CHAPTER 6

Vivienne POV

I did not pack the designer handbags lined up on the glass shelves. I left the diamond tennis bracelet Ethan bought me for our first anniversary on the vanity table, right next to the torn pieces of our marriage certificate. I didn’t touch the silk dresses, the expensive shoes, or the wool coats filling the massive walk-in closet.

None of those things belonged to me anyway. They were just clothes Ethan bought so his friends wouldn't embarrass him for marrying a girl who grew up in a state orphanage.

Slowly, I pulled the gold wedding band off my ring finger. It felt surprisingly light. I placed it directly on top of the torn paper on the table.

In the end, all I took was a single canvas duffel bag. Inside were three pairs of old jeans, a few faded t-shirts, my favorite worn-out sneakers, and the uniform from the bookstore where I used to work. These were the exact things I had with me when I first walked into this house two years ago.

I stood in the center of the master bedroom, looking at the large bed. I had spent so many nights lying there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for Ethan to come home from his late-night business meetings. I had spent two years walking on eggshells, swallowing every cruel comment from his mother, and cooking meals that always went cold. I did all of that because I believed him when he said he loved me.

It was all a lie. He just needed a quiet, obedient face to show his grandfather so he could inherit the family fortune.

I zipped the bag, slung it over my shoulder, and walked out of the room.

Downstairs, Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, was polishing the silver tea set in the dining room. She stopped what she was doing and watched me with a smirk. She had never respected me, always treating me like a temporary guest rather than the mistress of the house. Seeing my cheap canvas bag, her eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

"Leaving so early, Vivienne?" she asked, not even bothering to call me Mrs. Montemayor. "Does Mr. Ethan know you're going out looking like that? You know how much he cares about his family's reputation."

Normally, I would have apologized, run back upstairs, and changed into something more expensive just to avoid a lecture. Today, I just stopped and looked at her.

"He knows," I said. My voice was quiet, but it didn't shake. "And you don't have to worry about my clothes anymore, Mrs. Gable. In fact, you should probably start packing your own things. You won't be working here much longer."

Her smirk instantly vanished, replaced by a look of sheer confusion. I didn't wait for her to reply. I pushed the heavy front door open and walked out.

The autumn air in New York was freezing, but it felt clean. I walked down the long, paved driveway of the Montemayor estate. The massive iron gates closed behind me with a loud, metallic click. It was the best sound I had heard in two years.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting a text from Ethan or a mocking message from his mistress, Chloe. Instead, it was the same unknown number that had called me earlier. The man who claimed to represent Alexander Valderama.

I swiped the screen and put the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Miss Hale? Or should I say, Miss Valderama?" The voice on the other end was professional, deep, and very calm. "This is Thomas Miller, senior partner at Miller & Associates. Your father, Mr. Valderama, has instructed me to meet with you immediately. We have all the official documentation ready."

My heart gave a strange flutter. Part of me still couldn't believe it. I had spent my entire life struggling to pay rent, and now a lawyer was telling me I was the sole heir to a massive shipping conglomerate.

"Where should I meet you?" I asked.

"I have reserved a private booth at The Gilded Oak in Midtown Manhattan," Mr. Miller said. "It is a quiet, secure restaurant. I will see you there in thirty minutes."

"I'll be there," I said, hanging up.

I headed toward the nearest subway station. Ethan always told me the subway was dangerous and dirty, a place only poor people used. But as I sat on the train, surrounded by ordinary people reading books and listening to music, I felt more comfortable than I ever did in the back of Ethan's luxury town car.

Thirty minutes later, I arrived at The Gilded Oak. The restaurant was understated from the outside, but the polished mahogany doors and the host dressed in a custom suit made it clear that this was a place for the incredibly wealthy.

I looked completely out of place with my canvas bag and faded denim jacket. The host at the door gave me a polite but judging look.

"Do you have a reservation, miss?" he asked.

"I'm meeting Thomas Miller," I replied, keeping my shoulders straight.

The host’s attitude changed instantly. "Of course. Right this way, please."

He led me through the dimly lit, elegant dining area. Near the center of the room, a man was sitting alone at a table, looking over some documents on a tablet.

He was young, probably in his late twenties, with sharp features and dark hair. He wore a charcoal gray suit that looked incredibly expensive, but he carried himself with a relaxed, effortless posture.

As I walked past his table, the worn-out strap of my duffel bag suddenly slipped from my shoulder. The bag hit the floor, and my old notebook and a couple of paperback books slid across the polished wood, stopping right by his expensive leather shoes.

"I'm so sorry," I muttered, quickly kneeling down to gather my things.

"It's fine," a deep, quiet voice said.

Before I could reach my notebook, a hand with long, clean fingers picked it up. I looked up and met his eyes. They were a striking, intense gray—calm, intelligent, and very observant.

He handed the notebook back to me. His gaze lingered on my face for a second, noticing my slightly red eyes. There was no pity in his expression, just a quiet curiosity.

"Thank you," I said, taking the book.

"Be careful," he said softly. "The floors here can be slick."

I nodded, adjusted my bag, and walked toward the private booths in the back. I could feel his eyes on my back until I turned the corner.

A middle-aged man in a sharp navy suit stood up from one of the booths as I approached. He had a warm but serious expression.

"Miss Valderama," he said, holding out his hand. "I am Thomas Miller. It is an honor to finally meet you."

I shook his hand and sat down opposite him. "Please, just call me Vivienne. I'm still trying to understand all of this. Are you absolutely sure there hasn't been a mistake?"

Thomas smiled gently. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a thick document folder, placing it on the table between us.

"We ran three separate DNA tests using the childhood items your father kept after your disappearance," Thomas explained. "The match is ninety-nine point nine percent. There is no mistake, Vivienne. You are Alexander Valderama's daughter."

I stared at the papers. My name was printed right next to Alexander's.

"Where is he?" I asked. "Why didn't he come?"

"Your father is currently in Switzerland receiving a critical medical treatment," Thomas said. "He wanted to fly here immediately, but his doctors refused to let him travel. However, he wanted you to have this right away."

Thomas slid another document across the table. It was a corporate authorization form.

"What is this?" I asked.

"This gives you full, unrestricted access to the Valderama trust fund, as well as a fifty-one percent controlling stake in Valderama Shipping," Thomas said, handing me a sleek black pen. "The Montemayor Group has been begging us for a shipping contract for months. In fact, Ethan Montemayor is scheduled to sign the final agreement with our board tomorrow morning."

I looked at the pen, then at the document.

Across the restaurant, I saw the man with the gray eyes stand up. The host rushed to open the door for him, bowing slightly as he passed.

"Who is that?" I asked Thomas, nodding toward the door.

Thomas glanced over. "Oh, that is Christian Sterling. The CEO of Sterling International. He is the Montemayors' biggest business rival. They've been fighting over the city's port contract for over a year."

I looked back down at the paper in front of me. Ethan’s entire business depended on this deal. He had lied to me, humiliated me, and used me just to get his grandfather's money. And now, the one thing that could save his company was sitting right in front of me.

I gripped the pen tightly and pulled the contract toward me.

"Give me the rest of the papers," I said to Thomas. "I'm going to sign everything."