Vivienne closed her eyes, her expression shifting, pain dulling into emptiness, sorrow fading into cold numbness.
They had been entangled the entire night.
Even in the haze of exhaustion, those sickly, sweet murmurs still echoed in her ears.
"Sis, you smell so good."
"Then promise me... in the future, give me all the love that used to belong to Vivienne, okay?”
And then Rafael’s voice, low, indifferent, cutting through her like a blade.
"Vivienne? She's not worthy of my love."
A shiver crawled up her spine.
She yanked the blanket over her head, burying herself beneath the covers. Tears fell, silent and endless, soaking into the sheets.
Over and over, she told herself, "This is the last time, Vivienne. The last time, you'll shed tears for him. The last time you'll let him hurt you."
She didn't sleep. Not even for a second.
Morning came, cold and indifferent.
Her phone rang. A call from her superior. "Vivienne, we’ve reviewed your case. Within this week, you need to cancel your ID and household registration. After that, we’ll assign you a new identity."
"Remember, this must remain confidential. You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Not even your closest ones. Understand?"
Vivienne bit her lip, gripping the phone tighter. "Understood. Don’t worry, sir."
Vivienne hung up, only then realizing the sharp sting on her lip. She had bitten down so hard it was nearly bleeding.
Her phone vibrated again. Several times. A message from Rafael. [Come back. The bedroom is a mess. Clean it up.]
Cold. Commanding. As if she were nothing more than a lowly servant in his house or, worse, a disposable maid.
She refused to show even a flicker of pain. With an empty expression, she returned home, stepping into the wreckage of the night before.
Crumpled sheets. Clothes strewn across the floor. Used condoms littering the carpet.
Rafael smirked, lifting his chin, eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the chaos he had created. His "masterpiece."
"Hurry up."
Disgust coiled in her stomach.
Vivienne met his gaze, her voice as cold as the morning air. "Okay."
Without another word, she lowered her head and bent down to clean.
The moment she moved, Rafael lunged. Like a madman, he seized her wrist and shoved her back with force.
"Are you insane, Vivienne?!" he bellowed.
"Why are you so indifferent?! Why don’t you feel jealous at all?!"
"We were together the whole night! And you don’t care?! Not even a little?!"
"You never loved me. You never loved me at all!"
"You’re just like your despicable mother; you only wanted to take advantage of my family!"
A sudden rush of blood pounded in her head. Her vision blurred with rage.
"Shut up!"
Vivienne’s voice tore through the air, sharp and thunderous, veins bulging at her temples.
Then, just as quickly, she regained her composure.
A slow breath. A calm gaze. The storm in her heart extinguished into nothingness.
"Didn't you already know? I never loved you."
Rafael panted heavily, his chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged motions. His gaze locked onto hers, searching, probing, only to be met with a cold, merciless indifference.
"Listen, Vivienne. Even if you marry me, you will never get a single penny from my family. You can play the role of Mrs. Moretti in public but behind closed doors? You'll bow and scrape like a servant."
“You will serve me and my lover, do you hear me?"
"You carry the blood debt of my family," he continued, his voice sharper than a blade. "And I will make you make amends for it for the rest of your life."
Vivienne only nodded, the corners of her lips curling slightly in something between understanding and exhaustion.
He had repeated these words to her thousands of times.
At first, they had cut deep, grievance, heartbreak, a suffocating ache.
But now?
Now, she felt nothing.
"It doesn’t matter," she said as if discussing something as trivial as the weather.
"Do whatever you want. It's not like I'll lose a single strand of hair or a piece of flesh."
Rafael’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together, his fury simmering just beneath the surface.
His fists clenched so tightly that his arms trembled, veins bulging beneath his skin.
But in the end, the fury that surged through him found a different target. He swung his raised fist and drove it into the wardrobe beside him.
A deafening crack.
The wardrobe door rattled violently, teetering on the brink of collapse.
Rafael snatched his clothes from the sofa and yanked Freya into his arms. She flinched like a startled kitten, her body stiff with fear.
"We’re leaving." His voice was cold, dismissive.
"Don’t let this disgusting woman stain your eyes."
The door slammed shut behind him, sealing the room in suffocating silence.
Vivienne slowly closed her eyes.
She didn’t touch the mess, didn’t bother picking up the remnants of his cruelty. Instead, she walked past the wreckage, her steps eerily calm, and entered the walk-in closet.
With careful hands, she reached for a small book tucked away in the corner. Her household registration book.
She flipped it open, her gaze landing on the first page, staring at the words as if engraving them into her memory.
Soon, this book would be meaningless. Soon, Vivienne Devereux herself would cease to exist.
