Vivian’s POV
My phone buzzed on Olivia’s coffee table, the screen lighting up like an unwelcome intruder in the dim sanctuary of her living room. I was curled up on the couch, still in the same borrowed blouse from yesterday, my hair in a tangled mess that I hadn’t bothered to brush. My eyes felt gritty from another night of tears. The message was from Ryan.
*Family dinner tonight at the estate. 7 PM. Mother insists. Don’t be late.*
No apology.
No explanation.
Just a command, as if the nightmare in the house yesterday had been a minor inconvenience. My stomach twisted. I wanted to hurl the phone across the room, watch it shatter against the wall like my illusions had.
“Why always me ?” I whispered to the empty room. Olivia was at her firm, finalizing the divorce papers like the loyal warrior she was. I stared at the text until the letters blurred.
I didn’t want to go. The thought of their eyes on me made my throat tighten with the metallic taste of rising nausea. Yet, I stood, my bare feet meeting the cool hardwood floor with a soft pad, the chill traveling up my legs. Each step toward the bathroom was deliberate, my slender frame moving with the weary grace of someone carrying invisible chains.
In the bathroom, the fluorescent light buzzed faintly overhead, casting a stark glow on the white tiles that felt cold underfoot. I turned the faucet, and the water roared to life, hot steam rising in fragrant clouds as I added lavender oil. The scent bloomed, floral and calming, filling the small space. I shed my clothes one piece at a time,the blouse fell, then air cooled against my exposed skin. My reflection showed a woman fractured: long chestnut hair dull, emerald eyes shadowed, body slender and unmarked by pregnancy. The touch of my own fingers tracing my stomach was feather-light, yet it triggered a wave of sorrow so profound my knees buckled slightly. I stepped into the tub, the scalding water enveloping my toes, then ankles, calves, thighs, and finally my torso in a burning embrace that made me gasp. The heat seeped into sore muscles, the liquid lapping gently against my skin as I submerged. I took the washcloth, lathering it with soap that smelled of fresh herbs, and scrubbed slowly,arms first, feeling the rough texture glide over faint nail marks, then neck and chest where my heart thudded dully. Suds slid down my back in tickling rivulets as I washed my hair, fingers massaging my scalp with firm circles, the water turning milky as I rinsed. When I emerged, the towel was plush and warm from the rack, absorbing droplets that traced cool paths down my legs.
I dressed carefully, choosing a simple emerald-green dress that matched my eyes,the one Ryan had once said made me look like a goddess stepping out of the sea. Irony tasted bitter on my tongue. My porcelain skin still bore faint red marks from Vanessa’s nails on my arm. I covered them with concealer, but the bruises on my heart had no makeup.
The cab smelled of old leather and faint air freshener. The engine’s low rumble vibrated through the seat as skyscrapers blurred past, the city’s honks and lights a chaotic symphony outside the window. My fingers traced the divorce papers inside the clutch, the paper crisp and sharp under my touch.
By the time the wrought-iron gates opened, my slender fingers were clenched so tightly around my clutch that my knuckles ached. I stepped out, the evening breeze carrying the scent of roses and wealth.
Fake.
Everything here was fake.
The grand dining hall glowed under crystal chandeliers.
The grand dining hall glowed under crystal chandeliers. Margaret presided at the head like a silver-blonde empress, Edward, Ryan's father, beside her with his calculating gray eyes. A few distant relatives and business associates filled the seats, their conversations a low hum of power and pretense. Ryan sat at the other end, looking devastatingly handsome in a crisp white shirt, his dark brown hair perfectly styled, blue eyes scanning the room with that CEO authority.
I took a seat near the middle, feeling every pair of eyes on me like judgment lasers. No one greeted me warmly. Whispers rippled.
*The wife who can’t give an heir. The burden*
Then she appeared.
