chapter 3 the call from Father
887 Words
The autumn evening air at Crestwood was crisp, but Vivienne’s skin burned with annoyance as she walked back to her private residence hall. That aggravating art instructor had no right to judge her. To her, he was just a campus eccentric—some random faculty member who thought he could lecture her. He knew nothing about her life, nothing about the endless calls from her father, and nothing about the silent panic that gripped her chest every time she checked the financial news.
She unlocked the door to her suite, kicking off her heels the moment the door clicked shut. The apartment was pristine, filled with designer furniture and vanity tables overflowing with Vance Cosmetics' flagship products.
Vivienne sat in front of her illuminated mirror, staring at her reflection. She wiped away her liquid eyeliner, her sharp, proud expression gradually giving way to exhaustion.
Her phone buzzed on the marble vanity. The caller ID read Father.
She hesitated for three long seconds before pressing answer. "Hello, Father."
"Vivienne," Arthur Vance’s voice cut through the speaker, crisp and demanding. "Have you settled into Crestwood?"
"Yes, Father. Everything is fine."
"Good. Remember why you are there," Arthur said coldly. "The launching of our summer serum line did not perform as expected. Rumors are circulating among our investors, and the market is volatile. I need you to associate with the right social circles. The Blackwood family, in particular, holds significant weight in investment banking and urban development. If we can secure a partnership or public backing from the Blackwood Group, it will silence the critics."
Vivienne’s pulse spiked. The Blackwoods.
"Father, are you insane?" Vivienne said, her voice wavering slightly before she caught herself. "I'm just trying to get through my classes."
"I am not asking you for your opinion, Vivienne," Arthur snapped. "I am telling you to make yourself useful to this family. You are a Vance. Act like it. I want you to find a way into their inner circle, secure an introduction to the family heads, and lock down their endorsement for our upcoming quarterly restructuring. Do whatever it takes."
Vivienne stared at her reflection in the mirror, her hand tightening around the sleek glass of her phone. A wave of bitter realization washed over her. For years, she had bent over backward trying to meet her father's impossible standards, sacrificing her own peace of mind just to keep the Vance name respected. But using her personal life as a desperate corporate chess piece crossed a line she was unwilling to cross. She refused to turn herself into a tool for her father's failing business strategy.
"No," Vivienne said, her voice steady and resolute.
There was a sharp pause on the other end of the line, as if Arthur could not comprehend that his daughter had just defied him. "Excuse me? What did you just say to me?"
"I said no, Father," Vivienne repeated, her tone hardening into absolute conviction. "I will not do it. I am not going to weaponize my relationships or chase after high-society conglomerates just to bail out a summer serum line that failed because of your poor marketing choices. I am not a tool for your business or anyone else's."
"Vivienne, you listen to me right now!" Arthur’s voice boomed through the speaker, filled with cold fury. "You carry the Vance name! Everything you have, your education, your lifestyle at Crestwood, is funded by this company. You owe this family your absolute compliance!"
"I owe this family nothing," Vivienne retorted, her heart pounding fiercely against her ribs as she finally spoke the truth she had buried for years. "Mom built Vance Cosmetics on passion, creativity, and genuine quality—not on desperate political maneuvering and forced alliances. You and Eleanor have spent years turning her life's work into a playground for your own vanity, and now that things are crumbling, you expect me to clean up your mess?"
"How dare you speak to me with such utter disrespect!" Arthur shouted, his breathing heavy with rage. "You are cutting your own throat, Vivienne. If you refuse to do as you are told, you will find yourself completely cut off. No funds, no tuition, no protection from the board!"
"Then cut me off," Vivienne whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears of defiance, but her voice remaining completely firm. "Let's see how well your precious company runs when you realize I'm the only one left who actually cares about protecting my mother's legacy. Find another puppet, Father. I'm done playing your game."
Without waiting for his reply, Vivienne pressed the red end button, plunging her suite into a profound, heavy silence.
She dropped the phone onto the marble vanity, her hands trembling slightly. For a moment, the terror of what she had just done threatened to swallow her whole. She had just openly rebelled against the man who held the purse strings to her entire existence. But as she looked back up at her reflection, the panic slowly faded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of liberation.
For the first time in six years, she wasn't acting as Eleanor's punching bag or her father's corporate tool. She was standing entirely on her own.
- Writer
