. Chloe and Gemma Vance—Vivienne’s stepsisters—wore their arrogance like expensive perfume, heavy and impossible to escape.
Ever since Vivienne’s biological mother passed away six years ago, her father’s new wife, Eleanor, had systematically turned her home into a cold, hostile battleground. Eleanor favored her own daughters, showering them with Vance family funds, exclusive shopping trips, and unwarranted praise, while treating Vivienne like an unwanted ghost of the past. To make matters worse, Eleanor had pulled strings and greased administrative palms to get Chloe and Gemma enrolled at Crestwood this semester, ensuring that Vivienne's safe haven would be invaded by her worst enemies.
Vivienne stood near the courtyard fountain, watching them approach. She adjusted her sunglasses, wrapping her high-fashion armor tightly around herself. She had hoped, just for a second, that the sheer size of a university campus would keep them separated. She was a fool to think Eleanor would ever grant her that peace.
"Look who decided to crawl out from under a rock and pretend she belongs with the elite," Chloe sneered, stepping up to Vivienne with a sharp, synchronized click of her heels against the stone.
Gemma twirled a lock of bleached, perfectly styled hair, glancing around the quad with open, performative disdain. "Mother said we should check on you, Vivienne. She was genuinely worried you’d embarrass the family name before the semester even fully started. After all, look at how poorly the summer serum line launch went—clearly, incompetence runs in your branch of the family."
Vivienne’s jaw tightened, a sharp spike of anger piercing through her cold exterior. Her heart ached with a familiar, dull pain—the acute grief of missing her late mother. Her mother had built Vance Cosmetics with real passion, artistic integrity, and genuine quality, pouring her soul into every formulation. In stark contrast, Eleanor and her daughters viewed the multi-million dollar corporation as a personal piggy bank, a tool for social climbing and endless luxury.
"I don't need checking on, Chloe," Vivienne said coldly, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "And if anyone is going to embarrass the family, it's the two of you walking around looking like discount department store mannequins trying desperately to pass off last season's couture as new arrivals."
Chloe’s eyes flashed with venom, her face contorting. "Watch your mouth, Vivienne! You think because you’re hiding out here at Crestwood you're untouchable? Once Mother convinces Father to officially hand over the marketing board and executive control to us, you won't even have a seat at the company table. You’ll be nothing. A penniless outcast begging for scraps."
"Is that what Eleanor promised you?" Vivienne retorted, stepping closer and looking down her nose at her stepsister with absolute, unyielding contempt. "She can promise you the moon, Chloe, but paper crowns dissolve the second they touch real water. You couldn't run a lemonade stand, let alone a global cosmetic empire. You live on credit cards and borrowed prestige."
Gemma stepped forward, her face flushed with humiliation and fury. "You arrogant little b***h! You've always thought you were better than everyone else, hiding behind your dead mother's name like it’s some kind of shield. Well, your father is sick of your attitude. We heard him on the phone last night telling Mother how tired he is of your defiance. You’re on the verge of being cut off completely, and when that happens, we'll see how long that haughty smirk stays on your face."
The words hit closer to home than Vivienne cared to admit, especially after the brutal phone call with her father the night before. But showing weakness in front of Chloe and Gemma was a luxury Vivienne would never afford them. She forced a chilling, untouchable smile onto her lips, letting her gaze sweep over Gemma’s outfit with devastating critique.
"Save your breath, Gemma. Your mascara is running, and your desperation is showing. It's tragic," Vivienne purred smoothly.
Before Chloe could lunge forward or unleash another torrent of vicious insults, a sudden shift in the atmosphere of the courtyard stopped them all in their tracks.
A collective hush seemed to fall over the nearby students. Heads turned toward the grand stone archway connecting the academic buildings to the central library.
Walking across the courtyard was the art instructor.
He moved with effortless, natural authority. He wasn't surrounded by noisy followers or posturing with cheap arrogance; he simply commanded the space through his imposing height, sharp tailoring, and absolute composure. A leather folio was tucked under his arm, and two student council officers walked a respectful step behind him.
To the students—and to Vivienne, who still viewed him as merely an arrogant faculty member—he was just a brilliant teacher. But as he crossed the lawn, Chloe and Gemma's aggressive fury evaporated instantly, replaced by a frantic, breathless scramble for social positioning. They completely forgot about Vivienne, instantly straightening their posture, smoothing their designer skirts, and flashing their most practiced, high-society smiles.
"Julian!" Chloe called out, her voice shifting mid-sentence into a sweet, high-pitched, saccharine tone that made Vivienne’s stomach turn with revulsion.
Gemma mirrored her instantly, rushing forward to cut off his path alongside her sister. "Oh, we were so hoping we’d run into you today! Our mother mentioned that the winter charity gala is hosting some major investors this year, and we just wanted to offer our absolute best help on the host committee."
The instructor stopped in his tracks. His expression remained ice-cold, completely detached, and utterly unbothered. His dark grey eyes swept over the two sisters with a look of quiet, piercing indifference that could freeze burning oil.
"The host committee is managed strictly by the university board and elected student representatives, Miss Vance," he replied smoothly, his deep, resonant voice cutting through the courtyard air with absolute finality.
"Oh, please, call me Chloe!" Chloe beamed, taking a bold step closer and reaching out a manicured hand to lightly touch the sleeve of his tailored jacket. "We’re much more flexible than the board. We could easily meet over coffee later this week to discuss corporate sponsorship and marketing synergies—"
He subtly shifted his weight, stepping back just an inch so that Chloe’s hand fell entirely into empty air. The rejection was swift, clean, and devastatingly public.
"My schedule is completely full, Miss Vance," he said, his tone dropping a degree lower, carrying an unmistakable warning edge.
His sharp, intelligent gaze shifted past the two humiliated sisters, cutting straight through the distance to land directly on Vivienne. She was standing near the fountain with her arms crossed, watching the pathetic, crawling display with an amused, triumphant smirk playing on her lips.
A faint, knowing glint sparked in his dark eyes. Without another glance at the fuming stepsisters, he neatly bypassed them, walking with purposeful, long strides straight toward Vivienne.
"Miss Vance," he said softly, his voice carrying clearly over the quiet courtyard. "I believe we have an urgent meeting regarding the student foundation budget and campus allocations."
Vivienne blinked, caught completely off guard by his sudden intervention. "We do?"
"We do now," he said smoothly, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. He extended his arm toward her in a classic, undeniable gesture of gentlemanly protection. "Shall we?"
Chloe and Gemma stood frozen a few yards away, their mouths slightly open in absolute disbelief and incandescent fury as they watched the most coveted, powerful man at Crestwood completely ignore both of them to walk away with the sister they despised.
Vivienne looked down at his extended arm, then flicked her eyes up to meet his intense, steady gaze. A rush of vindication and exhilarating warmth surged through her veins. She didn't need her father's toxic games, and she certainly didn't need her stepsisters' approval.
Without a single word of hesitation, Vivienne slid her hand lightly into the crook of his elbow, feeling the solid, reassuring warmth of his muscle beneath the fabric.
"Lead the way, Professor," she murmured, letting her head tilt up just enough to catch the apoplectic expressions on her stepsisters' faces as she walked away, entirely victorious.
- Writer
