Chapter 5 - She Coughs, He Caves

Vienna’s POV

"Excuse me?"

I stared at Desiree in stunned disbelief. She stood in the middle of the master bedroom like she belonged there, still scratching her arms profusely. I could feel the heat rise in my chest, but I kept my voice controlled.

"No," I said slowly. "Let me be clear."

She blinked at me, feigning innocence.

"First," I began, holding up a finger, "you are a guest in this house, not the owner. Dress like it. There’s no excuse to be wandering around in lingerie in front of someone’s husband."

Desiree gasped as if I’d slapped her, clutching her silver necklace. "But he’s my broth—"

"Second," I interrupted her excuses, "Milo has been my companion for nine years. He’s not just a pet. He’s family."

She opened her mouth, but I cut her off.

"And third—no one, especially not someone who just moved in, has the right to demand that I get rid of him. That’s not a discussion. That’s a line you don’t cross."

Before she could reply, Warren cut in. "You’re being a bit harsh, Vienna. An allergy is not something to take lightly."

As if on cue, Desiree dropped into a coughing fit. Loud, theatrical. She scratched at her arms, as if her skin were burning. Her face contorted in a twisted display of suffering.

"I—I can’t breathe!" she gasped, collapsing onto the bed—Warren’s bed. Our bed.

"My chest—oh God, I’m suffocating!" she huffed.

Of course.

Right on cue.

"Desiree!" Warren dropped to his knees beside her, gently lifting her head with one hand and grabbing the water glass from the nightstand with the other. "Hey—are you okay?"

She coughed louder, more theatrically now, her hand clawing at her chest. "H-help…" she rasped, barely getting the word out.

Without hesitation, Warren scooped her up into his arms and carried her out to the balcony. I followed them, feeling nauseous, tired and 

"Is this better?" he asked, concern etched into his face.

She nodded weakly. "Yeah… a little. Thanks, Warren," she murmured, her voice soft and fragile—too fragile.

Warren looked up at me. "Vienna, just send the cat to Bella’s house for a while."

My mouth fell open. "Are you serious?"

"She’s clearly not well!"

"She’s clearly performing!" I snapped. "This is what she does—she cries, coughs, and clutches her throat until you give her whatever she wants!"

Warren stepped between us. "She just had a miscarriage, Vienna! Could you show some compassion?"

"I have," I said, voice shaking. "More than you realize. I’ve been quiet, I’ve been kind. I’ve let her invade our home, our room, our space. And now she wants to get rid of the only family I have left, besides you."

Behind him, Desiree rubbed at her arms with dramatic flair, but her act slipped—just for a moment. I saw it. The curl of her lips. A flicker of a smile.

Warren didn’t see it.

Instead, his face paled. He staggered backwards, his hand clutching his chest.

"Warren?" I asked, the fight vanishing from my voice.

He staggered back another step. "Just—just give me a second."

Desiree rushed forward, all crocodile tears and frantic concern. "You’re stressing him out! Don’t you know he’s not supposed to get too worked up? After his heart surgery, he—he can’t take emotional upheavals like these!"

I stared at her. "Heart surgery?"

"Don’t act like you didn’t know," she snapped. "God, you’re his wife and you don’t even know he’s—"

Warren held up a hand, silencing her.

"I didn’t know," I said softly. "You never told me."

He sank onto the couch, rubbing his temples. "Please, just… Can we just spend the rest of the day in peace?"

My anger cracked under the weight of guilt. "I’m sorry, love," I said quietly. "I didn’t mean to upset you. I just... I feel like all my boundaries are being crossed."

Warren didn’t answer.

That night, after a long, awkward dinner, I came out of the bathroom, my mahogany hair wrapped in a towel. I paused in the bedroom doorway.

The balcony door was open.

Outside, Warren knelt in the moonlight, hammering in the last piece of a small wooden structure. It was a cat enclosure—elegant, spacious, complete with a tiny peaked roof and toys already inside.

Milo meowed softly from a distance, curious.

Warren looked up at me and offered a tired smile.

"I hope this helps," he said. "It’s not the same as letting him roam, but at least he’ll be safe out here. And Desiree can breathe."

It was an olive branch, I knew. A peace offering.

He came in shortly after, kissed my forehead, and we curled into bed together. His breathing evened out quickly. Mine didn’t.

I drifted off into a dream.

In it, I stood at the end of a long, empty hallway. Warren was calling to me, but I couldn’t reach him. Every step forward dragged like quicksand. 

Desiree stood beside him, her hand on his heart. She was whispering something I couldn’t hear. When I finally got close enough, Warren looked through me like I wasn’t even there.

I woke with a jolt, sweat damp on my chest. My hands shot out toward his side of the bed, hoping for the warmth and safety of his embrace.

But instead, I found only emptiness.

My heart pounded as I sat up, a chill creeping through me. "Warren?"

Panic gnawed at me. The room was still. The balcony outside was empty, and the house was silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. 

What if today had been too much for him? What if that old injury—whatever it was—had flared up again?

But then… Why would he leave the room?

If he was in pain, surely he would have stayed with me. Wouldn’t he have wanted me to be there, to help? Unless... he didn’t want me to see. Or… he wasn’t alone.

I paced the living room, my bare feet cold against the floor.

A sudden noise broke my thoughts—faint, yet distinct. It was coming from the direction of the hallway, near the shared bathroom. 

The sound… Was it a groan? No, more like muffled voices, too soft to distinguish. A breath. A whisper?

The bathroom light was on, but the door was shut. 

I moved quickly, my breath quickening as I reached for the doorknob. My fingers trembled slightly as I twisted it.