The taxi ride back to Waylen's penthouse felt like a blur. My heart hammered against my ribs as I clutched my purse tightly, the weight of the wire transfer confirmation still heavy in my mind. Three years of being a shadow, and now I was finally stepping into the light.
I paid the driver and rushed into the building, nodding at the doorman who had seen me come and go countless times as Waylen's silent companion.
"Evening, Ms. Snyder," he said, his eyes flickering briefly to my black dress—a rare sight, indeed.
"Good evening, Frank," I replied, my voice steadier than I expected.
The elevator ride to the penthouse floor gave me a moment to breathe. I touched my mother's locket at my collarbone, drawing strength from it as I had countless times before.
When the doors opened, I stepped into the familiar marble foyer. Everything looked exactly as it had an hour ago—pristine, perfect, and suffocating.
I moved quickly to the bedroom, my heels clicking against the hardwood floors. In the walk-in closet, I bypassed the rows of white dresses and designer clothes that Waylen had selected for me. Instead, I reached for the small duffel bag I'd hidden behind the winter coats.
My fingers trembled slightly as I unzipped it, revealing my passport, sketchbook, and a few personal items I'd kept separate from Tessa's things. I'd prepared for this moment without even realizing it.
"Mom," I whispered into my phone as I tucked my sketchbook into the bag. "It's done. I'm bringing you to Oakridge tomorrow."
"Vivian?" My mother's voice sounded confused but hopeful. "Are you sure?"
"The transfer is complete. Private room, the best care." I swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry it took so long."
"Don't apologize, sweetheart. You've done more than enough."
I ended the call and continued packing, my movements becoming more confident with each item I selected. Three years of pretending to be someone else had nearly killed my soul. No more.
The sound of keys in the front door made me freeze.
"Vivian!" Waylen's voice boomed through the penthouse. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
I zipped my duffel bag closed just as he appeared in the doorway, his tie loosened and his hair disheveled. For the first time since I'd known him, Waylen Crawford looked genuinely confused.
"Going somewhere?" he demanded, his eyes falling on my bag.
"Yes," I replied simply.
"Because of tonight? That little stunt with the champagne?" He pulled out his checkbook. "Name your price to calm down."
I stared at him, suddenly seeing him clearly. "Three years," I said quietly. "Three years of being a shadow."
"Vivian—" He began writing, not looking up.
"Do you even know my favorite color?" I interrupted.
His pen paused. "White," he said automatically.
"No." I laughed bitterly. "I hate white. I've always hated white."
He looked up then, his eyes narrowing. "This is ridiculous. Whatever mood you're in—"
"This isn't a mood." I stepped closer, my voice rising. "This is me. The real me. Not Tessa's replacement."
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but something flickered in his eyes.
"Don't you?" I snatched the check from his hand and tore it in half. "Three years of being a shadow has nearly killed my soul."
I pushed past him toward the door.
"Where are you going?" he called after me.
"Somewhere I can be myself," I replied without turning back.
---
JFK Airport buzzed with late-night travelers. I clutched my boarding pass for the red-eye to Milan, my heart lighter with each step away from the past.
"Final boarding call for Alitalia flight 412 to Milan," announced the overhead speaker.
I joined the security line, my duffel bag slung over my shoulder. Ahead of me, a family argued about luggage allowances while a business traveler tapped impatiently at his phone.
As I handed my passport to the TSA agent, I caught a glimpse of a tall figure rushing into the international arrivals hall across the terminal.
Waylen.
Our eyes met briefly across the distance. His face went pale as he spotted me.
"Vivian!" he shouted, breaking into a run.
I turned away quickly, handing my boarding pass to the attendant. "Thank you," I said, stepping through the security gate.
Behind me, I could hear Waylen's voice growing more desperate. "Vivian! Wait!"
I didn't look back as the frosted glass doors closed between us.
---
Waylen stood breathless in the arrivals hall, his eyes scanning the crowd desperately.
"Sir, you can't go past this point," a security guard warned.
"But I saw her," he insisted, his voice cracking. "She's leaving."
"Mr. Crawford?" A familiar voice called from behind him.
He turned slowly to find Tessa Romero standing there, elegant in a cream-colored coat, her luggage cart beside her.
"Waylen?" Her smile faltered as she took in his disheveled appearance. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said automatically, though his eyes continued searching the departures area. "Welcome back."
The ride to the city passed in silence. Tessa chatted about Paris, her modeling gigs, and her plans for their future together.
"Did you miss me?" she asked, reaching for his hand.
Waylen's fingers remained stiff in hers as he stared out the window. For the first time, Tessa's voice grated on his nerves—too loud, too sharp compared to Vivian's soft tones.
"Of course," he lied, wondering why the woman beside him suddenly felt like a stranger.
