“I want a divorce from Darian Smith,” I whispered into the phone, gripping it so hard my fingers went numb. “Draw up the papers.”
On the other end, my lawyer let out a long breath, the kind that carried warning and pity all at once. “Vivienne… you know you can’t. What about your mother? She’s still receiving treatment in the hospital Darian pays for. If you leave him now, she’ll be cut off. She won’t survive.”
My throat burned, but I forced my voice to stay steady. “Then I’ll move her. Immediately. I’ll spend every last cent I have left if that’s what it takes.”
“Vivienne—”
“No.” I cut him off, my tone sharper than I’d ever used with anyone. “Nobody is stopping me. File the divorce.”
I swallowed, then added, each word deliberate. “But don’t send it yet. Deliver the papers on the day the investors sign. The same day as the design proposal. That’s when I want Darian to see it.”
A pause.
Then my lawyer spoke again, reluctant but resigned. “Understood.”
I hung up before my courage could crack.
My legs felt unsteady as I stood and walked to the closet. Then I started moving—fast, mechanical, like if I slowed down even for a second, I’d fall apart.
I tore dresses off hangers and shoved them into a suitcase. I grabbed whatever I could reach—shirts, coats, shoes—and threw them in without folding.
Then I went for the jewelry.
The pieces Darian had bought over the years, just enough to make me believe he cared, just enough to keep me obedient.
I swept them into the trash.
Every last one.
I wanted nothing from him. Nothing that would keep me chained.
I was about to rip the framed photo from the shelf—the picture from our so-called “wedding day,” which had really just been us signing papers in his office, no ceremony, no vows, no love—
When the door flew open.
Darian walked in like he owned the air in the room, not bothering to knock.
“Cook,” he said flatly. “We’ve got guests coming tonight.”
I turned to face him, my jaw clenched. “I don’t feel well.”
His eyes narrowed. “Stop with the excuses. You’re doing it.”
Before I could say another word, he placed a firm hand on my shoulder and shoved me toward the hallway.
I stumbled, catching myself at the doorframe, my face burning with humiliation.
As always, my voice meant nothing.
That evening, the mansion filled with noise.
Laughter floated from the living room. Crystal glasses clinked. Expensive heels clicked across the marble floors while champagne poured like water.
And I stood in the kitchen, apron tied around my waist, plating food like a servant in my own home.
When I finally carried a tray out, my arms trembling under the weight, the room went quiet for a heartbeat.
People turned.
A tall man with a sleek smile glanced at me and asked casually, “Who’s that?”
Darian didn’t hesitate.
“My new maid,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
A few people laughed.
The sound rang in my ears until it felt like I couldn’t hear anything else.
“She looks familiar,” someone else said. “Wasn’t she the one who tried to destroy Valeria’s reputation years ago? The one who went on TV and accused her?”
“Oh, that’s beautiful,” a woman giggled. “Darian took her in as a maid. How generous. How merciful.”
More laughter.
It crashed over me like a wave, heavy and suffocating.
I tightened my grip on the tray until my knuckles ached, forcing myself not to shake.
Valeria sat beside Darian, elegant and radiant, like she belonged there. Her smile was soft, almost angelic—yet her eyes glittered with triumph.
“Please,” she said sweetly. “Don’t ridicule her.” She pressed a hand to her chest as if she were deeply wounded. “This is my fault. I caused her family pain, and I’ll always carry that guilt. But she’s been so gracious… she forgave me.”
She tilted her head, voice turning even gentler. “And I promise I’ll help with her mother’s treatment too. She shouldn’t suffer anymore.”
The room erupted in applause.
“Then she should be grateful,” a woman sneered. “She should kiss Valeria’s feet. Thank her properly.”
My vision swam.
But I didn’t move.
I stood there, frozen, staring past them, through them, into nothing. I didn’t respond to the laughter, the whispers, the insults.
I simply turned and walked away.
Behind me, the party noise resumed like I’d never existed.
The moment I stepped into the hall, Darian followed.
He slammed the door shut behind us.
His voice was cold enough to cut skin. “What the hell was that? They were talking to you, and you just walked off?”
I spun around, the last thread of control snapping. “They were humiliating me, Darian! Can’t you see what you’ve turned me into?”
He scoffed. “So dramatic. Always acting.” His eyes were hard. “Do you think I enjoy doing this? Do you think I want you paraded like that?”
He stepped closer, his tone shifting into something sickly calm. “I’m doing it for you. If I don’t keep Valeria close, she’ll come after you. She’ll hurt you. Or your mother. Everything I’m doing is to protect you.”
Gaslighting.
Always.
I shook my head, tears spilling down my cheeks. “No,” I whispered. “You’re doing it for yourself. For her.”
He opened his mouth to answer—
And then a scream tore through the house.
Glass shattered.
The laughter outside twisted into panic.
“Poison!” someone yelled. “The food—something’s wrong!”
My blood turned to ice as I rushed back into the living room.
Chaos had erupted.
Guests were doubled over, clutching their stomachs, faces drained of color. One woman collapsed onto the floor and vomited violently.
And then Valeria herself bent forward, retching, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Every head turned.
Every eye locked onto me.
The whispers started instantly—fast, vicious, unstoppable.
It was her.
The maid.
The wife.
She poisoned the food.
Within minutes, sirens howled outside. Ambulances arrived. The guests were rushed out in a frenzy.
And just like that, I was in a hospital again.
Bright lights. White walls. The same sterile smell.
My hands shook uncontrollably as I stood in the corridor, mind spinning.
Darian cornered me, his anger radiating off him like heat.
“Did you do it?” he demanded, his face twisted with rage.
I shook my head so hard it hurt. “No! Why would I poison them? Why would I hurt anyone? Darian, I didn’t—”
“Liar!” he roared, and the sound echoed down the hallway.
“You wanted revenge,” he snarled. “You wanted to embarrass me in front of my investors. Do you even understand what you’ve done?”
“I swear to you, I didn’t—”
I didn’t even get to finish.
His palm slammed across my face.
The impact sent me stumbling into the cold hospital wall, pain exploding across my cheek.
“Hit her again,” he barked to the men standing nearby. “Teach her what happens when she forgets her place.”
And then the beating started.
Fists. Boots. Blows that came too fast to count.
I curled inward, trying to protect my stomach, trying to shield the tiny life inside me, but the pain didn’t stop. It didn’t slow.
It only got worse.
Until everything went black.
When I woke up, my entire body screamed.
My lips were swollen. My ribs ached with every shallow breath. Blood had dried on my skin, sticky and dark.
My voice came out as nothing but a rasp.
“My baby…” I whispered. “Where’s my baby?”
The nurse standing nearby looked at me with wet eyes, clutching her clipboard to her chest like she needed it to hold herself together.
Her lips trembled before she finally spoke, soft and heavy—like a bell at a funeral.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” she said. “The baby… didn’t survive.”
