All Chapters of I WON'T MARRY A BILLIONAIRE : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Vivienne's POVI stood at the window.I didn't plan to go there. My body just made the decision before my mind caught up and I was standing at the glass looking at the city below with my hands at my sides and the shaking in them slowly moving up through my arms into my chest.Charles didn't follow me.He stayed at the counter. I could feel him behind me the way you felt a presence that was being deliberately still, giving you the room you needed without disappearing from it.I looked at the city.And my mother's voice came.....Not as a memory exactly.More like a tide. Starting somewhere deep and rising slowly through everything, carrying pieces with it as it climbed.I was six years old and she was tucking me in and I asked her why we didn't have a daddy and she was quiet for a long moment and then she said some people are not built for staying and left it there because six was too young for the rest of it.I was eight and I had found her crying at the kitchen table at midnight, qu

Vivienne's POVHe came alone.I had called him the night before after I got home. Told him to come to my mother's house at nine in the morning. Told him to bring a lawyer.He was quiet for a moment.Then he said, "I don't need one.""Charles.""I don't need one, Vivienne."I didn't argue. I didn't have the energy and I understood that arguing with Charles when he had decided something was like pushing against a wall. The wall didn't move. It just waited for you to stop pushing.He arrived at five past nine.I opened the door.He looked at me first. Not at the house or the street or anything else. Just at me. A quick thorough look, the kind that was checking something specific. Whether I was alright. Whether the night had been manageable.I gave him a small nod.He gave one back.We went inside.....My mother was at the kitchen table.She had been up early. I could tell from the specific quality of the kitchen when I had arrived thirty minutes before him, the way it looked when she ha

Vivienne's POVCharles left quietly.He pushed his chair back and stood and looked at my mother and said thank you for this in a tone that meant exactly what it said and nothing extra. She looked at him and gave him a single nod. He looked at me briefly, just a moment, and then he picked up his jacket from the back of the chair and walked out of the kitchen.The front door opened and closed.And then it was just the two of us.....We didn't speak immediately.That was fine. My mother and I had always been good at the kind of silence that didn't need to be filled. We had lived together long enough in rooms where the most important things were happening underneath the conversation rather than in it that we had both developed an ease with quiet that most people didn't have.The kitchen settled around us.The lamp over the counter. The window with its permanent small gap. The chamomile tea she still hadn't drunk, cold now, sitting forgotten at her elbow.The document on the table between

Vivienne's POVElla called me on a Friday morning.Not a message. A call. Ella messaged as a default. She found calls inefficient for most purposes and said so regularly and without apology. When she called it meant something that couldn't wait for a message and couldn't be condensed into one.I picked up."Can you come to my office," she said. "Today if possible.""What is it.""Today if possible," she said again.I went.---Her office was on the fourteenth floor of a building on the east side that housed four different legal and financial practices and had the specific atmosphere of a place where serious things were handled seriously. Ella's space within it reflected her completely. Clean surfaces. Nothing on her desk that didn't have a function. One plant in the corner that was alive because she watered it on a schedule she had entered into her calendar rather than because she remembered to.She was at her desk when I came in.There was a file in front of her.Not thin. The kind o

Vivienne's POVI cooked dinner.Not for any particular reason except that cooking required my hands and my attention and the combination of the two was useful when my mind was doing the thing it had been doing for three days since Ella's office. Moving over the same ground repeatedly. The file. The photograph. The charity dinner eight months ago. The smile that was already ending.Charles arrived at seven with wine he had chosen carefully, which I knew because he always chose wine carefully, and came into the kitchen and stood at the counter and watched me work the way he sometimes did when he wasn't needed and didn't pretend to be.We ate at the table.The conversation was easy through most of it. That was the thing about what we had built across these months. The easy conversation had become genuinely easy. It didn't require maintenance. It just happened because we were two people who were interested in each other and had enough between us to talk about without manufacturing it.I w