Vivian's pov

"Vivian, talk to me," Olivia urged, her voice cutting through the low hum of jazz from the speakers. "You can't just sit here drowning it all. What exactly did he say?"

I laughed, but it came out as a broken sob. My chestnut-brown hair fell across my face, sticking to the tear tracks on my porcelain skin. "He said I was useful, Liv. Useful for the cameras. That Vanessa gives him passion. An heir which i couldn’t”.

"I'll handle the divorce papers myself. But tonight? You're not going back there." She declared, no room for argument

I nodded numbly, the world tilting slightly as I stood. Olivia wrapped an arm around my waist, guiding me out into the cool New York night. The city lights blurred past as her driver took us to her apartment in a quieter part of Manhattan, far from the glittering penthouse that had once been my home.

Olivia's place was a sanctuary of soft throws and bookshelves overflowing with legal tomes. She helped me out of the ruined gown, sliding one of her oversized t-shirts over my head. It smelled of lavender detergent, a stark contrast to the lingering scent of Ryan's cologne that still clung to my skin. I collapsed onto the guest bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. My body felt heavy with exhaustion and betrayal.

But sleep didn't come easily. I lay there in the darkness, staring at the faint glow of city light filtering through the curtains.

My hand drifted to my stomach, flat and empty, the secret appointments I'd hidden flashing through my mind,doctor visits, hormone treatments, the quiet hope I'd nurtured alone while supporting him.

How had I failed? The question looped endlessly, guilt twisting like a vine around my heart.

Tears soaked the pillow as memories flooded in.

Our honeymoon in Paris, where we'd bought those matching silk pajamas, laughing over croissants at dawn.

Had any of it been real?

Or just a performance for him ?

Hours blurred.

I tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around my legs like restraints.

Olivia suddenly checked on me, pressing a glass of water into my hands and murmuring reassurances.

"You're stronger than this, Viv. Tomorrow , go pack. Then I would deal with the rest" Her words anchored me, a lifeline in the storm.

Eventually, exhaustion won.

My eyes grew heavy, then I suddenly drifted off.

I woke once, gasping, my heart pounding as if I'd run miles. The clock on the nightstand read 3:47 AM.

I showered in Olivia's bathroom, the hot water scalding my skin as if to wash away the night's filth. My reflection in the steamed mirror showed swollen eyes, disheveled chestnut hair, and a porcelain face etched with new lines of determination. I borrowed jeans and a simple blouse from Olivia, tying my hair back practically.

Olivia was already up, coffee brewing. She handed me a mug, her auburn hair pulled into a messy bun.

"Are you sure about going back there today? I can send someone."

I shook my head, sipping the bitter brew. It grounded me. "I need to do this myself. And I won't leave my research notes or Dad's documents behind."

Olivia hugged me tightly as I walked to her door.

"Call me the second anything happens," she said. "The papers will be ready by afternoon."

The cab ride back to the penthouse felt eternal. New York traffic hummed indifferently as skyscrapers loomed.

The elevator ascended smoothly, mirroring the one that had carried me down to hell the night before. The air smelled faintly of whiskey and sex, a nauseating reminder. I padded inside, heart hammering, and headed straight for the bedroom.

The door creaked open. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. My hands moved mechanically at first, opening the walk-in closet. I pulled out the suitcase, unzipping it with a sharp rip. Clothes flew in: blouses folded with precision, skirts stacked neatly. Each item carried weight.

The cashmere sweater Ryan had gifted me for our first anniversary,soft, expensive, now just fabric.

I folded it anyway, muscles tensing.

Hanging prominently were the matching pajamas from Paris.

Pale blue silk, embroidered with tiny stars. I ran my fingers over them, remembering his laugh as he'd chased me around the hotel suite.

"For our future nights," he'd whispered. A knife twist in my gut.

I stuffed them in fast , not gently.

On the dresser sat the small angel figurine from Italy. Its wings caught the light, innocent and mocking.

I picked it up, the cool porcelain smooth in my palm. We'd argued playfully over its placement, him insisting it belonged in the bedroom . Tears pricked again, but I placed it carefully into the suitcase's side pocket. Not for sentiment,for the memory of who I was before him.

Wall photos stared down: us at the beach, my head thrown back in laughter, his arm possessive around my waist, lips on my temple. The sunset had painted us golden. I didn't touch them. Let him keep the lies.

My breathing grew shallow as I moved to the dresser drawers. Personal belongings next,jewelry box, notebooks, the small stash of research printouts I'd kept here for late nights. My wedding ring caught the light as I opened the top drawer, the diamond glinting coldly. I left it there, a discarded symbol. Then, beneath some scarves, the marriage certificate.

With trembling hands, I picked it up. The paper was crisp, edges slightly worn from the one time I'd shown it to my father. Flipping to the first page revealed two young, radiant faces. My smile was bright, emerald eyes alight with hope. Ryan's blue eyes shone with what I'd thought was pure joy. To become the first couple to receive their marriage certificate that day, we'd woken at four in the morning, queuing in the chilly dawn, sipping coffee from a thermos I'd packed. He'd kissed me under the courthouse lights, promising forever.

I clutched the paper, knuckles whitening, tears threatening to spill once more. The weight of three years pressed down,late nights waiting with warm dinners, sidelined career, family dinners enduring Margaret's judgments and Edward's calculations. My resilient spirit stirred, pushing back the sorrow. This ends today.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs snapped me alert.

My heart stopped. Earlier, I'd heard the garage door rumble open faintly as I'd entered, but in my focus, I'd ignored it. Someone was here.

Before I could react, Vanessa appeared in the doorway. Her platinum-blonde hair was tousled from sleep, her curvy figure barely covered by one of Ryan's oversized shirts. It hung off one shoulder, exposing skin still marked faintly from last night. She leaned against the frame with a smug, predatory smile, one hand resting possessively on her still-flat stomach.

“Well, well. Look who came crawling back,” she sneered, blue eyes glittering with malice. “Couldn’t even last one night without him, huh? Pathetic. No wonder Ryan needed a real woman. You couldn’t even give him a child. Useless. A barren little wife who couldn’t keep her husband satisfied.”

Her words sliced deep. I bit my lip hard, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. Pain grounded me. I refused to break in front of her. My voice came out steady, though my hands shook slightly as I zipped a compartment. “Get out of my way, Vanessa. I’m leaving. I'mnot doing this with you.”

She laughed, a cold, crystalline sound that echoed off the walls. Stepping closer, her bare feet padding on the carpet, she invaded my space. The scent of her perfume,something floral and cloying,mixed with Ryan's. “Leaving? With what? Ryan owns everything here. You’re nothing without him. A washed-up scientist who couldn’t even produce an heir. I’m carrying the Lancaster legacy, and you? You’re just a placeholder I’m replacing.”

My chest tightened, but I kept packing, shoving a stack of notebooks in. The actions kept me focused,fold, place, zip. Don't engage fully. But she wasn't done.

Suddenly, Vanessa grabbed my arm aggressively, her long nails digging into my skin through the blouse. She yanked me forward with surprising strength, her face inches from mine. “You think you can just walk away? After everything? You…”

The sound of the front door opening cut her off. Sharp heels clicked on marble. Ryan's mother, Margaret Lancaster, walked in, elegant and commanding in her tailored cream suit, silver-blonde hair perfectly coiffed, sharp blue eyes scanning the scene like a queen entering her court.

“What is going on here?” Margaret demanded, her voice laced with authority and irritation.

In that instant, Vanessa released me with a theatrical gasp and dramatically fell backward onto the floor, clutching her stomach. Her cry of pain was pitch-perfect, fake sobs wracking her body.

“She pushed me! That vicious bitch pushed me! She tried to hurt my baby,your grandchild!”

I stood frozen in shock, arm throbbing where her nails had left crescents. “I didn’t..I…I didn't even touch her!”

Margaret’s face twisted with fury as she rushed to Vanessa’s side, kneeling in her cream suit without hesitation, helping her up with surprising gentleness.

“How dare you, Vivian! Trying to kill an innocent child because you couldn’t bear one yourself? You useless, barren woman! After everything my son has done for you and your pathetic father’s medical bills. You should be grateful we even let you stay this long.”

The insults landed like physical blows, each one reopening scars. My eyes burned with humiliated tears, but I held my ground, chest heaving with controlled breaths. The suitcase handle dug into my palm as I gripped it tighter. “This is a lie. She grabbed me. She’s manipulating..”

The door suddenly swang opened and Ryan suddenly walked in on the scene, his athletic frame filling the doorway.

Vivian's Pov

The door swung open with a decisive click, and Ryan filled the doorway like a storm cloud rolling in. His athletic frame was still clad in the tailored shirt from last night, sleeves rolled up to reveal the strong forearms I once traced with loving fingers. His dark brown hair was slightly tousled, blue eyes sharp as they swept the room. For a fraction of a second, those eyes landed on me,really landed,and I saw the flicker of something.

Recognition?

Guilt?

It was gone before I could name it, replaced by a cold assessment.

He looked at me, standing there by the half-packed suitcase, my hair escaping its tie in messy strands, my eyes probably red-rimmed from the tears I’d fought back. Then his gaze shifted to Vanessa, crumpled dramatically on the floor, clutching her stomach with those perfectly manicured hands. Platinum-blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, Ryan’s oversized shirt riding up her thighs.

She looked every bit the victim.

Without hesitation, Ryan walked straight past me, his polished shoes silent on the carpet until they stopped beside her.

He dropped to one knee, his hand hovering gently over her shoulder.

“Vanessa, are you okay? What happened?”

His voice was soft, laced with concern that twisted like a knife in my chest. The same voice that had whispered promises to me on our wedding night, that had soothed me when my father’s illness worsened. Now it was for her.I stood frozen, the suitcase handle digging into my palm, my porcelain skin prickling with humiliation.

Vanessa’s eyes welled with fake tears as she looked up at him, her curvy figure trembling just enough to sell the performance. She reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. “Ryan… she…she pushed me. Vivian pushed me hard. I was just trying to talk to her, and she attacked me. The baby… I felt a sharp pain. What if…what if something happens to our child?”

The lie spilled from her lips so smoothly, so convincingly, that even I almost doubted my own memory for a split second. Her nails had dug into my arm moments ago, yanking me forward with venom in her eyes.

But now?

She was the fragile, pregnant mistress, and I was the villain.

Ryan’s head snapped toward me, his handsome face darkening with fury. Those blue eyes, once warm with what I’d foolishly called love, now burned with accusation. He rose slowly, towering over me, his athletic build radiating controlled anger.

“How dare you, Vivian?” His voice was low at first, but it built like thunder.

“If anything happens to the child in Vanessa’s womb, you will be held responsible. Do you understand that? You could have hurt my child,because of your stupid jealousy?”

Each word landed like a slap. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm of pain and disbelief. The room felt smaller, the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows too bright, exposing every crack in my composure. I wanted to scream the truth, to point at the red crescents her nails had left on my arm, but my throat tightened, words trapped behind a wall of shock.

“You better behave yourself if you want to keep staying here,” Ryan continued, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. The scent of his cologne,woody and expensive, the one I’d bought him for his birthday,mixed with the lingering floral notes of Vanessa’s perfume, nauseating me.

“Don’t be more of a burden than you already are. We’ve carried you long enough. Your father’s bills,and your useless research… all of it. But Vanessa is giving me what you never could.”

Burden.

The word echoed in my mind, reopening wounds I’d thought scarred over. Three years of late nights supporting his career, sidelining my own ambitions in biomedical research, enduring family dinners where Margaret’s sharp blue eyes dissected my every flaw. I had poured everything into us, into hoping for a child despite the silent struggles I’d hidden,the doctor visits, the hormone treatments, the quiet tears in sterile rooms. And now this.

My eyes blurred with tears , but I refused to let the tears fall.

Not yet.

My slender fingers trembled as they clutched the suitcase, my long hair falling forward like a curtain I wished could hide me. Pain radiated from my chest, a deep, unrelenting ache that made my knees feel weak.

How did it come to this?

The man I’d loved, the one who’d chased me laughing through Parisian hotel suites in matching silk pajamas, now looked at me like I was nothing.

Ryan turned away from me as if the sight disgusted him. He bent down again, sliding his arms around Vanessa with gentle care that once belonged to me.

She leaned into him, her curvy body pressing close, and as he helped her to her feet, she glanced over his shoulder.

Her eyes met mine, and she smirked,a slow, triumphant curl of her glossy lips that said everything.

I win. You lose.

My stomach churned. The porcelain skin on my face felt hot, flushed with a mix of rage and sorrow. I wanted to lunge forward, to demand justice, but my body betrayed me, rooted in place by the weight of betrayal.

Margaret watched the entire exchange with icy approval. Those sharp blue eyes, so like her son’s, turned to me with pure disdain. No words needed, the look said it all *useless, barren, replaceable*. She straightened her posture like a queen dismissing a servant and walked out without a backward glance, her heels clicking authoritatively on the marble beyond the bedroom.

Ryan guided Vanessa out gently, one hand protectively on her lower back, murmuring soft reassurances.

“Let’s get you somewhere comfortable. I’ll call the doctor for you soon .” The door to the bedroom closed behind them with a soft thud, leaving me utterly alone in the wreckage of what had been our shared life.

I stood there, the silence deafening. Pain crashed over me uncontrollably, wave after wave. My chest heaved as sobs built, raw and guttural. Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and relentless, soaking the simple blouse I’d borrowed from Olivia. My hands shook violently as I pressed one to my flat stomach, remembering the empty hope I’d carried alone.

Why wasn’t I enough?

But I couldn’t stay here.

Not in this house that smelled of betrayal and another woman’s victory.

Gathering the rest of my courage, I straightened, and wiped my face with the back of my hand. My eyes, though red and puffy, hardened with determination in the mirror’s reflection.

This ends now.

I zipped the suitcase with finality, the sound sharp in the quiet room. The marriage certificate stayed behind on the dresser, next to my discarded wedding ring. Symbols of a dead dream.

I moved quietly, slipping out of the bedroom on silent feet. The penthouse echoed with distant murmurs from another room,Ryan’s voice low and soothing, and Vanessa’s soft replies.

Heart pounding, I avoided the main areas, clutching the suitcase handle until my knuckles whitened. Every step toward the elevator felt like walking through quicksand, my slender frame heavy with exhaustion and grief.

The elevator descended smoothly, a cruel contrast to the chaos inside me.

New York’s indifferent hum greeted me as I stepped onto the street, hailing a cab with a trembling hand. The driver didn’t comment on my tear-streaked face or disheveled chestnut hair. I gave Olivia’s address in a hoarse whisper, leaning my head against the cool window as skyscrapers blurred past.

The ride stretched eternally, each block a reminder of the life I was leaving. My mind replayed the scene:

Ryan’s protective arms around her, the disdain in Margaret’s eyes, Vanessa’s smirk. Pain throbbed in my temples, my heart a bruised, fragile thing.

I loved you.

I thought bitterly.

I gave everything.

But love wasn’t enough against ambition, status, and a promised heir.

Olivia’s building came into view, a sanctuary in the quieter part of Manhattan. I paid the driver numbly and dragged the suitcase inside, the wheels rumbling over the threshold like distant thunder. Her door opened before I could knock fully,perhaps she’d been watching for me.

“Vivian?” Olivia’s voice was sharp with concern, her auburn hair still in that messy bun, eyes widening at my state.

I stepped inside and suddenly collapsed against her, the suitcase forgotten on the floor. Sobs tore from my throat, uncontrollable and deep, shaking my entire body. Tears flooded down my cheeks, soaking her shirt as she wrapped her arms around me tightly. My long hair fell messily over my face, sticking to the wet trails.

“He… he believed her, Liv. Without question. Called me a burden. Said I’d be responsible if anything happened to their child.”

Olivia stroked my back, her voice fierce but gentle.

“Shh, I’ve got you. Let it out. They don’t deserve your tears, but you need to release them.”

I cried for the woman I’d been,the hopeful bride queuing at dawn for our marriage certificate, the supportive wife who’d hidden her pain, the scientist whose research had been dismissed as “useless”.

My slender fingers clutched Olivia’s shoulders, nails digging in as another wave hit.

Minutes blurred into what felt like hours.

Olivia guided me to the couch, pressing a glass of water into my hands just as she had the night before. I sipped it shakily, the cool liquid soothing my raw throat. My reflection in a nearby mirror showed a woman transformed by grief: swollen eyes, skin blotchy from crying, and hair in tangles. But there was steel in my gaze now.

“I’m done, Liv,” I whispered, voice breaking but gaining strength. “No more. I’m leaving all of it behind.”

She nodded, squeezing my hand. “I will have the papers ready soon. You’re stronger than them, Viv. You can start afresh.”

Vivian’s POV

My phone buzzed on Olivia’s coffee table, the screen lighting up like an unwelcome intruder in the dim sanctuary of her living room. I was curled up on the couch, still in the same borrowed blouse from yesterday, my hair in a tangled mess that I hadn’t bothered to brush. My eyes felt gritty from another night of tears. The message was from Ryan.

*Family dinner tonight at the estate. 7 PM. Mother insists. Don’t be late.*

No apology.

No explanation.

Just a command, as if the nightmare in the house yesterday had been a minor inconvenience. My stomach twisted. I wanted to hurl the phone across the room, watch it shatter against the wall like my illusions had.

“Why always me ?” I whispered to the empty room. Olivia was at her firm, finalizing the divorce papers like the loyal warrior she was. I stared at the text until the letters blurred.

I didn’t want to go. The thought of their eyes on me made my throat tighten with the metallic taste of rising nausea. Yet, I stood, my bare feet meeting the cool hardwood floor with a soft pad, the chill traveling up my legs. Each step toward the bathroom was deliberate, my slender frame moving with the weary grace of someone carrying invisible chains.

In the bathroom, the fluorescent light buzzed faintly overhead, casting a stark glow on the white tiles that felt cold underfoot. I turned the faucet, and the water roared to life, hot steam rising in fragrant clouds as I added lavender oil. The scent bloomed, floral and calming, filling the small space. I shed my clothes one piece at a time,the blouse fell, then air cooled against my exposed skin. My reflection showed a woman fractured: long chestnut hair dull, emerald eyes shadowed, body slender and unmarked by pregnancy. The touch of my own fingers tracing my stomach was feather-light, yet it triggered a wave of sorrow so profound my knees buckled slightly. I stepped into the tub, the scalding water enveloping my toes, then ankles, calves, thighs, and finally my torso in a burning embrace that made me gasp. The heat seeped into sore muscles, the liquid lapping gently against my skin as I submerged. I took the washcloth, lathering it with soap that smelled of fresh herbs, and scrubbed slowly,arms first, feeling the rough texture glide over faint nail marks, then neck and chest where my heart thudded dully. Suds slid down my back in tickling rivulets as I washed my hair, fingers massaging my scalp with firm circles, the water turning milky as I rinsed. When I emerged, the towel was plush and warm from the rack, absorbing droplets that traced cool paths down my legs.

I dressed carefully, choosing a simple emerald-green dress that matched my eyes,the one Ryan had once said made me look like a goddess stepping out of the sea. Irony tasted bitter on my tongue. My porcelain skin still bore faint red marks from Vanessa’s nails on my arm. I covered them with concealer, but the bruises on my heart had no makeup.

The cab smelled of old leather and faint air freshener. The engine’s low rumble vibrated through the seat as skyscrapers blurred past, the city’s honks and lights a chaotic symphony outside the window. My fingers traced the divorce papers inside the clutch, the paper crisp and sharp under my touch.

By the time the wrought-iron gates opened, my slender fingers were clenched so tightly around my clutch that my knuckles ached. I stepped out, the evening breeze carrying the scent of roses and wealth.

Fake.

Everything here was fake.

The grand dining hall glowed under crystal chandeliers.

The grand dining hall glowed under crystal chandeliers. Margaret presided at the head like a silver-blonde empress, Edward, Ryan's father, beside her with his calculating gray eyes. A few distant relatives and business associates filled the seats, their conversations a low hum of power and pretense. Ryan sat at the other end, looking devastatingly handsome in a crisp white shirt, his dark brown hair perfectly styled, blue eyes scanning the room with that CEO authority.

I took a seat near the middle, feeling every pair of eyes on me like judgment lasers. No one greeted me warmly. Whispers rippled.

*The wife who can’t give an heir. The burden*

Then she appeared.