The next morning, I finished breakfast.
Vivienne came downstairs rubbing her temples. The headache was a hangover leftover. I used to feel so bad for her that I'd gone out of my way to learn several hangover soup recipes.
She didn't even glance up before issuing her orders.
"Make another sandwich. Louis really likes them."
What a joke.
She really did treat me like the hired help for their little romance.
Vivienne sat down at the table and found it completely empty. Forget making something for Louis—there wasn't even a plate set out for her.
She watched me carry an empty dish in and out of the kitchen.
For once, she actually spoke up.
"I had a bit too much to drink last night. Louis drove me home. With that driving of his, we nearly got into an accident."
I was packing my lunch to bring to the office. I wasn't really listening and answered without thinking. "Oh, is that so? Well, that's great."
She frowned at my indifference.
In the past, if I'd heard she was nearly in a car accident, I would've been climbing the walls with panic, dragging her to the hospital for a full-body checkup. I practically would've bubble-wrapped her and strapped her to my belt.
She hadn't expected me to be this unfazed.
"Stop messing around. Hurry up and make breakfast for me and Louis. I'll let you sit in the front seat later—happy now?"
Her tone was a mix of exasperation and charity, like she was tossing me a bone.
In her eyes, I was the one being unreasonable.
I stopped what I was doing and looked at her.
Ever since Louis joined the company, she'd been going out of her way to pick him up every morning. At first, Louis and I had fought tooth and nail over the passenger seat.
Vivienne settled it with one sentence: "Louis gets the front. He gets carsick."
When she gave him that seat, it never crossed her mind that I got carsick too.
Now she was offering it back to me like she was flipping a coin to a beggar.
But I didn't want it anymore.
"No thanks. I'll take the subway."
She went quiet.
She'd probably forgotten when I'd started taking the subway in the first place.
Waiting for Louis every morning meant all three of us were late every single day. It was dragging down my project timeline, so I stopped riding with them.
Mostly, watching the two of them flirt made my stomach turn.
I went back to packing. Vivienne kept talking. "I might be back late tonight."
"Okay."
"It's Louis's birthday. He doesn't really have friends in Northgate City, so he invited me out for a couple of drinks."
"Okay."
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
"Ethan!" Vivienne's voice cracked through the air like a whip.
I turned around, confused.
She stared at me in disbelief.
"Why aren't you stopping me this time?"
I tilted my head and looked at her. I had no idea what had gotten into her today.
I glanced at my watch. "I'm going to be late. We'll talk when I get back."
I watched her stand there, frozen.
Because this was exactly how she'd always treated me.
Every time a problem between us went unresolved, she'd wear that same look of cool detachment. It made me feel like I was performing a one-man show. I'd try to argue, try to fight, try to get her attention—anything. She'd grab whatever excuse was handy and walk out. Sometimes she wouldn't even bother with an excuse. Just slam the door and leave me to sort through my own feelings alone.
The moment I pulled the door shut behind me, a thought flickered through my mind.
Not facing the problem actually felt pretty good.
No wonder she'd made a habit of it.
Vivienne treated the entire company to pastries that day.
My coworkers were buzzing. "Did we land another project? What's got Ms. Delaney in such a good mood?"
"Think she hit the annual target early?"
I smiled. They were all wrong.
It was Louis's birthday.
She wanted to treat one person, so she used the excuse of treating the whole company. Maybe she was trying to make Louis happy.
None of it mattered to me anymore.
What I didn't expect was the message from Vivienne that afternoon.
Did you like the little cake?
I blinked when I saw it.
My first thought was that she'd sent it to the wrong person.
I looked down at my desk. A small mango cake sat there, the cream already melting.
Only then did I realize it was from that bakery I loved—the one that was expensive and always had a line out the door.
Vivienne really spared no expense for Louis.
I wasn't going to reply, but another message popped up.
I got you the blueberry one.
I let out a dry laugh. She'd definitely sent it to the wrong person.
The cake on my desk was mango.
The blueberry one had been delivered to me first, but Louis had swapped it.
He'd strolled over to my desk earlier. "Huh? I was wondering where my blueberry cake went. So it ended up here."
"Vivienne picked this one out especially for me. It's their signature flavor."
Then he'd tossed a box onto my desk and walked off.
It had been sitting there all day. I hadn't touched it.
Now it was inedible anyway—and I was allergic to mango.
I dropped it into the trash.
When I looked up, Vivienne was standing right in front of me.
Staring.
Her gaze shifted from me to the trash can and back again.
Her lips pressed into a hard, thin line.
Her office was on the executive floor. She rarely came down to the project department. I had no idea why she was here.
The answer came quickly enough.
Louis hooked his arm through hers with a grin. "Vivienne, I told you to wait for me in the garage. Coming to find me at my desk doesn't look good."
Before I could say a word, disapproving murmurs rippled through the office around us.
These were people I'd trained and mentored myself. Naturally, they had no patience for Louis's antics.
Vivienne swept the room with a cold glare.
The murmurs died instantly.
After leaving the office, Vivienne didn't come home that night.
Before, I would've spiraled. I would've called her over and over, demanding to know where she was.
But this time I didn't.
I went to bed. I went to work. Business as usual.
She didn't show up at the office the next day either. Neither did Louis.
That evening, Vivienne finally came home. I'd already finished dinner and was heading upstairs.
She grabbed my hand. "You're not even going to ask where I've been?"
I looked at her calmly. "How would you like me to ask?"
Anger flashed across her face. "Ethan, you didn't used to be like this."
I thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "You're right. You used to be the one who acted like this."
Her eyes dropped. Her voice softened. "I had too much to drink last night. I slept at a hotel. Nothing happened between me and Louis."
A beat of silence, and then a wounded edge crept into her tone. "I drank that much, and you couldn't even be bothered to call me."
I had no idea what game she was playing.
She used to complain that my calls annoyed her.
The way she was protesting her innocence unprompted—it was almost laughable.
The next day, I received a message from Louis.
A pregnancy report. Eight weeks along.
A photo of Louis accompanying Vivienne to a prenatal checkup at the hospital.
Ice spread through my veins.
Vivienne and I hadn't been intimate in a very long time.
