Vivienne
"Roman West, my dear son… he did it!"
Phoebe, my mother-in-law, let out a scream that pierced through the heavy, oppressive quiet of the Mansion.
I was standing at the grand dining table, my fingers moving mechanically as I folded napkins to set the table for a dinner I had spent hours preparing.
When the sound of her voice hit me, I froze for a heartbeat, my breath catching in my throat. Then, I hurried toward the living room, the frantic sound of my slippers hitting the polished marble floor echoing the sudden racing of my heart.
There, on the massive 82-inch television, was my husband. A sharp-looking reporter was interviewing Roman.
The headline flashed boldly in a ticker across the bottom of the screen: "WEST TECHNOLOGIES SECURES BILLION-DOLLAR DEAL WITH SINCLAIR CONGLOMERATE."
A massive swell of pride rose in my chest. I couldn't help but let a smile spread across my face.
Finally, after all the sacrifices, he had secured the huge deal we had been working toward for years. The core ideas, the complex strategies, and the technical plans that had taken months of sleepless nights to perfect—they were mine.
They were mine before we had even met, and long before we were ever married. I had poured my soul into those innovations before I chose to become a housewife to support his dreams.
When Roman first saw my work, he was captivated by the brilliance of the idea. Together, we had developed it, but behind the scenes, I had played the major roles—offering every crucial suggestion, every technical tweak, and the deep insights that transformed a concept into a billion-dollar reality.
Now, finally, the success was ours to share.
The interviewer beamed at Roman, leaning forward as she asked another question. "Now that you have secured this monumental deal with the Sinclair company, did you ever expect this kind of astronomical success?"
Roman adjusted himself on the elegant leather couch, looking relaxed and commanding. He shook his head, his dark hair catching the studio lights. "Never did I imagine that I would reach this kind of success. It's like a dream. I went from a small startup to leading a multi-billion dollar company."
The interviewer nodded in rapt agreement. "That's truly incredible. So, during the planning phases, was there any support from anyone? Your team? Anyone at all who helped bring this innovation to life?"
I held my breath, my lungs tight. I subconsciously rubbed my fingers against the silver spoon I was still holding from the table.
Now was the time to let the world know the kind of genius his wife was. Surely, in his moment of ultimate triumph, he would acknowledge my hard work. He had to.
"It was all me," Roman said, his smile never faltering for a single second. As he spoke, he rubbed his hand through his dark hair—the subtle tell I knew so well. It was what he always did after telling a bald-faced lie.
His stormy grey eyes met the camera with a look of practiced sincerity. Then, he mentioned a name I never expected to hear come out of his mouth. "The only person who actually helped me during this process was Isabella Sinclair. It was thanks to her support and her brilliance that I got this deal."
My heart jumped so hard against my ribs that it felt painful. It felt like all the oxygen had been punched out of my lungs. Isabella? The Sinclair heiress? He was publicly crediting her instead of me, when I was the one who had shaped the very DNA of the technology that made him rich.
I wanted to scream at the television, but I was silenced by the sight of Phoebe crying in excitement, her face flushed with pride because her son had achieved something remarkable.
"So the heiress herself helped you achieve this great technology?" the interviewer continued, her voice filled with admiration.
Roman nodded firmly. "It was all thanks to her help."
"Oh, bless that sweet soul!" Phoebe said suddenly, clapping her hands together with a look of pure joy. "She is an absolute angel."
A deep frown formed on my face as I stood in the shadows, watching her praise Isabella over and over again.
My sister-in-law, Cassandra, who stood beside her with a smug expression, nodded in agreement.
I had only met Isabella Sinclair once, back when Roman first started the project. He had introduced her simply as a business partner. Now, he was handing over the credit for my years of labor to her.
I clenched the spoon in my hand so hard my knuckles turned white. My hand began to shake, and the spoon slipped, clattering loudly against the marble floor. The sound drew the attention of everyone in the room.