Chapter 3

The black sedan sped through the night at high speed. Inside the suffocating silence, Dominic gripped the steering wheel so tightly that the veins on his hands bulged visibly. The moment the car stopped in front of their luxurious mansion, Dominic stepped out and slammed the door shut. He did not wait for Vivienne.

Vivienne staggered behind him, enduring the pain in her bruised knee from falling on stage earlier. But before she could fully step into the living room, a rough shove on her shoulder sent her curvy body lurching forward.

Thud!

Vivienne fell hard, her body crashing against the sharp edge of the leather sofa. Pain instantly shot through her waist.

“You really don’t know how to be grateful, Vivienne!” Dominic stood in front of her, loosening his tie roughly, his face burning red with the anger he had been holding back since the ballroom. “What the hell is wrong with that tiny brain of yours, huh?! Dancing barefoot in a ripped dress like some cheap prostitute? Were you deliberately trying to destroy my reputation in front of all my business colleagues?!”

Vivienne did not move from her position on the floor. She did not cry. Not a single tear fell. The physical pain was nothing compared to the numbness inside her chest. Slowly, Vivienne lifted her head. Instead of fear, a faint smile—a hollow smile filled with exhaustion—appeared on her lips.

“Then let’s get divorced, Dominic,” Vivienne said, her voice so calm it was almost a whisper.

Dominic’s insults stopped instantly. The room suddenly fell silent.

“Let’s divorce,” Vivienne repeated as she slowly stood up, brushing the dust off her ruined maroon dress. “That way, you can go back to Giselle—your first love. And you... won’t have to feel ashamed of having a wife like me anymore. Isn’t that what you want most?”

Dominic froze for a second before his eyes darkened with even greater cruelty than before. In one long stride, he closed the distance between them. His large hand moved like lightning, gripping Vivienne’s chin so tightly that she was forced to look up.

“How dare you say the word divorce, Vivienne?” Dominic hissed directly in front of her face. His voice was low, thick with menace. “Listen carefully. In this marriage, only I have the right to throw you away. You have no right to speak!”

The grip on her chin felt like it could crush her bones. The warmth spreading through her chest was no longer sadness, but pure anger. Both of Vivienne’s hands clenched tightly at her sides, her short breaths hitting Dominic’s chest. She wanted nothing more than to spit in the face of the selfish man standing before her. For two years she had been treated like air, and now that she offered him freedom, he instead trapped her inside this cage of humiliation.

Bzzz... bzzz...

The phone inside Dominic’s suit pocket vibrated, breaking the tension between them. Dominic released Vivienne’s chin with a rough jerk before pulling out his phone.

The moment he saw the name on the screen, the fury in Dominic’s eyes suddenly softened, replaced by an expression Vivienne had never seen before. Dominic cleared his throat briefly before answering the call.

“Yes, Giselle?” Dominic’s voice softened instantly, completely different from the way he had shouted moments earlier.

Vivienne turned her face away, feeling sick hearing the change in her husband’s tone.

“Dinner? At our old café?” Dominic glanced at his expensive watch. “Of course. I’ll be there right now. Wait for me.”

Dominic ended the call, and without even looking at Vivienne again, he grabbed his car keys from the table. He turned around and strode toward the exit, leaving Vivienne frozen in the middle of the massive room that suddenly felt ice cold. Vivienne’s heart, which she thought had already gone numb, shattered once again in its deepest part. Her husband had just refused a divorce, yet without hesitation rushed to meet another woman on the very same night his wife had been humiliated beyond measure.

The silence inside the mansion did not last long. Less than ten minutes after Dominic left, the loud roar of engines echoed faintly from outside. Not just one, but the sound of more than a dozen high-powered sports cars.

Vivienne frowned and walked toward the large living room window. Her eyes widened. In the wide mansion courtyard, dozens of luxurious black cars were lined up neatly. From those vehicles, several tall men in formal black suits stepped out, forming two perfectly symmetrical lines stretching from the gate to the mansion’s front entrance.

In the middle of those bodyguards, one man stepped out from the last line.

Alistair Vance.

Who else in this country possessed enough absolute authority to arrive with guards resembling a military force other than the head of the Vance family clan? At forty-five years old, the wealthy widower did not look old at all. His tall, powerful body wrapped in a black shirt with the top buttons undone radiated strength, dominance, and absolute authority.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The firm knock on the door snapped Vivienne out of her daze. Her heart pounded wildly inside her chest. Hesitantly, Vivienne stepped forward and opened the large oak door.

The moment the door opened, Alistair Vance stood firmly before her. The masculine scent of expensive tobacco mixed with cedarwood cologne immediately invaded Vivienne’s senses. Alistair’s dark, sharp eyes instantly locked onto her movements, sweeping over her messy appearance from head to toe. His gaze was so intense that Vivienne felt naked and deeply uncomfortable.

“Mr. Vance?” Vivienne tried to steady her voice even though she felt intimidated. “If you’re looking for Dominic, my husband left a few minutes ago.”

Alistair did not answer. Instead of turning around to leave, the mature man took one step forward, forcing Vivienne to retreat deeper into the house. The door behind him closed slowly with a solid click.

Without warning, Alistair closed the distance between them. His long, warm fingers moved slowly, reaching for Vivienne’s chin—the same chin Dominic had gripped roughly only minutes ago. But unlike Dominic, Alistair’s touch felt firm, demanding, yet strangely painless.

“I’m not looking for your foolish husband, Darling,” Alistair whispered. His voice was deep, baritone, vibrating low near Vivienne’s face. “I came here for you.”

Vivienne held her breath, her eyes widening as she stared at Alistair’s firm face so close to hers.

“Very interesting,” Alistair murmured, his thumb slowly brushing the corner of Vivienne’s lips. “Will you come with me, Darling? Instead of staying in this cold place... living without passion, without touch, and without love. There’s nothing here but emotional torment destroying you every day. So, come with me.”

The shock in Vivienne’s mind instantly vanished, replaced by wounded pride roaring wildly inside her. On the same night she had been insulted as a pig by her husband’s friend and abandoned for another woman, now a powerful older man came to her house and offered to make her his mistress as though she were some broken object that could be bought.

With a strong motion, Vivienne slapped Alistair’s hand away from her face. She stepped back twice, glaring at the billionaire with fury blazing in her eyes. The wild side inside Vivienne that had slept for two years was now fully awake. She was not afraid, not even a little.

“You bastard, old man! Watch your mouth!” Vivienne hissed sharply, her breathing uneven with emotion. “Sorry, but I have no interest in going with you, and I never will. You’re no different from all the scumbag men out there. You’d better leave my house right now before I call security!”

Hearing the bold insults from the twenty-year-old girl before him, Alistair did not get angry. Instead of feeling offended, a thin crooked grin full of dangerous interest slowly appeared on his mature face. This challenge ignited something inside him that had long gone cold in his lonely life.

Alistair stepped forward again, ignoring the safe distance between them. Before Vivienne could avoid him, Alistair’s hand moved quickly, lightly patting Vivienne’s chubby cheek with a gesture that felt both degrading and possessive.

“Think carefully, Darling. You won’t survive long in this hell,” Alistair said calmly, his voice carrying absolute confidence as though he could predict the future.

Alistair reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a thin black business card embossed with gold lettering before slipping it between Vivienne’s tightly clenched fingers.

“This is my business card. Call me when you’re tired of crying,” Alistair whispered near Vivienne’s ear before finally turning away.

The older man walked out of the mansion with absolute arrogance radiating from his broad back, leaving Vivienne trembling inside the house, staring blankly at the business card in her hand while countless conflicting emotions raged inside her chest.