Vivian's Table Novels & Stories

I was just stupid. As I returned to the meeting room, Julia and Patricia were whispering to each other. And the moment I entered, they stopped and stared at me. “What?” I smiled, walking toward the seat like nothing happened. Julia and Patricia exchanged a glance before Patricia asked, “Vivian, are you holding anything from us?” “No,” I said, “why would you think so?” Patricia narrowed her eyes skeptically and rubbed her chin like a detective. “If we don’t get it wrong, your last name is Cunningham. Is it correct?”

Vivian was hosting several high-ranking noble guests who had stayed after the morning tea, their rich velvet surcoats and silk gowns gleaming beneath the lights. ​As I entered, every eye slid toward me, a wave of subtle, knowing smirks rippling across the table. ​Vivian had deliberately left only one chair vacant at the far end of the setting—a narrow, fragile wooden seat with delicate carved legs, squeezed tightly between two broad stone pillars. ​Serena, seated near the head of the table in a dazzling rose-colored dress, let out a dramatic, breathless gasp.

Surely Vivian wouldn't initiate a legal dispute over a handful of coffee beans. She padded barefoot down the hallway, the herringbone floors cool beneath her feet. As she rounded the corner into the open-concept kitchen, she froze. Vivian was already there. She was perched on a sleek barstool, looking absurdly put-together for the early hour in a crisp charcoal-grey blouse, tailored trousers, and her hair neatly pinned up. She held an iPad in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. The moment Avery’s bare foot stepped onto the kitchen tile, Vivian’s eyes snapped up. She pointedly tapped the face of her luxury watch.

Inside, the rooms stayed cool and dim even at midday. Vivian stood at the glass wall overlooking the drop, still in the linen dress she had worn to lunch, bare feet silent on the stone. Forty-one. The kind of quiet wealth that never needed to announce itself. Behind her, her husband Julian poured two glasses of cold white wine and left them untouched on the low table. Forty-four. Controlled. Watchful. The third person in the villa had not been invited to drink.

****** Vivian noticed Aiden watching her at dinner. She kept her expression composed. She spoke normally. She laughed when Richard said something amusing. She even asked Aiden about work. Nothing in her behavior suggested anything was wrong. But Aiden watched her carefully. He had learned that danger didn't always announce itself. Sometimes it sat at the dinner table and passed the salt. Vivian caught his gaze. “Is something wrong?” “No.” Aiden smiled faintly. “Just thinking.” She returned her attention to her plate. Neither said anything else. But Vivian knew.

It's feel like dream. It feels impossible. Finally, after several boring meetings discussing lessons, Vivian could go out with the love of her life on a date! "Vivian, it's your turn to order." Xavier admonished as Vivian had kept the waiter waiting in front of their table for too long. "I'll have it then..." she said, pointing at the menu in a shiny black book. After finishing, the waiter walked away and left the two of them alone.

She was his newest executive consultant, and had been working closely with him for months now. Beautiful, polished, intimidatingly elegant Vivian Laurent. With her blonde hair and long, toned legs that made her look like a model, she looked like she belonged there, next to him. They fit together perfectly, and the sight did something unpleasant to my chest. “Oh,” Vivian said first. Her eyes moved past me toward the dining room. Toward the candles. The flowers. The carefully arranged table. Understanding flashed across her face almost instantly. Meanwhile Ethan barely looked up from his phone as he loosened his tie.

Three years into my marriage to Vivian Rhodes, I've suffered three separate accidents. In the first year, my art studio mysteriously catches fire, and a falling easel crushes both of my hands. In the second year, I am involved in a car accident that damages my reproductive system, leaving me infertile. In the third year, I am attacked and suffer a severe head injury. When I wake up, I develop serious vision problems. The doctor tells me that my corneas are severely damaged and infected. To save my life, they have to remove one of my eyes. Devastated, I chase the doctors and nurses out of my room and flee from the hospital. But then I overhear my wife talking to her best friend, H

Vivian pulled out a chair for Leslie, encouraging him to take a seat. As they settled at the table, Vivian couldn't help but feel a mix of nervousness and excitement. The air was charged with anticipation, both aware of the weight of the topics that awaited their discussion. For now, they focused on the meal before them, savouring the flavours and engaging in light-hearted conversation, allowing themselves a moment of respite before addressing the deeper matters at hand.

Then, more messages. But it’s Pictures. I rubbed my eyes again, staring at the images loading on my screen. Then it’s Raymond and that witchcraft girl Vivian. Sitting at a fancy restaurant. Candles. Wine. Laughing. Looking cozy. Like a couple. “They look good together “ I muttered staring at the pictures I slowly lifted my gaze to the decorations in the living room. The dining table. The food Maid and I had worked so hard to make. The man we did all this for?