When Vivienne opened her eyes again, the hospital room was empty. The sting of disinfectant burned her sinuses, and the wound on her chest throbbed with a dull, persistent ache.
She picked up her phone from the nightstand. No missed calls. Not a single message.
She opened her social media feed and saw a post Noelle had made the day before: a selfie clutching a bouquet of flowers, captioned：【Discharged! Thanks everyone for the well wishes】.
So they had left long ago, all of them, and simply abandoned her here to fend for herself.
Vivienne dragged her battered body through the discharge paperwork, called a car, and went back to her apartment alone.
The front door had been repaired, probably on Tristram's orders, but the inside was still wrecked. Drag marks from where he had hauled her across the floor to the living room days ago were still visible on the hardwood.
Vivienne stood in the doorway and stared for a long moment. Then, without a word, she began cleaning up. While she was at it, she packed a suitcase for her new life at the border.
At the very bottom of the closet she found the gift Leslie had given her for her eighteenth birthday: a crystal necklace. She had treasured it all these years, planning to wear it on their wedding day.
But in her last life and in this one, Leslie had never once intended to marry her.
Vivienne hesitated only briefly before dropping the necklace into the trash.
She kept digging and found the fountain pen her father had tossed her way when she got into college.
She had learned later it was just a sample gift from a visiting business partner, something Aldric had passed along without a second thought and probably forgotten the next day. Still, it was one of the few things he had ever given her, so she had kept it.
This time she didn't hesitate. She threw the pen straight into the garbage bag.
Beneath everything else lay a few yellowed photographs, some of the last pictures of her and her mother together. The negatives were long gone.
She tucked those carefully into her bag.
When she was done, Vivienne tied the garbage bag shut and hauled it downstairs.
On her way back, she spotted a familiar Maybach parked outside the building.
Her steps faltered. Tristram climbed out of the back seat.
He looked her up and down, and once he was satisfied she was in one piece, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He waved a hand behind him.
Several bodyguards in black stepped out of a second car, each one carrying oversized luxury gift boxes.
At Tristram's command they filed inside, one after another, and stacked the boxes throughout Vivienne's apartment.
“What is this supposed to mean, Tristram?”
Vivienne watched the gift boxes pile up in the living room, on the couch, even across the dining table.
The apartment she had just finished cleaning was suddenly overflowing again.
“Consider it compensation. For what happened the other day. I know you were wronged.”
“Noelle is my bottom line. Once we're married, as long as it doesn't involve her, I'll have your back in everything. You have my word.”
Vivienne lifted her gaze to his face. Maybe because she had given up on him long ago, nothing he said could hurt her anymore.
Tristram always believed a soft word and a pile of expensive things could fix anything.
No matter how deep the wound, she was supposed to choose forgiveness.
He was wrong. This time, she would never forgive him again.
Vivienne watched in silence as the bodyguards finished. She had considered stopping them.
But then she thought about how in a month, after the wedding, she would be living at the border. This apartment and every bad memory it held would be sold off.
Let him do whatever he wanted. She was past caring.
“Are you done? Then leave. I just got out of the hospital. I need to rest.”
Something flickered behind Tristram's eyes when she brought it up again, but it passed in an instant.
“Actually, there's another reason I came.”
“Tonight is Noelle's birthday gala. You're her sister. You're expected to be there.”
Vivienne's fingers curled inward. In the decade and more since her mother's death, not a single person had remembered her birthday.
Noelle's, on the other hand, was a lavish event every year. And every year Vivienne was dragged along as a prop, an afterthought for the guests to snicker at.
She had endured it in her last life. She refused to endure it in this one.
“I'm not going.”
Tristram's voice went cold the second the words left her mouth.
“Half the elite in Ridgeport are invited to this gala. If you don't show up, what will people think of her?”
“You don't get a say in this.”
The bodyguards seized Vivienne by the arms and forced her into the back of the Maybach. The car headed straight for the most exclusive hotel in Ridgeport.
By the time they arrived, they were already running late. Tristram brought her along to present his gift to Noelle: a limited-edition handbag.
Vivienne recognized it instantly. Every single item he had dumped at her apartment that afternoon was the purchase-minimum bundle for that bag.
Her knuckles went white around her clenched fists. So from the very beginning, even his apology had never truly been meant for her.
While she stood there, frozen, Noelle called out to her：
“Vivienne, what did you get me for my birthday?”
She had been dragged here without warning. When would she have had time to prepare a gift?
Noelle seemed to read the predicament on her face. Her eyes darted, and a bright idea struck：
“Did you forget my birthday, sis? Oh well, I won't make it hard on you. How about you go up on stage and dance for me instead? Think of it as your gift.”
Vivienne looked at the man beside her. A faint smile lingered between his brows, his eyes fixed on Noelle without blinking. He had no intention of stepping in.
Vivienne turned to leave. Somewhere behind her, the chatter among the guests had already died down, and every pair of eyes in the room was watching.
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
Noelle's breathing went ragged on cue, and she collapsed against Tristram：
“Tristram, my heart……it hurts so bad”
Vivienne had barely taken one step before a hand clamped around her wrist and yanked her back.
She turned and met Tristram's eyes. There was nothing in them.
“Vivienne, your mother is buried at Westhill Memorial Cemetery. Isn't that right?”
Her pupils contracted. Her whole body went rigid.
She stared at Tristram as if seeing him for the very first time.
She remembered, in her past life, not long after their wedding, she had taken him to visit her mother's grave.
That day he had knelt before the headstone, held her hand, and spoken with absolute solemnity：
“Ma'am, you can rest easy. I'll take good care of Vivienne.”
She had looked at the firm line of his profile and counted herself lucky, grateful she had seen through Leslie in time and married a good man instead.
But in her last life Tristram hadn't saved her when it mattered. And in this life, he was threatening to scatter her mother's ashes, all because she refused to perform like a trained animal for Noelle's amusement and make Noelle look bad.
Vivienne's eyes burned red, and the grief swelled until it filled her entire chest.
But she did not let a single tear fall. She wrenched free of Tristram's grip, turned, and walked toward the stage.
The murmurs from the audience drove into her like needles.
Vivienne closed her eyes, rose onto the tips of her toes, and began to spin across the cold floor.
With every turn, one thought carved itself deeper into her mind.
She would make them pay.
Every last one of them.
