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.

Vivian's pov

Then she appeared.

Vanessa.

From a side door, gliding in like she belonged, her curvy figure poured into a tight red dress that screamed seduction rather than pregnancy glow. Her platinum-blonde hair cascaded in perfect waves, and she carried herself with triumphant malice.

She wasn’t even supposed to be here,this was a “family” dinner..but of course she was.

“Well..well…well..How brave of you to show up. Still hoping to play the devoted wife?”

Vanessa purred, stopping beside my chair before I could even settle. Her voice was low enough for only me to hear, but loud enough to draw curious glances.

“Still clinging on? How adorable. Did you come to beg for scraps? Or maybe to offer yourself as a nanny for my baby? Since, you know… you couldn’t bake one yourself.”

The words hit like a slap. I gripped the of my dress, my heart pounding a furious rhythm. Pain bloomed fresh in my chest, hot and sharp.

*Breathe, Vivian. Don’t let her see you break.*

But my eyes stung. Three years of love reduced to this public humiliation.

“Vanessa,” I said, voice steady despite the tremor in my throat, “this isn’t the time or place. I’m here to talk to Ryan.”

She laughed, a light, tinkling sound that drew Ryan’s attention.

“Oh, honey. There’s never a wrong time to remind you of your place. Useless. Barren. Replaceable. I'm sure you cried like a child yesterday. Pathetic.”

“But….”

Her hand shot out suddenly, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. Nails dug in again, reopening old marks.Then she yanked and flung herself back, body hitting the side table with a crash of glassware, Then she suddenly hit the floor with a gasp, clutching her stomach.

“She pushed me! The baby!”

“Oh God!” she cried out, voice pitching into pitiful sobs. Tears,real-looking ones spilled down her cheeks.

“Vivian, why? I was just trying to be civil! The baby… it hurts!”

Chaos erupted.

Ryan appeared from nowhere, striding across the room like a knight to his damsel. His athletic frame moved with purpose, blue eyes flashing with fury as they landed on Vanessa crumpled on the floor, then snapped to me still seated, wrist throbbing.

Ryan rushed , dropping to his knees beside her, his strong arms enveloping her protectively. “Vanessa! Are you alright?” His voice, once my solace, now twisted the knife.

“Vivian!” His voice cracked like a whip. He dropped beside Vanessa, helping her up with the same gentle care that used to be mine. “What the hell did you do? I warned you yesterday!”

“I didn’t…” My words died as the entire table turned to stare. Despise poured from every direction. Margaret’s sharp blue eyes could have frozen hell. Edward looked mildly annoyed, as if I were a faulty spreadsheet. The relatives murmured disapproval, a comedy of judgmental eyebrows and whispered “Of course she did” that would have been hilarious if it wasn’t my life collapsing in real time.

Margaret’s fury erupted. “You vicious, barren woman! Trying to harm an innocent child because you’re jealous and useless”

“Vivian , you have embarrassed this family for the last time. Attacking a pregnant woman? In my house? You barren, jealous little nobody. If you couldn’t give my son an heir, the least you could do is disappear quietly instead of trying to murder the future of the Lancaster line!”

Vivian's pov

“I didn’t…” My words died as the entire table turned to stare. Despise poured from every direction. Margaret’s sharp blue eyes could have frozen hell. Edward looked mildly annoyed, as if I were a faulty spreadsheet. The relatives murmured disapproval, a comedy of judgmental eyebrows and whispered “Of course she did” that would have been hilarious if it wasn’t my life collapsing in real time.

Margaret’s fury erupted. “You vicious, barren woman! Trying to harm an innocent child because you’re jealous and useless”

“Vivian , you have embarrassed this family for the last time. Attacking a pregnant woman? In my house? You barren, jealous little nobody. If you couldn’t give my son an heir, the least you could do is disappear quietly instead of trying to murder the future of the Lancaster line!”

The insults rained down, each one more vicious, delivered with theatrical flair that bordered on absurd.Aunt Sam, Ryan's aunt, actually gasped and clutched her pearls,literal pearls.

*Comedic timing, Margaret. Oscar-worthy.*

I wanted to laugh at the absurdity, at how this elite family was performing a soap opera while my world burned, but the pain choked it back. My slender shoulders shook. Hot tears welled, but I blinked them away furiously. My porcelain skin flushed crimson under their collective scorn.

Ryan helped Vanessa into a chair, his hand lingering protectively on her back. He shot me a warning glare.

“Behave yourself, Vivian. Or so help me, you’ll regret it. We’ve tolerated your… issues long enough. Vanessa is carrying my child. My heir. Show some damn respect.”

The table nodded in agreement.

A cousin of Ryan smirked. Someone chuckled under their breath. The humiliation was so thick I could taste it,bitter, metallic, like blood from a bitten lip. I pressed a trembling hand to my flat stomach, remembering sterile doctor rooms and quiet hopes dashed.

*Why wasn’t I enough? Why am I the villain in my own story?*

The dinner commenced amid the chaos, but the humiliation only intensified. Servants served the first course,delicate salads with glistening vinaigrette. I moved my fork mechanically, lifting a leaf to my lips but tasting nothing but ash. My slender hand shook slightly as I chewed, the motion slow and deliberate, each bite a struggle against nausea. Vanessa, recovered and seated triumphantly beside Ryan, ate with pretentious delicacy, dabbing her lips after every bite, her free hand constantly caressing her stomach while shooting me smug glances.

Margaret, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned forward with a smile that didn’t reach her sharp blue eyes.

“Vivian, dear, pass the wine, would you? Though I suppose it’s better you don’t indulge too much. We wouldn’t want any more… accidents tonight.”

The table erupted in polite, knowing laughter. A distant uncle raised his glass in mock toast. “To avoid more drama!”

Ryan chuckled along, his eyes flicking to me with a mix of irritation and dark amusement. He cut into his steak with precise, powerful strokes, the same hands that once held me tenderly now gesturing dismissively in my direction.

“Mother’s right. Let’s keep things civil. Vivian, you’ve always been… sensitive. Try to enjoy the meal instead of causing scenes.”

Vanessa shifted beside him like the queen she imagined herself to be, dabbed at her eyes with a silk napkin, her curvy figure leaning into Ryan’s side.

“It’s okay, Ryan. I forgive her. Pregnancy hormones make me emotional too, but I’d never lash out like that.” Her voice dripped false sweetness, but her eyes shot daggers at me when others looked away. She rubbed her stomach in slow circles, a performance that drew sympathetic coos from the aunts.

I forced a bite down, the food tasted like sawdust.

Ryan ate heartily, his jaw working with satisfaction, occasionally feeding Vanessa a bite in a display of affection that made my chest constrict. She accepted with exaggerated moans of delight, her curvy body leaning into him, red dress shimmering under the lights.

Flashbacks suddenly assaulted me,our first family dinner here, where Ryan had squeezed my hand under the table and whispered how beautiful I looked. Now that same table felt like a battlefield. My long hair fell forward as I bowed my head slightly, trying to hide the fresh wave of pain radiating through my chest. Each breath hurts. My slender fingers trembled around the stem of my water glass.

Edward cleared his throat, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the chandelier light as he fixed me with a stern gaze.

“The Lancaster Group doesn’t tolerate weakness, Vivian. Your little research projects were charming at first, but a real partner supports the empire. Vanessa understands that.” He gestured toward her with his knife, as if she were exhibit A in my trial.

More chuckles rippled. Ana, Ryan's cousin, leaned in conspiratorially.

“Remember when Vivian tried to explain her molecular biology thesis at last year’s gala? Adorable, but hardly relevant to boardroom decisions.” The humor was cutting, laced with elitist superiority that made my blood boil beneath the grief.

Hours seemed to pass in that dining hall, though the clock on the wall insisted it was only minutes ticking by. Course after course arrived,salads glistening with truffle oil, rich soups, decadent desserts,but I barely touched any.

Every interaction amplified the torment. Margaret recounted stories of “proper Lancaster wives” who had produced multiple heirs, each anecdote a veiled barb aimed at my barrenness. Ryan occasionally defended me with half-hearted words that felt worse than outright cruelty.

“She tried her best”only to follow up with reminders of my “usefulness” in public appearances.

Vanessa monopolizes conversations, sharing fabricated tales of her and Ryan’s “connection” that made my stomach churn. “He’s been so attentive,” she sighed dramatically, placing her hand over his.

“The way he rushes home now… it’s like we’re newlyweds all over again.” Ryan smiles, but I caught the flicker of guilt he quickly masked. Or was it just my desperate imagination?

My mind wandered to happier times during the lulls. Paris. The matching pajamas. Waking up to his laughter. The marriage certificate day, queuing at dawn full of hope. Each memory contrasted brutally with the present, twisting the knife deeper. Tears pricked constantly, but I refused to let them fall.

*Not here. Not for them to mock.*

The comedy of the absurdity peaked when one aunt suggested I take up “charity work for infertile women” as a hobby. The table burst into genuine laughter, as if it were the wittiest remark of the evening. Ryan joined in, his athletic shoulders shaking. Vanessa’s triumphant smirk was the final straw.

Anger surged through the grief, hot and clarifying. I stood up without thinking, the chair scraping loudly against the marble. My long hair swung with the motion, eyes blazing despite the tears threatening to spill.

“Enough!” My voice rang out, stronger than I felt. The room quieted, shocked by the outburst from the usually compliant wife.

“I want a divorce, Ryan. Right here. Right now. I’m done being your accessory, your burden, your scapegoat. Sign the papers and let me go.”I said in a hoarse voice.