Vivian sat in a cramped storage room that had been hastily converted into an office. Two days ago, she had a real office with a window. Yesterday, Olivia Lane, the Marketing Director, had informed her that due to "departmental restructuring" and "space optimization," her office was needed for the new consultants.
Now she sat between stacks of archived tax returns and a flickering fluorescent light. It was a petty, calculated move. Olivia knew exactly what she was doing.
Her phone buzzed on the desk. It was a notification from Page Six.
She shouldn't look. She knew the pattern now. Pain was addictive.
She swiped the screen.
Headline: SERENA CHASE REUNITES WITH BILLIONAIRE EX JULIAN STERLING.
Vivian zoomed in on the photo. It was grainy, taken from a distance, but the man was unmistakable. He was wearing a charcoal suit. The same charcoal suit Julian had put on this morning. The suit he was wearing when he handed her the divorce papers.
Her desk phone rang. The sharp, digital trill made her jump.
She picked it up. "Vivian Miller," she said. She had stopped using Sterling.
Vivian. It was Julian. His voice was clipped, professional. "I need you to go to the Hamptons house."
Vivian blinked. The Hamptons? It was a two-hour drive, or more with traffic.
Why? she asked.
I left some documents in the safe in the library. The merger files. I need them by tomorrow morning. My assistant is tied up with the press release, and I don't trust a courier with these.
Vivian frowned. She had been at the Hamptons house last week to open it for the summer season. She had checked the safe. It was empty.
She knew he was lying. Or maybe he just wanted her out of the city.
Okay, she said. Her voice was monotone.
Take the company car, he ordered. "And Vivian... drive safely."
He hung up.
Vivian walked down to the garage. She didn't take the company car with a driver. She took one of the pool cars, a nondescript sedan. She didn't want a driver reporting her every move to Julian.
She drove out of the city. The traffic was heavy. She got stuck at a red light on Fifth Avenue, right across from The Pierre Hotel.
She looked out the window. She couldn't help it. It was like picking at a scab.
The gold revolving doors of the hotel spun slowly.
A couple walked out.
It was Julian and Serena.
They were arm in arm. Serena was laughing, her head thrown back, her blonde hair catching the sunlight. She looked radiant. She looked like a movie star.
And Julian... Julian was smiling.
It wasn't the polite smile he gave donors. It wasn't the tight smile he gave Vivian. It was a real smile. It reached his eyes. He looked younger. He looked happy.
He was wearing a blue tie.
Vivian stared at the tie. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned blue.
She had bought him that tie for their third anniversary. It was a specific shade of azure. When she gave it to him, he had frowned. "I don't like blue, Vivian. You know that." He had never worn it.
Now, he was wearing it. For her.
He was wearing Vivian's gift to woo his mistress.
Vivian felt a sharp cramp in her lower abdomen. It was a pinch, a warning.
Panic overrode the jealousy. The baby. Stress is the enemy.
She breathed deeply. In through her nose, out through her mouth. One. Two. Three. She forced her hands to relax on the wheel. She couldn't let him kill this child with his cruelty.
The light turned green. The car behind her honked aggressively.
Vivian didn't look back at the hotel. She stepped on the gas.
The drive to the Hamptons was a blur of highway and trees. She arrived at the estate as the sun was setting. The house was massive, a sprawling mansion of cedar shingles and white trim. It looked beautiful. It felt like a mausoleum.
She unlocked the front door. The silence of the house was heavy. It smelled of lemon polish and stale air.
She walked to the library. She opened the safe behind the painting.
It was empty.
Of course it was empty.
He hadn't needed documents. He just wanted her out of the city. He wanted her away so he could parade Serena around without the risk of running into his wife at the office or the apartment.
Vivian sat on the floor of the library. The Persian rug was rough under her hands.
She was completely alone.
She touched the silk scarf around her neck. It was a tie-dye pattern she had made herself. She unknotted it slowly.
She walked to the trash can in the corner of the room. She dropped the scarf in.
Then she saw it.
On the corner of the heavy oak desk, gleaming in the twilight, was an earring.
It was a long, diamond drop earring. It wasn't hers. Vivian only wore studs.
Julian had brought Serena here. Before the divorce was even discussed. Before he handed her the papers. They had been here. In her house.
Vivian didn't scream. She didn't cry. She felt a cold, hard resolve settle in her chest.
She picked up the earring. She put it in her pocket, right next to the disguised bottle of pills.
Evidence.
