The next morning, I had barely made it downstairs when I saw Vivien lounging on my favorite spot on the couch, wearing the silk nightgown Bartholomew had given me for my birthday.
He was peeling cherries by hand, feeding them to her one by one, his fingertips brushing the juice from the corner of her lips with a tenderness that turned my stomach.
“Slow down. You're like a little kitten begging for treats.”
“Bartholomew, you're so good to me.”
I gave a mocking smile."Indeed, how about I divorce Bartholomew and the two of you get married?"
Vivien ducked her head, coy and blushing, but the moment she spotted me, she flinched like a startled rabbit. She scrambled to her feet, tripping over herself to apologize.
“Kay, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wear your clothes or sit in your spot……I'll go change right now.”
The tears spilled as she spoke, perfectly timed, perfectly pitiful.
Bartholomew pulled her back down immediately, his cold gaze cutting toward me like a blade.
“Kay, can you show a little class? Vivien is pregnant. She's fragile. It's a nightgown and a seat. Do you really have to make her feel this way?”
I stared at the scene in front of me, and all I felt was the absurdity of it.
My husband, in my home, hand-feeding another woman fruit.
My best friend, wrapped in my things, sitting in my place. And I was the one expected to be gracious about it.
Looking at her now, I started to wonder whether the girl I remembered had ever been real.
Back in school, when other kids picked on me, Vivien had grabbed a broom and charged in to shield me. ：“Anyone who touches Kay goes through me first.”
When my first boyfriend broke my heart, she stayed up with me until dawn, drinking and talking. ：“Forget him. Men are nothing. I'll always be here.”
After I donated my kidney for her, she had dragged herself out of her own hospital bed to collapse at the side of mine, sobbing until she passed out, gripping my hand.
“For the rest of my life, you will be the person closest to my heart.”
I had believed it then. I believed friendship outlasted love. I believed she was the light in my darkest hours.
But now she had taken my husband, was carrying his child, had moved into my home, and still had the nerve to play the victim.
“Bartholomew,” my voice trembled, but I forced it steady, “this is my home. What gives you the right?”
Vivien only cried harder.
“Kay, please don't say that……it's all my fault. You can yell at me, hit me, anything, just don't fight with Bartholomew. I just love him too much, and I can't give up this baby.”
“Enough!”
Bartholomew's voice cracked through the room like a whip.
“Kay, if you keep pushing Vivien, don't blame me for what happens next.”
I closed my eyes. There was nothing left to say. I turned and went back upstairs.
The moment I was back in my room, a message arrived with the driving records from the night of the accident, tracing Vivien's brother Neville's route.
I opened my laptop. The first thing that filled the screen was our photo, the three of us together.
Almost involuntarily, I clicked into an old folder. It was full of memories, all of us, from before.
I scrolled through the pictures one by one, and every swipe felt like a thousand needles driven into my chest.
I didn't understand how we had ended up here.
My thoughts were still churning when the door opened. Vivien walked in carrying a cup of warm water, an apologetic look painted on her face.
“Kay, I know you're upset. I made you some soup. Please don't let the anger make you sick.”
I didn't want to acknowledge her.
But she leaned in close, and her hand jerked. The entire bowl of soup tipped onto my arm. Scalding heat seared through my skin, and the breath hissed between my teeth.
I shoved her away on instinct. She stumbled backward, and the tears fell instantly.
“Kay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!”
As she spoke, she dropped to her knees in a show of panic, gathering the broken shards of the bowl, and dragged a piece of porcelain deliberately across her finger. A bead of blood welled up and rolled down.
My arm was swollen and angry red. I had no patience for her theatrics. I turned toward the bathroom to run cold water over the burn.
Before I could take a step, Bartholomew came rushing in, drawn by the commotion.
One look at the scene and his expression twisted.
“Kay, you!”
He went straight to Vivien, pulling her up from the floor, cradling her bleeding finger with exaggerated care while her eyes stayed swollen and red from crying.
She kept her head low, tears streaming down her face like rain on blossoms.
“Bartholomew, don't blame Kay. Maybe she didn't like the soup I made, so she knocked it over……I made a mess of her room, but please don't be angry with her. She didn't mean it.”
His face went dark. He didn't even glance at me. He seized my wrist and snarled in my face.
“Do you have any idea how long Vivien stood in that kitchen making soup for you? You couldn't even be grateful, and then you let her kneel on the floor picking up broken porcelain? How can you be this cruel? Apologize to her. Now.”
“She spilled it on me herself!”
The burn screamed against my skin, but I kept my voice cold and steady.
“Let go of me!”
I couldn't stand looking at either of their faces for another second. I just needed the pain to stop.
“And you still have the nerve to argue! Is this how you carry yourself as Mrs. Vance?”
My defiance sent him over the edge. He called the bodyguards and had them drag me out to the garden.
“Take her outside. She doesn't come back in until she apologizes to Vivien.”
