Vivienne's POV
Celeste is standing in my living room, and she's smiling like she just won the lottery.
"Surprise!" she says, spreading her arms wide. "I know I said 2:00 PM, but I just couldn't wait!"
The doorbell rang thirty seconds ago. Now she's here, in my home, looking at Damien like he's a prize she's about to claim.
But then she says something that makes the whole world stop.
"That night seven years ago?" Celeste's smile grows wider. "The night you two got married because of the 'pregnancy scare'? Yeah, about that..." She laughs. "There was no pregnancy, Viv. There never was. I made the whole thing up."
The room spins. "What?"
"You were so drunk that night, you passed out in the garden. Nothing happened between you and Damien. Nothing at all." Celeste shrugs like she's talking about the weather. "But I saw the way he looked at you that night—like you were the only person in the world. It made me sick. So I lied. I told you that you slept with him. I convinced you that you might be pregnant. And you believed me."
I can't breathe. I literally cannot breathe.
"Why?" The word comes out as a whisper.
"Because I wanted him!" Celeste snaps, her sweet mask finally cracking. "He was mine first! But then he broke up with me and spent the whole night talking to you. Perfect, boring Vivienne who always gets to be the responsible one, the good one, the one everyone depends on!" She laughs bitterly. "So I ruined it. I trapped you both in a marriage built on a lie. And you know what? It worked. You've been miserable for seven years."
I turn to Damien. He's standing frozen, his face completely white.
"You knew," I whisper. "That phone call last night. You knew she was coming to tell me."
"Vivienne—" he starts.
"DID YOU KNOW?" I scream.
His silence is my answer.
The betrayal crashes over me like a wave. Both of them. Both of them have been lying to me for seven years.
"I'm done," I say, my voice shaking. "I'm done with both of you."
I walk past Celeste, past Damien, straight to my bedroom. I hear Damien tell Celeste to leave. I hear her laugh as she walks out. I hear the door slam.
I don't care. I don't care about any of it anymore.
I pull out my phone with trembling hands and search for divorce lawyers. The name Simone Reeves pops up—"The toughest divorce lawyer in the city." I call her office.
"I need an appointment," I say when someone answers. "Today. Right now. I don't care what it costs."
Two hours later, I'm sitting in a fancy law office across from a woman who looks like she eats weak men for breakfast.
Simone Reeves is about fifty, with sharp eyes and perfect red lipstick. She listens to my story without interrupting. When I finish, she leans back in her chair.
"Let me get this straight," she says. "You've been married for seven years to a billionaire who's been emotionally neglecting you. The marriage was based on a lie told by your manipulative sister. And now you want out."
"Yes."
"And you don't want anything from him? No money? No alimony? Nothing?"
"I just want my freedom."
Simone smiles. It's not a nice smile. It's a shark's smile.
"Mrs. Sterling, I'm going to be honest with you. Your husband is one of the richest men in this city. You're entitled to at least half of everything he's earned during your marriage. We're talking hundreds of millions of dollars."
"I don't want his money. I never wanted his money."
"Then what do you want?"
The question hangs in the air. What do I want?
"I want him to sign the papers quickly," I say finally. "I want to disappear. I want to stop feeling like I'm dying a little bit every day."
Simone's expression softens slightly. "Alright. I'll draft the papers today. You can have them by tomorrow morning. But Mrs. Sterling?" She leans forward. "Men like Damien Sterling don't let go easily. Especially not when they realize what they're losing. Are you prepared for him to fight this?"
"He won't fight," I say. "He doesn't even want me."
But even as I say it, I remember the look on his face when Celeste revealed the truth. He didn't look happy. He looked devastated.
No. I'm not going to think about that. I'm not going to wonder or hope or imagine. I'm done.
I sign the retainer agreement and leave the office. It's almost 6:00 PM. I need to pack. I need to leave before I lose my nerve.
When I get back to the penthouse, Damien isn't home yet. Perfect.
I pull out suitcases and start throwing clothes in them. I don't fold anything. I don't care. I just need to get out.
Seven years of my life. Seven years of hoping and waiting and loving someone who was never really mine. Seven years that I'll never get back.
I'm in the closet, grabbing more clothes, when I hear the front door open.
"Vivienne?" Damien's voice echoes through the penthouse. "Vivienne, where are you?"
I freeze. My heart starts racing.
Heavy footsteps come down the hallway. Fast. Almost running.
My bedroom door flies open. Damien stands there, breathing hard like he's been sprinting. His eyes find the suitcases on the bed.
"What are you doing?" His voice is strange. Tight. Almost scared.
"What does it look like?" I keep packing. "I'm leaving."
"No." He crosses the room in three long strides. "No, you're not."
"You can't stop me."
"Vivienne, please. We need to talk about—"
"Talk?" I spin around to face him. "NOW you want to talk? After seven years of silence? After you knew the truth about that night and never told me?"
"I can explain—"
"I don't want your explanations!" Tears are running down my face, but I don't care anymore. "I want a divorce. I met with a lawyer today. You'll have the papers by tomorrow."
The color drains from his face. "You met with a lawyer."
"Simone Reeves. She's drawing up the papers right now."
"Simone Reeves?" He laughs, but it sounds broken. "You hired the most vicious divorce attorney in the city?"
"I hired someone who'll make this fast. I'm asking for nothing, Damien. No money. No alimony. Nothing. I just want out."
"I'm not signing." His voice is hard now. Final.
"Yes, you will."
"No," he says, stepping closer. "I won't."
For the first time in seven years, we're standing face to face, really looking at each other. His eyes are wild. Desperate. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides like he's physically holding himself back from grabbing me.
"Why?" I whisper. "Why won't you just let me go? You don't love me. You never did. Celeste is back. You can finally be with who you really want."
"I don't want Celeste!" he shouts. The words echo off the walls. "I have never wanted Celeste!"
"Then why did you keep her picture in your desk?"
His eyes widen. "You went through my desk?"
"Why did you keep it, Damien? Why did you carry around a photo from her graduation party if you don't love her?"
"Because—" He stops. Runs his hands through his hair. Looks like he's being torn apart from the inside. "Because you're in that picture too."
I freeze. "What?"
"Look at it again," he says quietly. "Really look at it. The crease down the middle? That's because I folded it. I folded Celeste out of the frame because I didn't want to see her. I only wanted to see you."
My hands shake as I pull the photograph out of my pocket. I look at it again. Really look at it.
The crease is right through the middle—right through Celeste's face. If you folded the photo along that line, Celeste would disappear. And in the background, slightly out of focus but still visible, is...
Me.
I'm in the background of this photo. Sitting on a bench in the garden. Looking sad and alone.
"I took this picture that night," Damien says, his voice rough. "After we talked for hours. After you fell asleep on that bench because you drank too much. You looked so peaceful. So beautiful. I couldn't stop looking at you." He swallows hard. "Celeste jumped into the frame at the last second, trying to get my attention. But I didn't take that picture for her. I took it for you."
The photograph falls from my hands.
"You're lying," I whisper.
"I've lied about a lot of things," Damien says. "But never about this. Never about how I feel about you."
"How you feel about me?" I laugh bitterly. "You don't feel anything about me! You ignore me! You sleep in a different room! You forget our anniversary!"
"Because I'm a coward!" His voice breaks. "Because I've spent seven years terrified that if I got close to you, you'd realize you only married me out of obligation. That you'd leave. That I'd lose you." He takes a shaking breath. "Turns out I was right. You're leaving anyway."
I stare at him. This can't be real. This can't be happening.
"It's too late," I whisper. "Seven years too late."
I zip up my suitcase and grab the handle. I walk past him toward the door.
"Vivienne." His hand catches my wrist. Gentle. Desperate. "Please. Don't go."
I look down at his hand on my wrist. It's the first time he's touched me in years.
"Let me go, Damien."
"I can't." His voice is barely a whisper. "I've let you go for seven years. I can't do it anymore."
I pull my wrist free and walk out of the bedroom. Down the hallway. Toward the front door.
Behind me, I hear him say one more thing: "I love you. I've loved you since that night in the garden. I'll love you until the day I die."
I stop walking. My hand is on the door handle.
But I don't turn around.
I open the door and walk out, dragging my suitcase behind me.
The door closes.
And I leave behind the only man I've ever loved.