Liam shivered, pulling the threadbare blanket tighter around himself. The radiator in his tiny, cramped apartment sputtered and coughed, offering little warmth against the London chill seeping through the ill-fitting windows. He was hunched over his drafting table, a tangle of sketches and fabric swatches surrounding him like a colourful, chaotic shield. He was wrestling with a particularly stubborn design, a bias-cut gown that refused to drape correctly.

He glanced at the clock. Almost 3 AM. He knew he should sleep. He had a meeting with a potential investor for “Liam O’Connell, Design” (a title that still felt foreign and impossibly grand) in the morning. But sleep evaded him. His mind was a whirlwind of calculations, fabric weights, and the unsettling image of Bartholomew Sterling's piercing blue eyes.

The Vivienne project was going well. Too well, perhaps. He was designing things he’d only dreamed of – using silks that felt like liquid moonlight, crafting silhouettes that made him gasp, even on a mannequin. Bart, surprisingly, was proving to be more than just a money man. He had an eye for detail, a grasp of the industry, and a way of pushing Liam to refine his vision without stifling his creativity. Their brainstorming sessions were becoming… something more. He wasn’t sure what, but the energy in the room crackled whenever their gazes met.

Then, he remembered the day's events. The delivery.

A soft chime echoed through the apartment, a sound utterly alien to his usual symphony of creaks and groans. He cautiously opened the door to find a courier holding an enormous, exquisitely wrapped box.

“Liam O’Connell?” the courier asked, double-checking the address.

Liam, still reeling from the shock, managed a shaky, "Yes, that's me."

He dragged the box inside, its weight surprising. Inside layers of tissue paper nestled a dress. Not just any dress. A vintage Yves Saint Laurent Mondrian dress, a masterpiece of color blocking and minimalist design. It was in perfect condition, as if plucked straight from a museum display. Liam gasped. It was a holy grail, a piece he'd only ever seen in books and on the backs of fashion icons.

A small, elegant card lay tucked beside the dress. One word was written in elegant cursive: “Vivienne.”

He'd spent the rest of the day turning the dress over in his hands, studying every stitch, every perfectly placed panel of color. He tried it on, of course, even though it felt sacrilegious. It fit him perfectly, as if it had been tailored for him. But the gift wasn’t just about the dress itself. It was about the message it carried. Someone – and he strongly suspected Bart – had noticed, seen Vivienne.

Now, staring at his unfinished sketch, Liam felt a familiar pang of guilt. He was basking in the attention, the admiration, the gifts showered on Vivienne, a persona built on a foundation of lies. He was using Bart, however unintentionally.

He picked up his phone, intending to text Charlie, his best friend and confidante. He needed to vent, to confess the increasing tangle of his emotions. But then he hesitated. Charlie had always been supportive, but even he sometimes struggled to understand Liam's double life. He typed and deleted several messages, finally settling on a simple, "Long night. Brain fried."

He scrolled through Instagram. Vivienne’s latest post, a promotional shot for the Sterling Industries collaboration, had garnered thousands of likes and comments. He saw his reflection staring back at him, a glamorous, confident woman who bore little resemblance to the anxious, sleep-deprived man hunched over his drafting table.

A notification popped up: “Bartholomew Sterling liked your post.”

Liam’s heart skipped a beat. He debated whether to send a thank you message, something vague and professional, for the endorsement. But the words caught in his throat. He wanted to thank him for the dress, for the attention, for making him feel… seen. But he couldn’t. Not as Vivienne.

He closed the app and stood, pacing the cramped room. The Mondrian dress hung on a makeshift hanger in the corner, a silent, vibrant reminder of the lie he was living. He had to do something. He couldn't keep letting the charade go on.

The meeting with Bart the next day was scheduled at Sterling Industries headquarters. Liam chose a simple, elegant black dress for Vivienne, wanting to project an air of professionalism and control. But beneath the polished exterior, his nerves were frayed. He was desperate to talk to Bart, to gauge his intentions, to figure out how to navigate the increasingly complicated situation.

Bart was waiting for him in the sleek, minimalist conference room, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the London skyline. He stood as Vivienne entered, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“Vivienne,” he greeted, his voice a low, resonant rumble. “You look… striking.”

Liam felt his cheeks flush under the layers of makeup. "Thank you, Mr. Sterling."

“Bart, please,” he corrected, gesturing towards the table. "And please, tell me you received the... token of appreciation."

Liam hesitated. "The dress? Yes. It was… incredibly generous." He struggled to maintain eye contact, the weight of his deception pressing down on him.

"I thought it suited you. You have a remarkable eye for classic designs, Vivienne. I've noticed that in your previous social media posts," Bart said, stepping closer. "The way you reinterpret vintage styles, adding your own unique flair... it's captivating."

Liam felt a thrill course through him. Bart was paying attention, genuinely appreciating his taste. But that thrill was quickly followed by a wave of guilt. He was accepting compliments meant for a fictional persona.

"Mr... Bart," Liam began, his voice barely a whisper. "There's something I need to..."

The conference room door swung open, and Eleanor strode in, her expression unreadable. "Bart, I need your signature on these contracts immediately," she said, placing a thick stack of documents on the table. "Sorry to interrupt."

Bart sighed, a hint of frustration flickering across his face. "Of course, Eleanor. Duty calls." He turned back to Liam. "Perhaps we can continue this conversation later, Vivienne. I'm eager to hear your thoughts on the marketing campaign."

Liam nodded, relieved for the reprieve, but also acutely aware that he was running out of time. He was trapped in a carefully constructed web of his own making, and the threads were tightening with each passing day.

As the meeting progressed, Liam found himself struggling to focus. He kept glancing at Bart, trying to decipher his expressions, his intentions. Was the gift a gesture of genuine admiration, or something more calculated? Was he being manipulated, or was he simply overthinking everything?

After the meeting concluded and Eleanor had departed, Bart walked Vivienne to the elevator. The tension in the air was palpable.

"Vivienne," Bart said, stopping her just before the doors closed. "I'm… intrigued by you. Not just by your style, but by your spirit. There's a depth to you that I find… compelling."

Liam’s breath caught in his throat. He knew this was it. He had to tell him something. Anything.

“Bart,” he started, his voice trembling. “There are things you don’t know about me. Things that… that aren’t what they seem.”

Bart’s gaze intensified, his blue eyes boring into Liam’s. “What do you mean?”

The elevator doors began to close. Liam reached out, stopping them with his hand. He had to say something before it was too late. But the words wouldn't come. Fear and guilt had paralyzed him.

“I… I need to tell you…” he stammered, his voice barely audible.

The doors beeped insistently, the gap narrowing.

"Tell me what, Vivienne?" Bart's voice was low, urging.

Liam took a deep breath, and just as the doors were about to seal shut, he blurted out, "I’m not who you think I am!"

The doors slid closed, cutting off his confession. Liam sagged against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest. He had said it. He had finally started to unravel the lie. But what would happen now? What would Bart do? The answer to that question terrified him more than anything. The truth was out there, hanging in the sterile air of the Sterling Industries elevator, waiting to detonate. And Liam knew, with a chilling certainty, that his life was about to change forever.