All Chapters of Mr Ex, Call me your uncle's wife now.: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Vivian's POVThe silence stretched between us like an electric wire.Ethan's eyes were fixed on me, unblinking, the whiskey glass resting on the arm of his chair. The lamplight cast sharp shadows across his face, making him look harder, colder, more dangerous than I'd ever seen him."I asked you a question," he said, his voice low and even. "Where are you coming from?"I swallowed, my throat dry. My back was still burning, the ruined fabric of my dress clinging to my skin."The hospital," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "I went to visit my mom.""The hospital." He repeated the word like he was tasting it, testing it for lies. "And why are you coming back from the hospital by this time?"I hesitated. I didn't want to tell him. But I also knew I couldn't hide it. He'd find out eventually, and it would be worse if he heard it from someone else."Someone attacked me on my way out of the hospital, they threw acid at me," I said quietly. "In the parking lot."Ethan's expression s

Vivian's POVI jolted, my heart leaping into my throat.I spun around, my hand pressed against my chest, and found myself face-to-face with an older man in a crisp black suit. He was tall and thin, with silver-streaked hair and a weathered face that spoke of years of service. His expression was neutral, polite, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that made me uneasy."I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, his voice smooth and measured. "I didn't mean to startle you. I was passing by and saw you standing here. Is there something I can help you with?"I forced a smile, trying to calm my racing heart. "No, I was just... exploring. I haven't had a chance to see this part of the house yet.""Ah, of course." He nodded, his eyes flicking briefly to the locked door behind me. "This is the west wing. It's mostly used for storage now. Nothing of interest, I'm afraid.""Oh, I see," I said, glancing back at the door. "What do you store in there?""Old furniture, documents, things that Mr. Blackwell hasn'

Vivian's POVThe drive back to the estate was a blur of buildings and tangled thoughts.I sat in the back of the car, the file clutched against my chest like a shield, and watched the city slide past the window. The rain had started to fall, fat droplets streaking across the glass, blurring the world outside into a smear of muted colors. My father's face kept flashing through my mind… the way his jaw had tightened, the way his eyes had flickered with something almost like guilt before he'd looked away. He knew. He knew what Sandra was doing, and he was letting it happen.I should have been used to it by now. Years of being pushed aside, of watching him choose his mistress and her daughter over us, had taught me not to expect anything from him. But somehow, it still stung. It still cut deep, that quiet, familiar ache of knowing your own father didn't love you enough to fight for you. It was a wound that never quite healed, always sitting just beneath the surface, waiting to be reopened

Vivian's POVThe morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, painting the bedroom in warm hues. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the memory of the rose petal still fresh in my mind. I'd tucked it into the drawer of my nightstand, a silent reminder that something was happening in this house that I didn't understand.I'd barely slept. Every creak of the estate had set my heart racing, every shadow in the corner of my vision making me freeze. But nothing had come. No more strange petals, no whispers in the dark. Just the oppressive silence of a house holding its breath.I forced myself out of bed, had a warm refreshing bath and dressed in a simple cream blouse and tailored trousers. I needed to feel put together, even if I didn't feel it inside. I made my way downstairs, the scent of fresh coffee drawing me toward the kitchen.I was halfway through my first cup when the doorbell chimed.I frowned, setting down my mug. Visitors were rare at the estate, and unannounc

Vivian's POVThe morning light filtered through the curtains. I lay still for a moment, my body still carrying the memory of last night's encounter… the ache between my thighs, the lingering scent of him on my skin. But the bed beside me was empty, the sheets cool to the touch. He'd left in the night, as he always did.I pushed myself up, my muscles protesting, and reached for my phone on the nightstand. The screen glowed with a single notification… an email from a name I didn't recognize.Margaret Chen, Esq.Chen & Associates, Family LawI frowned, tapping the message open.Dear Mrs. Blackwell,I am writing to inform you that the probate proceedings regarding your mother's estate have encountered an unexpected complication. A claim has been filed contesting the validity of the will, and we require your presence at a meeting to discuss the matter. Please contact my office at your earliest convenience to schedule a time.Sincerely,Margaret ChenI read the email again, my heart beginni