Vivienne's POV
I'm standing outside Damien's study with his coffee, and my hand won't stop shaking.
It's 7:00 AM. I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard his voice: "Don't tell Vivienne yet." Over and over, like a nightmare I can't wake up from.
But this morning, I made a decision. I'm going to stop being paranoid. Maybe that phone call was about work. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe I'm creating problems that don't exist because I'm tired and emotional and scared.
Maybe I'm just being crazy.
I take a deep breath and knock on the study door. No answer. I push it open carefully.
The room is empty. Damien's already left for the office, probably before the sun even came up. His coffee from yesterday sits cold on the desk, untouched. The one I brought him yesterday. The one before that. A whole row of cold coffee cups I keep bringing like some sad ritual he doesn't even notice.
I walk in and set the fresh cup down. I should leave. I should go back to my room and pretend everything is fine.
But I don't.
Instead, I stand there, looking at his desk. Papers everywhere. Files stacked high. His laptop closed. Everything neat and organized, just like him. Cold and perfect and distant.
That's when I see it.
His desk drawer is open. Just a crack. Like he left in such a hurry this morning that he forgot to close it all the way.
I shouldn't look. It's not my business. These are his private things.
But my hand moves before my brain can stop it. I pull the drawer open.
Inside are the normal things—pens, business cards, a leather notebook. But there's something else. Something that makes my heart stop.
A photograph.
It's old, the edges worn and soft like it's been held a thousand times. The colors are faded. There's a crease down the middle, like it's been folded and unfolded over and over.
I pick it up with trembling fingers.
It's from Celeste's graduation party. Seven years ago. The night that changed everything.
In the photo, Celeste is front and center, beautiful and glowing in her graduation dress. Her smile is huge. Her arms are spread wide like she's celebrating. She looks so happy, so alive, so perfect.
And in the background, slightly out of focus, is Damien.
He's looking at something outside the frame. His face is serious, almost sad. But he's there. In Celeste's graduation photo. A photo he's kept for seven years.
My legs give out. I sink into his desk chair, still holding the picture.
He's kept this all these years. Hidden in his drawer. A photo of my sister from the night before we got married.
The paper is worn smooth in places, like fingers have traced over it again and again. The crease down the middle is deep, like he's folded it to fit in his wallet, carrying it with him.
"Oh God," I whisper.
It's real. Everything I feared is real. He's been in love with Celeste this whole time. Seven years of marriage, and he's been keeping her picture in his desk, looking at it, remembering her.
I was right. I've always been right. I'm just the replacement. The consolation prize. The woman he married because he had to, not because he wanted to.
Hot tears roll down my cheeks. I don't even try to stop them anymore.
Seven years I've loved him. Seven years I've hoped. Seven years I've waited for him to see me, really see me, the way he obviously still sees her.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out, and my stomach drops.
It's Celeste: "Good morning! Still coming over at 2:00 PM! Is Damien going to be home? I'd love to see him!
The heart emoji feels like she's stabbing me.
I look at the photo again. At Celeste's beautiful, happy face. At Damien in the background, looking lost and alone.
Is this what he sees when he looks at this picture? Does he remember how perfect she was? Does he regret choosing me?
Another text from Celeste: "I've been thinking about him SO much lately. Seven years is a long time, but some connections never really die, you know? 😊"
My hands clench around the photo. Some connections never really die.
She knows. Somehow, she knows he still has feelings for her. Maybe he told her. Maybe they've been talking this whole time, planning, waiting for the right moment.
Maybe I'm the only one who didn't know.
I stand up, still holding the photograph. I should put it back. I should pretend I never saw it. But I can't. I physically cannot put this picture back in that drawer and pretend my marriage isn't a lie.
I walk out of the study and down the hall to my bedroom. I open my laptop and search for divorce lawyers in the city.
The screen fills with options. Simone Reeves Law Firm catches my eye—"Ruthless Representation for Complex Divorces." Five-star reviews. A woman lawyer who doesn't mess around.
Perfect.
I click on her contact page, my heart pounding so hard I feel sick.
But before I can type anything, I hear the front door open.
Damien's home. In the middle of the morning. He never comes home during work hours. Never.
"Vivienne?" he calls out. His voice sounds weird. Stressed. Urgent.
I shove the photograph into my pocket and close my laptop. My heart is racing.
"In here," I call back, trying to sound normal.
His footsteps come down the hallway fast. Too fast. Something's wrong.
He appears in my doorway, and I barely recognize him. His tie is loose. His hair is messy. His eyes are wild, desperate.
"We need to talk," he says.
Those four words. The four words everyone fears.
"About what?" I ask, even though I know. I know exactly what this is about.
Celeste. He's going to tell me about Celeste. He's going to ask for a divorce so he can be with her. That phone call last night—he was planning this. Planning how to break my heart as gently as possible.
"I—" He stops, running his hand through his hair. "Something happened. Something I didn't expect. And I need to tell you before you hear it from someone else."
"Just say it," I whisper. "Whatever it is, just say it."
He takes a step closer. His eyes lock on mine, and I see something in them I've never seen before. Fear. Real, genuine fear.
"Your sister called my office this morning," he says.
My whole body goes cold.
"She's back in the city," he continues. "And she wants to see me. She said..." He swallows hard. "She said it's time we all stopped pretending."
Stopped pretending. Stopped pretending what? That he doesn't love her? That our marriage is real?
"She's coming here at 2:00 PM," Damien says. "To the penthouse. She said she has something important to tell both of us. Something about the night we got married."
The room tilts. The photograph in my pocket feels like it's burning through my clothes.
"What could she possibly have to tell us about that night?" I ask, my voice shaking.
Damien's jaw clenches. "I don't know. But Vivienne..." He takes another step closer, and his hand reaches out like he wants to touch me but stops himself. "Whatever she says, whatever happens today, I need you to know—"
My phone rings, cutting him off. We both look down at the screen.
It's Celeste. Calling right now, like she knew we were talking about her.
"Answer it," Damien says quietly. "Put it on speaker."
My hand trembles as I accept the call and tap the speaker button.
"Vivienne! And Damien too, I hope!" Celeste's cheerful voice fills the room. "I'm so glad I caught you both! Listen, I'm coming over early. Like, now. I'm already in the car. I just couldn't wait anymore."
"Celeste, what's this about?" I manage to ask.
She laughs, but it doesn't sound happy. It sounds sharp. Dangerous.
"Oh, you know. Just some truth that's seven years overdue." Her voice drops lower. "I think it's time you both knew what really happened that night. The real reason you got married. Because spoiler alert, Viv—it wasn't what you think."
The line goes dead.
I stare at Damien. He stares back at me.
"What does she mean?" I whisper. "What really happened?"
But before he can answer, the doorbell rings.
She's here. Celeste is here.
And whatever she's about to tell us is going to destroy everything.