"Comrade Vivienne Devereux, the organization has assigned you to a classified research mission. Your identity will be erased, and you’ll live under a new name. Are you sure you don’t need more time to reconsider?"

Vivienne lowered her gaze, slipping a hand into her pocket. Her fingers tightened around her phone as it buzzed relentlessly.

She didn’t need to check to know who it was.

Taking a deep breath, she looked up and nodded.

"No need to reconsider."

"I’ve dedicated years to this. This is what I’ve worked for and been waiting for. I’m willing to serve my country; nothing else matters."

"But there are rumors… about your engagement to Rafael—"

Vivienne cut them off with a calm shake of her head. "Baseless gossip. It never happened."

"If that’s your final decision, then prepare yourself. As a secret researcher, your identity and household records will be erased. From this moment on, Vivienne will no longer exist in this world."

As she walked home, her superior’s words echoed in her mind.

She was finally about to gain her freedom.

She told herself she should be happy. She should feel relief.

Yet, as her fingers hovered over the lock, the sharp, breathless sounds from inside made her pause.

Vivienne unlocked her phone, scrolling through dozens of unread messages.

The surveillance footage flickered to life, her fiancé, Rafael, tangled in Freya Ludwig’s embrace, their bodies pressed together in shameless indulgence.

On Rafael’s left middle finger glinted the ring she had given him when she turned eighteen, bought with her first hard-earned paycheck.

She had always known about Freya.

But this was the first time he had brought her into their home, to their bed.

"Brother, this ring is in the way. Can I take it off?"

Freya’s voice dripped with saccharine sweetness, her pout feigned innocence.

Before Rafael could answer, she reached up, fingers grazing the band.

A slow, disdainful smirk curled at his lips.

"Freya, your hands were made for playing the piano. You shouldn’t have to touch trash like this."

With a flick of his fingers, he ripped off the ring himself and tossed it aside as if even its presence disgusted him.

"Brother, you’re so good to me," Freya cooed, climbing onto his lap, her arms looping around his neck.

"Come on, let’s continue."

Rafael pushed her beneath him, their bodies melting into one, the sight searing into Vivienne’s vision.

There were countless videos. But in the end, she didn’t have the courage to watch them all.

The last message was a voice recording.

"Sister Vivienne, I’m at home with Brother. Don’t come back just yet, okay? If you interrupt us, Brother will get mad."

Rafael’s impatient voice cut through in the background.

"Why are you even bothering with her? Come here."

The moans inside the house grew louder, shameless, and unrestrained.

But this time, Vivienne felt nothing.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, staring at the locked door, her fingers ice-cold against the fingerprint scanner.

Then, the villa door creaked open.

Freya stepped out, draped in nothing but a slip dress, her skin stained with fresh, crimson love marks.

She met Vivienne’s gaze, a slow smirk curling at her lips.

"Oh, it’s you, Sister. Didn’t I tell you not to come back?" She tilted her head, feigning concern before her voice dipped into mockery.

"What are you doing here?" Her eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. "Setting yourself up for pain?"

From inside, Rafael’s indifferent voice rang out.

"Since she’s here, have her go buy some. You must be tired. Go lie down and rest."

Freya hummed in agreement, then turned to Vivienne with a saccharine smile.

"Sister, we ran out of condoms. Could you buy us two more boxes?"

Vivienne’s mind buzzed, her ears ringing.

The disheveled sofa, the tangled sheets, the unmistakable scent of betrayal, each detail cut into her like a blade.

Slowly, she turned, locking eyes with Rafael.

He sat there lazily, his shirt askew, his expression unreadable.

"If you hate me so much, why did you marry me?"

Rafael’s lips curled into a smirk, cold and merciless.

"I married you to torment you, obviously. What, did you think it was out of love?"

He leaned forward, voice laced with mockery.

"You’re the pathetic one here. Otherwise, why did you agree to marry me?"

He stood, closing the space between them in a single stride.

The warmth she once knew in his gaze had long turned to ice, a cruel stranger replacing the boy she had once loved.

Back in their youth, their love had burned recklessly, lighting up the entire school.

Never had she imagined they would go from breathless confessions to venomous enemies.

His fingers clamped around her chin, yanking her back to the present.

A sharp sting shot through her jaw, but the pain was nothing compared to the words that followed.

"Did you forget?"

"Your mother’s ashes are still with me."

"If you dare go back on your word, I’ll scatter them immediately."

A sharp crack echoed through the room.

Vivienne struck with full force, her palm colliding against Rafael’s cheek. His head jerked to the side from the impact.

She had long accepted that he despised her. He could humiliate her, trample on her dignity, but there was one line he could never cross: her mother.

Her body trembled with fury; hands clenched into fists as she spat through gritted teeth, "Rafael, even killers have their limits. If you want my life, take it, but my mother? You are not allowed to speak a single word about her!"

Her eyes burned red, veins surfacing beneath the whites. Her mother had been Rafael’s father's trusted secretary.

She had met Rafael at seventeen. He was sixteen.

Back then, they were just high schoolers. She was a year ahead, and he trailed behind her like a shadow, calling her “sister” over and over again.

Vivienne had always been delicate, a quiet beauty who often received love letters from admirers.

Rafael had torn them all apart.

From that day forward, he never left her side. Even when she moved on to university, he followed.

For a time, their love had been untouchable, sweet, and reckless.

But happiness never lasted long.

Rafael’s mother died in a fire. A raging inferno had swallowed their home whole, reducing everything to ash.

His mother never made it out alive. Neither did hers.

But the most bewildering part was that, in her final moments, Vivienne's mother had thrown herself into the flames to save Rafael’s father.

The case was cloaked in mystery, tangled in rumors the media hungrily devoured. They claimed Vivienne’s mother had been Rafael’s father’s mistress, caught in a scandalous affair by his mother. Consumed by rage and humiliation, she had allegedly set the house ablaze, dragging them all into a tragic inferno.

Vivienne would never forget that night. The way Rafael had crumbled before her, his agony raw and unrestrained, his bloodshot eyes filled with a torment that cut straight to the soul.

He had stared at her in devastation while she, drowning in her own grief, had sobbed until her body could no longer take it, collapsing into unconsciousness over and over.

"Vivienne, I hate you."

"I will make you pay for this!"

He had caged her in his world, stripping her of any chance to grieve. Not even her mother’s funeral had been hers to arrange.

By the time he had let her go a week later, it had been too late; her mother’s ashes were already gone, taken by Rafael’s hands.

He had used them as a chain, locking her to him forever.

To suffer. To endure. To make amends for his mother’s death for the rest of her life.

To outsiders, despite the scandal that had tarnished the Moretti name, Rafael never abandoned Vivienne. Their love was seen as tragic yet unwavering, a story so moving that even the heavens seemed to mourn for them.

But only Vivienne knew the truth; these past years, she had lived worse than a stray dog.

Still, this torment, this humiliation, would all come to an end soon, wouldn't it?

Rafael hadn't expected the slap. By the time the sting registered, she had already turned on her heel, walking straight out of the villa.

The sky shifted in an instant, dark clouds gathering as the wind roared through the streets.

Vivienne pulled her coat tighter and braced against the cold.

A sharp gust sent a grain of sand into her eye, making her stop in her tracks. She rubbed at it with her fingers, but the sting only worsened.

And just like that, a memory surfaced.

A spring long ago. The wind had been just as cruel, the sand just as relentless.

That time, Rafael had lifted her face with the gentlest touch, carefully parting her eyelid.

Then, he had softly blown into her eye.

"It's okay, Vivienne. Don't be scared."

The warmth of that moment faded into the cold of the present.

Vivienne stopped in front of a hotel. She had no desire to go home. Tonight, this place would do

Not a single message came from Rafael.

Not a word of concern.

Instead, her phone lit up with an unexpected call.

Freya, seizing the chance while Rafael wasn’t paying attention, had dialed her, and all night long, Vivienne was forced to listen to gasps and moans that made her stomach turn.

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.