CHAPTER 7

Vivienne POV

The black pen felt heavy in my hand, but it was a good kind of heavy. For two years, my signature didn’t mean a thing. I couldn't even sign a lease or a utility bill without Ethan’s lawyers looking over my shoulder, reminding me that I had nothing of my own.

Now, with a few strokes of ink, I held fifty-one percent of the country’s largest shipping conglomerate.

"Is there a specific way you want to handle the board meeting tomorrow, Vivienne?" Thomas asked, leaning forward. His voice was hushed, respecting the quiet atmosphere of the restaurant. "The Montemayor Group thinks they are walking in to sign a done deal with our board directors. They have no idea Alexander Valderama has a daughter, let alone that she now has the final say."

I stared at my signature on the smooth white paper. The ink was still drying.

"Who is representing the Montemayors at the meeting?" I asked.

"Ethan himself," Thomas replied. "Along with his father, Richard, and their lead financial consultant, Chloe Harrington."

Hearing Chloe’s name made my stomach twist, but I forced myself to breathe through it. I remembered how she used to look at me when she visited the house under the guise of "helping Ethan with business strategy." She would offer me polite, pitying smiles while talking over my head in complicated financial jargon, knowing I couldn't follow. They must have laughed about me behind closed doors every single night.

"I want to go to that meeting," I said, looking up at Thomas. "But I don’t want them to know I’m coming. I want to walk in right when they think they’ve won."

Thomas’s lips curved into a small, approving smile. "I can arrange that. I will list you on the security register as a senior executive. They won't see your name until you step into the boardroom."

"Good," I said. "And what about my father? Can I speak to him?"

"He is asleep right now due to the time difference and his medication," Thomas said, his tone softening. "But I sent him a secure message confirming we met. He was incredibly relieved, Vivienne. He spent twenty-three years looking for you. Once he is stable enough to travel, he will fly straight to New York."

A strange warmth bloomed in my chest. For so long, I believed I was entirely alone in the world. I thought my parents had abandoned me at that orphanage because they didn't want me. Knowing someone had been searching for me—that a powerful man out there actually wanted me and cared about my existence—felt like a shield I never knew I had.

"Thank you, Thomas," I said sincerely.

"It is my job, Miss Valderama," he said, packing the signed documents back into his briefcase. "I have also arranged a temporary residence for you. It's a fully serviced penthouse in Manhattan, under the Valderama estate. A car is waiting outside to take you there."

He handed me a sleek, black keycard. I took it, feeling the cool plastic against my palm.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning at the office, then," I said.

"Nine o'clock sharp," Thomas confirmed, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. "Get some rest, Vivienne. Tomorrow is going to be a very long day."

After Thomas left, I sat in the booth for a few more minutes, letting the silence wash over me. I looked down at my faded jeans and the canvas bag resting on the seat beside me. I was still the same person who woke up this morning believing she was Ethan’s wife, but everything else had changed.

I picked up my bag and walked out of the restaurant.

The cold New York air hit my face again, but this time, I didn't feel lost. A sleek, black town car was idling by the curb. The driver, a middle-aged man in a dark suit, immediately stepped out when he saw me. He didn't look at my cheap bag or my worn-out jacket with judgment. He simply bowed his head respectfully.

"Miss Valderama?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, the name still feeling foreign on my tongue.

"Mr. Miller instructed me to take you to your new home. Please, let me take that for you," he said, gently reaching for my canvas duffel bag.

I let him take it and slide it into the trunk. He opened the passenger door for me, and I slid onto the soft, heated leather seats. As we pulled away from the curb and merged into the Manhattan traffic, I watched the towering skyscrapers pass by.

We drove through the busy streets, eventually stopping in front of a modern, glass high-rise building overlooking Central Park. The doorman opened the car door for me, greeting me with a polite nod.

The driver led me to a private elevator that required my black keycard to operate. When the elevator doors slid open on the top floor, I stepped directly into a massive, open-concept penthouse. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed a breathtaking view of the city skyline, lit up like a million tiny stars against the dark night sky.

The apartment was beautiful, decorated in neutral tones of gray, cream, and dark wood. It was larger than the entire first floor of the Montemayor mansion, yet it didn't feel suffocating. There were no oil portraits of snobbish ancestors staring down at me. There was no cold, critical mother-in-law waiting to complain about the dust on the coffee table.

It was completely mine.

I walked over to the window and pressed my forehead against the cool glass. Far below, the headlights of cars looked like flowing rivers of yellow and red. Somewhere out there, in a quiet, wealthy suburb, Ethan was probably sitting in his study, drinking whiskey, and waiting for me to crawl back to him. He probably thought I was crying in some cheap motel room, regretting my dramatic exit.

He always thought he knew exactly how I would react. He thought my love for him made me weak and predictable.

I turned away from the view and walked into the spacious bedroom. A large king-sized bed was neatly made with crisp, white linens. I set my phone on the nightstand, crawled under the heavy, warm duvet, and closed my eyes. For the first time in two years, I didn't have to listen for the sound of Ethan's car pulling into the driveway. I didn't have to wonder if he was with Chloe.

I fell asleep to the quiet hum of the city.

The next morning, my alarm woke me at seven. I took a hot shower, letting the steam clear my head. When I stepped out, I found a garment rack had been delivered to the hallway outside my bedroom. Thomas had clearly thought of everything. Hanging on the rack were several tailored business suits, silk blouses, and elegant heels in my exact size.

I chose a structured, sharp navy blue pantsuit and a simple white silk shell. I styled my hair into a neat, low bun and kept my makeup minimal but polished. When I looked in the mirror, the timid, anxious girl who used to shrink under the Montemayors' glares was gone.

The driver was already waiting for me downstairs.

The ride to the Valderama Building was short. The skyscraper sat in the heart of the financial district, a massive tower of steel and glass that practically screamed power.

Thomas met me in the lobby, his expression professional and focused. "They are already upstairs in the main conference room on the forty-fifth floor, Vivienne. They arrived fifteen minutes early."

"Are they nervous?" I asked as we walked toward the executive elevators.

"Very," Thomas said, pressing the button for the top floor. "Our financial team ran some checks this morning. The Montemayor Group is heavily leveraged. If they don't get this shipping contract today, their creditors will start pulling their loans by the end of the week. This deal is their only lifeline."

The elevator climbed silently, the numbers on the digital display ticking upward. My chest tightened slightly, but I forced my hands to remain steady at my sides.

When the doors opened on the forty-fifth floor, we walked down a wide, carpeted hallway lined with modern art. At the very end of the hall, double glass doors led into the primary boardroom. Through the glass, I could see three people sitting on one side of a long mahogany table, looking over their notes.

Ethan was adjusting his tie, his face tense. Richard Montemayor was frowning at his tablet, and Chloe was whispering something in Ethan's ear, her hand resting briefly on his arm.

Thomas looked at me, waiting for my signal.

"Let's go in," I said.