Chapter 17

Vivienne’s POV

After Julian left, I remained in the hallway longer than necessary. Part of it was the pain in my ankle, but that was not the real reason. Something inside my chest felt heavy and unsettled, as if his presence had stirred a quiet part of me that was not ready to be touched.

The house felt too still after he was gone.

When I finally made my way back to the bedroom, each step reminded me of my weakness, of how fragile my body had become. I lay down only intending to rest for a moment, but the silence wrapped itself around me like a weight and pulled me under.

I did not resist.

Sleep came quickly, without dreams, without thought.

When I woke, the light in the room had softened. The sharp brightness of noon had faded into something quieter, something distant. Afternoon had already passed.

I did not move.

I stared at the ceiling and felt nothing. Not sadness, not peace. Just emptiness, like something had been hollowed out of me and left behind without purpose.

I did not want to think about tomorrow.

I did not want to think about the divorce.

I did not want to think about him.

I simply lay there and breathed.

Then I heard it.

The faint sound of the door downstairs opening. The quiet, measured footsteps that followed.

Familiar.

My body recognized it before my mind did.

Alexander had returned.

There was a time when that sound alone would have filled me with warmth, with relief, with something dangerously close to happiness.

Now it felt like the slow approach of an ending.

Tomorrow everything between us would be over.

He would be free.

Free to stand beside Isabella without restraint, without secrecy, without me.

The footsteps came closer.

The door opened.

He walked in.

For a moment, I only watched him. My mind noted small things automatically, the slight tension in his shoulders, the faint exhaustion in his expression, the quiet control he always carried with him.

Then he asked if I had just woken up.

His voice was calm. Almost gentle.

I answered softly and pushed myself up. The pain in my ankle flared, but I ignored it. I almost asked him why he had not come home for two nights. The question rose to my lips, fragile and dangerous.

But before I could speak, my eyes moved.

His shirt was wrinkled.

Alexander was never careless with his appearance. Precision was part of him. Disorder did not belong to him.

Something tightened in my chest.

Then I saw it.

A faint smear near his collar.

I leaned forward without thinking, drawn by something I could not stop. My breath slowed as I looked closer.

Lipstick.

Everything inside me went cold.

I leaned even closer, barely aware of what I was doing, and a soft scent reached me. Sweet. Familiar.

Too familiar.

Isabella.

The same perfume she always wore. The same scent that lingered long after she left a room.

In that instant, something inside me shattered completely.

The world fell silent.

All I could see was that mark. That small, careless stain burned into my vision like proof carved into stone.

Proof of everything I had tried not to believe.

Proof of everything I had endured in silence.

My chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. Tears rushed to my eyes without warning.

Before he could step closer, the words tore out of me.

“Do not come near me.”

My voice broke, sharp and raw.

Then my stomach twisted violently. The nausea came so suddenly it stole the air from my lungs. I bent forward, gripping the edge of the bed as my body heaved.

Nothing came up. Only pain.

Alexander moved immediately. I saw him grab a bin and bring it toward me, but as he came closer, the scent hit me again.

Stronger this time.

My body recoiled instinctively.

I pulled away from him, my stomach churning again, my throat burning as I gagged uselessly.

He stopped.

I felt his hesitation.

Then I heard him shift slightly, as if confirming something. After a moment, he said he would change.

I remained bent over, trembling. The nausea came in waves, relentless and hollow. Tears slipped down my face without control.

This was not just sickness.

It was something deeper. Something that had been building for far too long.

Alexander’s POV

The water ran over me longer than necessary.

The scent disappeared easily. It had never meant anything. A crowded meeting. A careless greeting. Nothing worth remembering.

Yet the image of Vivienne pulling away from me would not leave my mind.

It had not been suspicion.

It had not been anger alone.

It had been rejection.

And it unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

Vivienne’s POV

By the time he returned, I had forced myself upright against the pillows. My face felt tight, my eyes burned, but there were no tears left to fall.

I would not let him see them.

He began explaining immediately. He said I misunderstood. He said nothing had happened.

His voice was calm, controlled.

I stopped him.

“I have something to say first.”

My voice sounded steady, almost detached. Even I barely recognized it.

Inside, everything was still breaking apart.

But outwardly, I was calm.

Cold.

Clear.

Somewhere in my mind, logic had already formed. If anything had truly happened, the mark would not be so careless, so distant.

I knew that.

But it did not matter anymore.

Nothing he said could change what was coming.

“After the divorce tomorrow,” I said, “I want to resign.”

The room fell silent.

He did not respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. He asked if I was certain.

I nodded.

He questioned me. My plans. My decision. My reasoning.

I answered simply. I was tired. I wanted to leave.

He refused.

He said I was not someone who gave up easily. He said I owed an explanation. He said his grandfather would never agree.

Each word pressed against something fragile inside me.

I told him I wanted to travel abroad. To rest. To distance myself.

He studied me carefully, then asked if it was because of Isabella.

I did not answer.

He told me to endure.

I told him I would not.

Then his voice changed. Slightly colder. Slightly sharper.

He asked if I was planning to leave with someone.

I frowned.

He mentioned my friend.

Julian.

Understanding settled slowly.

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. I denied it, but he continued as if my words held no weight.

He spoke about appearances. About truth. About trust.

About choosing the wrong person.

The irony cut deeper than anything else.

Of all people, he was lecturing me about that.

I repeated that it had nothing to do with Julian.

He did not believe me.

He insisted.

And something inside me finally snapped.

All the restraint I had held onto for months broke at once.

“Yes,” I said, my voice rising without control. “You are right. I want to run away with him.”

The words burned as they left me.

“What right do you have to question me?” I continued, my chest heaving. “You can be with Isabella openly, but I am not allowed to have someone I like?”

The room fell completely silent.

The words hung between us, heavy and irreversible.

And for the first time, there was no way to take them back.