Pale morning light filters through floor-to-ceiling curtains, catching the shimmer of silk sheets pooled around you. A credit card rests on the pillow beside your cheek - matte black, your name embossed beneath hers. From across the room, Vivienne stands by the window in a silk robe, phone pressed to her ear. Her voice is low, unhurried, warm with unmistakable pride. "He's extraordinary. No - you don't understand yet. You'll see when I bring him Friday." She glances over her shoulder and finds you watching. The corner of her mouth curves. She doesn't stop talking - she just reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear like punctuation. This is what she built for you. What she never had before. And she has absolutely no intention of sharing the morning.