chapter 16

Vivienne’s POV

“I will try,” Alexander said.

His answer was vague, almost careless, as if returning or not returning made little difference to him.

I hesitated for a moment before asking, “What’s wrong with Miss Blackwood?”

It took more courage than I expected just to say her name.

Deep down, I already knew the answer did not matter. Once he walked out of this room, he would not come back.

It had already happened yesterday.

And now again today.

She called, and he left.

I did not understand why she always needed him.

But I understood one thing very clearly.

He always went.

Alexander turned to look at me, his brows drawing together slightly.

“You didn’t use to ask so many questions,” he said.

My face went pale.

The words were simple, but they struck deeper than they should have. I suddenly felt small, as if I had overstepped without realizing it.

“I…” I paused, then forced a different topic. “My foot still hurts. Can you help me?”

He glanced at my ankle briefly.

“It’s not serious,” he said.

His tone was flat, dismissive.

“If you need anything, call Maggie.”

That was all.

He did not look at me again before walking out.

I watched his back until he disappeared from sight.

A bitter heaviness spread slowly through my chest.

I rarely showed weakness to anyone. I had learned long ago how to endure quietly, how to carry pain without asking for help.

But the few times I allowed myself to be vulnerable in front of him, he called it troublesome.

When a man had no interest in you, your pain meant nothing.

We were already heading toward divorce. I had already signed the papers.

What right did I have to expect care from him?

I let out a soft laugh that sounded more like self-mockery.

He had applied medicine to my wound once, and I let that small act of care pull me back again.

I lost myself so easily.

I humiliated myself again.

What I did not expect was how long his absence would last.

That night, he did not return.

The next day, he still did not come back.

Then another night passed.

I told myself I did not care.

But every evening, I found myself sitting on the bed, scrolling through my phone without seeing anything on the screen.

I told myself I was passing time.

In truth, I was waiting.

Waiting for footsteps in the hallway.

Waiting for the sound of the door.

Waiting for him.

At some point, exhaustion took over and I fell asleep with the lamp still on.

When I woke up the next morning, the other side of the bed was untouched.

Cold.

Empty.

No one had been there.

I stared at the ceiling for a long time.

A quiet sigh escaped me, then another.

What was the point of this anymore?

We were divorcing soon.

Why was I still hoping?

He was the man I had loved for ten years.

My husband for three.

We shared a home. A life. A bed.

How was I supposed to stop loving him overnight?

Maybe if he continued to disappoint me, the love would slowly fade on its own.

Maybe one day there would be nothing left to hold on to.

I stayed in bed longer than usual. Getting up felt meaningless.

It was Sunday.

Tomorrow, we would finalize the divorce.

After that, there would be no legal bond between us.

We would still live in the same house, but nothing would tie us together anymore.

He would stand beside Isabella openly.

And I would have no right to say a single word.

The thought alone felt suffocating.

I did not want to become bitter. I did not want to live with resentment eating away at me.

So I forced myself to get up.

Using my crutches, I slowly made my way to the library upstairs. I settled into the rocking chair by the window, letting the sunlight fall across my face.

It felt warm.

But empty.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Julian.

He asked why I had not come over like I promised.

Only then did I remember.

The lunch I had agreed to.

I had forgotten completely.

I apologized and told him I could not make it. I asked him to greet Uncle and Aunt Steele for me and promised to visit another time.

He replied almost immediately, asking what was wrong. He said he had not seen me at the studio for days.

I explained briefly that I had gotten hurt, that a rack had fallen and I twisted my ankle, and that I was resting at home.

There was a short pause.

Then my phone rang.

A video call.

I answered.

His face appeared on the screen instantly, filled with concern.

“What happened? Is it serious? Did you see a doctor?”

The questions came one after another.

I reassured him, smiling lightly. “It’s not serious. I just need rest.”

I turned the camera to show my ankle, wrapped and swollen.

His expression tightened immediately.

“That doesn’t look minor,” he said. “How did it get that bad?”

“Maybe I’ve just had bad luck lately,” I replied lightly.

He sighed, still unconvinced.

Then he mentioned his mother was about to go to church and asked if he should have a priest pray for me.

I laughed softly and agreed.

After a moment, he asked where I was staying and suggested coming to see me instead. He even asked what food I wanted, saying he could bring something along.

Julian and I had grown up together. We had only reconnected last year, and with our busy schedules, we rarely met.

He did not know about my marriage.

He only knew I had been taken in by the Ashford family.

This time, I did not refuse.

Alexander was not home anyway.

I gave him the address at The Crescent Estates and told him to call when he reached the gate.

Then I added casually, “Bring crispy duck breast from Silverwood District. And Black Forest cake from the bakery at Silverwood Plaza.”

He groaned immediately.

“That’s far.”

“Make a detour,” I said lightly. “If you’re visiting, show some sincerity.”

He laughed and agreed.

He arrived close to noon.

Security called to confirm before letting him in. By then, Maggie had helped me downstairs. I sat in the living room waiting.

Julian found the villa easily.

As soon as he walked in, he glanced around and commented on the property value.

I teased him. “You’re a big star. Why are you worried about rent?”

He smiled. “I just want to see how the Ashford family treats you.”

Then he added jokingly, “If they treat you badly, I’ll take you away myself.”

I laughed, brushing it off.

At that moment, a maid approached and asked what we wanted for lunch, addressing me as Miss Vivienne.

I had asked Maggie to use that title.

The marriage was ending.

Julian did not need to know yet.

After the divorce, the villa would still be mine. Inviting him here was not a problem.

I listed my favorite dishes, telling him Maggie could prepare anything. He added a few politely before she returned to the kitchen.

“Where’s the cake?” I asked. “I want it now.”

He laughed and brought it out.

He had also brought gifts from his parents, simple but thoughtful.

I pointed to a corner. “Leave them there. Maggie will sort them later.”

He nodded and carried the duck into the kitchen.

Lunch was lively.

We talked about childhood memories, school days, silly stories from the past.

We laughed easily.

For a while, everything else disappeared.

No Alexander.

No Isabella.

No divorce.

Just something simple and warm, like life before everything became complicated.

Around one in the afternoon, he left.

The house fell quiet again.