Served

                        POV: Vivienne Ashford

Over the week following my meeting at the Cavendish Estate, an unexpected rhythm settled between Don Roman Cavendish and me.

Every night at precisely ten o'clock, my phone screen lit up with a message from his encrypted number.

At first, they were simple, possessive check-ins.

“Did you eat dinner tonight, little rabbit?”

“Don’t let your board members stress you.”

I hadn't intended to answer. But as the days passed under the pressure of stabilizing my company, I found myself typing back. My replies were short and cautious at first, gradually turning into actual late-night conversations.

He never pressured me for an immediate decision about the eighteen-month contract marriage. He simply kept appearing at the same time every night, as though he had quietly made himself part of my routine.

I wasn't sure whether that made him easier to tolerate or more difficult to ignore.

Meanwhile, Genevieve and her legal team worked on the divorce petition and the documents concerning Damon's five percent shareholding.

---

On Friday afternoon, Genevieve accompanied me to the financial district. We parked near Ashford Technologies headquarters and crossed the street towards an elevated pedestrian gallery overlooking the plaza.

Below us, an outdoor café occupied part of the open square.

I spotted Damon almost immediately.

He sat at one of the glass tables, dressed in an expensive suit, with a man I didn't recognize seated opposite him.

"That's Damon," I said.

Genevieve followed my gaze.

"And the man with him is Marcus Vance. He's the corporate lawyer Damon retained. His name came up in the correspondence his office sent to mine this morning."

I studied the stranger. He looked composed, his attention fixed on the documents spread across the table.

"What is he doing with Damon?"

"Preparing for the consequences of his own decisions, I imagine."

Genevieve opened her handbag and took out a slim folder.

"The original plan was to approach Damon privately before serving the petition. I intended to present the evidence supporting your claim under the share-transfer agreement and offer him a settlement. If he agreed to surrender the five percent shares and settle the financial issues between you, we could avoid a lengthy contested dispute over those matters."

"And if he refused?"

"Then we proceed with formal service and let the court handle the divorce and any disputed claims."

She paused, her expression becoming more serious.

"There's something else you need to understand, Vivienne. Once the petition is formally served, Article 14 of the Valmora Family Code takes effect. The Cooling-Off Year begins immediately. For the next 365 days, both spouses are required to reside at their registered marital residence."

I looked down at the plaza.

"Ashford Manor."

"Yes. You and Damon will have to live under the same roof until the period expires, unless a legally recognized exception applies. A private settlement over his shares won't cancel that requirement."

My fingers tightened.

"So even if he agrees to give up the shares, I'll still have to live with him for a year?"

"Once the petition is served, yes. That's why I wanted you to understand the consequences before we proceeded."

I looked at Damon again.

"Did he agree to the settlement?"

"No. He rejected the offer this morning. He wants to challenge the share agreement and is apparently convinced he can use the divorce proceedings to pressure you."

I let out a slow breath.

"Then serve him."

Genevieve nodded.

"That's what we're doing."

A tall man in a plain suit entered the plaza and walked towards the café. He carried a large manila envelope.

The process server.

I watched as he approached Damon's table, checked the name on his documents and handed him the envelope.

Damon looked up sharply. His expression changed as he accepted it.

Even from the gallery, I could see the moment he recognized what he had received.

He tore open the envelope and began reading. His lawyer leaned forward, took the papers and examined them.

Damon's face tightened.

Then, quite unexpectedly, he smiled.

He placed the documents on the table, reached for his phone and made a call.

A second later, my own phone began ringing.

Damon.

I answered.

"What is it?"

"You thought you were clever, didn't you, Vivienne?"

His mocking voice came through the phone.

"Have you finished reading the petition?" I asked.

"Don't pretend you have the upper hand. You had me served with divorce papers, but did you think about what happens next?"

I glanced at Genevieve.

"I know exactly what happens next."

"Do you?" He laughed. "Article 14 of the Republic of Valmora's Family Code. The Cooling-Off Law. Once the petition is formally served, both spouses have to reside at their registered marital home for the next 365 days."

"I know."

There was a brief silence.

"You know?"

"Yes, Damon. My lawyer explained it to me before you were served."

His amusement faded.

"Then you understand that I have every right to return to Ashford Manor."

"I understand that the law requires us to reside at the same marital address. I also understand that it doesn't restore your position at my company or give you ownership of my estate."

"Your estate?" he scoffed. "It's our marital home."

"It's a property I owned before I married you. Don't confuse the legal requirement to reside there with ownership."

"Keep telling yourself that. I'll be there tonight."

"That won't change anything between us."

"We'll see, wife."

The call ended.

I lowered my phone and looked at Genevieve.

"He's really coming back."

"Yes," she replied. "And because the law applies to the two of you as legal spouses, his mother and sisters don't automatically acquire the same right to live there. If they attempt to force their way into your property, we'll deal with it through the appropriate legal channels."

"What about Damon?"

"He's entitled to reside at the registered marital address during the Cooling-Off Year. But that doesn't mean you have to welcome him into your private life. I'll advise you on reasonable arrangements for separate bedrooms and living spaces. We simply need to be careful not to mistake household boundaries for a court order that doesn't exist."

I looked away.

A year.

Three hundred and sixty-five days under the same roof as the man who had betrayed me.

I had spent two years trying to make that marriage work. Now the law expected me to share a house with him for another year before I could finally be free.

"Let's go," I said.

Genevieve closed her folder.

"We'll get through it."

I hoped she was right.

---

At six-thirty that evening, a taxi pulled up the winding cobblestone driveway of Ashford Manor.

I stood at the top of the grand foyer staircase, watching through the open entrance as Damon stepped inside with two heavy leather suitcases.

He looked around the foyer, taking in the crystal chandelier and polished marble floor.

Then his eyes found me.

A smug grin spread across his face.

"Back where I belong."

I didn't move.

"You're here because the law requires us to share the marital residence. Don't mistake that for an invitation."

He picked up his suitcases.

"Get used to seeing me every day, Vivienne."

"The west wing guest suite is available. The staff will show you where it is, and you can use the main kitchen. I expect us to respect each other's private spaces."

He laughed.

"You're giving me house rules now?"

"I'm telling you that we're not going to pretend this marriage still exists in any meaningful way."

His expression hardened.

"You can keep pretending you're in control. We have twelve months together, Vivienne. That's a long time."

"Not long enough for me to change my mind."

I turned and walked away.

Behind me, I heard him tell the housekeeper to take his luggage upstairs.

I didn't look back.

---

By nine o'clock, an uneasy silence had settled over the estate.

Knowing Damon was sleeping in the west wing guest suite made the entire mansion feel heavy and tainted. Even the thought of passing him in the hallway irritated me.

I sat at my desk in the east wing study, reviewing the latest legal correspondence, when my phone chimed with an incoming call.

Roman's encrypted number.

I answered.

"Hello?"

"He's in your house."

The words weren't a question.

Roman's voice was dangerously low, carrying a quiet fury that made me sit straighter.

"It's the Valmora Cooling-Off Law," I explained, gripping the phone. "The legal service of the petition activated the waiting year. Damon is required to reside here until the period expires."

"You're telling me that man is living under the same roof as you?"

"Yes. But we're staying in separate quarters. He's in the west wing, and I'm in the east."

"I don't give a damn about Valmora law."

"Roman, I know you're angry, but I can't change what the law requires."

"The fact that he's breathing the air under your roof is unacceptable to me."

"Don't do anything reckless."

A brief silence followed.

Then Roman spoke again.

"Look out of your study window, little rabbit."

My pulse quickened.

I rose from my chair and walked towards the large window overlooking the front driveway. Pulling the heavy linen drapes aside, I looked towards the entrance.

Three black armored SUVs stood beyond the iron gates.

My breath caught.

A man leaned against the hood of the lead vehicle, his tall frame unmistakable even from a distance.

Don Roman Cavendish.

He wore a dark suit, and a lit cigar rested loosely between his fingers. His icy blue gaze was fixed on the manor.

On my window.

I brought the phone closer to my ear.

"Roman..."

He lifted his phone, watching me through the glass.

"Either you come down to my car right now, little rabbit..."

His voice dropped into a quiet command.

"...or I walk inside and drag your husband out by his collar."