Divorce During Breakfast

CHAPTER ONE ..!!

"I need you to sign these."

He threw a stack of papers onto the table.

They slid across the polished surface, past the croissants, past the flowers, and stopped right in front of her.

The words "DIVORCE AGREEMENT" stared up at her in bold black letters.

Vivienne froze. Her hands, still reaching for the butter knife, stopped mid-air. The world tilted.

The room spun.

"Dante?" Her voice came out as a whisper. "What... what is this?"

He didn't answer. He just stood there, arms crossed, jaw tight. Looking at her like she was a problem he'd finally decided to solve.

She grabbed the papers with trembling hands. Pages and pages of legal terms. Settlement offers. Custody of nothing—they had no children. Property division. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't process the words swimming before her eyes.

“Tell me this isn’t real.” She looked up at him, tears filling her eyes. “Please… tell me you’re joking.”

“Dante…” Her voice shook. “Please.”

He looked at her without a hint of emotion.

“My father is dead,” he said quietly.

“I know!” she cried, jumping to her feet so quickly that the chair scraped loudly across the floor. “I was there, Dante! I held his hand while he took his last breath. He died just a week ago!”

“Exactly.”

Dante turned away from her and walked to the window. He stared out at the garden, his hands resting behind his back.

“You know why we got married,” he said without looking at her. “My father is gone now, which means there’s no reason for this marriage to continue.”

He glanced at the divorce papers on the table.

“So stop delaying it… and sign them.”

The words hit her like a slap.

"No," she breathed. "No I can’t sign them. We were in love. We—"

"There was never any love between us." He turned to face her, and his eyes were so cold they froze her soul. "You were an intern at Ashcroft Enterprises. A convenient choice. My father approved of you. That was the only requirement."

Vivienne's vision blurred. Tears spilled down her cheeks. "You loved me! You told me you loved me! At the altar, you—"

"I said what I had to say." His voice didn't waver. "My father was dying. He wouldn't accept Sienna. She wasn't... suitable, in his eyes. So I married you instead."

Sienna.

The name cut through her like a blade.

"Sienna," Vivienne repeated, her voice breaking. "Your... your ex-girlfriend?"

"My fiancée," Dante corrected. "She's been waiting for me to come back. Now I can finally do that."

Vivienne shook her head violently. "She left you! Three years ago, she walked out! She didn't even—"

"She came back." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a check. "And now, so have I."

He placed it on the table beside the divorce papers. Eight million dollars. Written in crisp black ink.

"You can also keep the Manhattan penthouse," he added, as if he were offering her a coupon. "Fully furnished."

Vivienne stared at the check. Eight million dollars. For three years of her life. For her love. For her heart.

"Are you..." She couldn't finish the sentence. "Do I look like a business transaction to you? Is that what I am? A deal you can settle with a check?"

"Take the money, Vivienne." His tone was bored. "Don't make this difficult."

"Difficult?" She laughed, but it came out broken. "You're throwing me away like garbage! Like I meant nothing!"

"You did mean nothing." He stepped closer. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. None of it was real. You were just... convenient."

Something inside her snapped.

Her hand flew up and connected with his cheek. A loud crack echoed through the dining room.

His head turned to the side. Red marks bloomed on his perfect face.

The room fell dead silent.

Vivienne gasped. Her hand stung. She couldn't believe what she'd just done. But the anger was still there. The pain. The betrayal.

"So that's all I am?" She sobbed. "A woman you can buy? A transaction? Do you have any idea what I've given up for you? My career! My friends! My entire life!"

Dante slowly turned back. His eyes had gone dark. Dangerous.

He stepped forward until they were only inches apart. She could feel his breath on her face. Could see the vein pulsing in his neck.

"Never," he whispered, his voice low and lethal, "raise your hand to me again."

She should have been scared. Maybe she was. But the pain was too big. It swallowed everything else.

"Eight million isn't enough?" He tilted his head. "Tell me what you want, Vivienne. Name your price."

"Nothing!" She shoved the check back at him. "I don't want your money! I don't want your stupid houses! All I ever wanted was you! You!"

She grabbed his arm, desperate, broken. "Three years, Dante! of loving you with everything I had! I cooked for you! I waited for you! I was there every single night, hoping you'd finally see me! And you're telling me it was all fake?"

He pulled his arm free. "Yes."

"No!" She reached for him again. "Please! Just give us a chance! Give me a chance! Sixty days! That's all I'm asking!"

Dante let out a cold, humorless laugh. “You’re bargaining now?”

“I’m begging,” Vivienne admitted, her voice breaking. “Please.”

“No.”

The single word hit her harder than any slap.

“Our marriage is over.”

“It doesn’t have to be!” she cried. “Three years can’t end like this. There has to be something worth saving.”

“Fine,” Dante said. “Sixty days.”

Vivienne looked up at him, hope returning to her tear-filled eyes.

“I won’t ask you to love me overnight,” she said softly. “That’s not what I’m asking for.”

He folded his arms and waited.

“I just want a chance,” she continued. “For sixty days, let us try to be a real husband and wife. Eat together. Talk to each other. Go to family events together. Stop treating me like a stranger living in your house.”

Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to continue.

“Let me show you who I really am. Let me prove that this marriage is worth saving. If, after those sixty days, you still believe we’re better off apart…”

She swallowed hard.

“I’ll sign the divorce papers without another word. I’ll leave your life forever.”

Dante held her gaze for a long moment.

“Don’t expect me to fall in love with you,” he said coldly.

“I don’t,” Vivienne replied. “I only expect you to give this marriage one honest chance.”

After a long silence, he gave a small nod. “Sixty days,” he said. “Not one day more.”

He turned and walked toward the door.

"Don't get your hopes up," he said without looking back. "Because this marriage? It was never real. And it never will be."

The door clicked shut behind him. She sank to her knees and sobbed.

Sixty days. She had sixty days to save her marriage. To make a man who'd never loved her fall in love.

She picked up the check from the floor. Eight million dollars. His way of saying she'd been nothing but a business arrangement.

Vivienne tore the check in half.

As she wiped away her tears, a wave of nausea hit her so hard she nearly collapsed.

She frowned.

No…

It couldn’t be.

Could it?