Chapter 2

Vivian's POV

I returned to our mansion in Greenwich.

This place used to be my sanctuary. The cashmere rugs I picked out, the custom couple mugs we made at a pottery class, the framed photo of us chasing the Northern Lights in Iceland...

Every corner was filled with proof of his love.

The next afternoon, the front doors were thrown open.

Christian walked in, looking sharp in a tailored black suit. Right next to him, holding his arm, was Tiffany Sterling, wearing a delicate white dress and looking like a fragile doll.

I stood at the top of the stairs, watching their locked hands. My chest tightened so hard it was difficult to breathe.

"Christian, the decor here is so depressing. I really don't like it," Tiffany whispered, looking around the living room with a pout.

Christian looked down at her, his eyes filled with the exact tenderness I used to receive.

"If you don't like it, we'll throw it all out."

He turned to the butler, his voice instantly turning frigid. "Throw away everything that belongs to Vivian. Re-decorate the entire place exactly how Tiffany wants it."

The butler froze, looking at me awkwardly. "Mr. Blackwood, but... you personally picked out these items with Mrs. Blackwood..."

"I said, throw them out!" Christian roared, his glare piercing through me. "Are you deaf? Or does she run this house now?"

The maids didn't dare hesitate. They immediately started packing.

I watched my favorite cashmere rug get rolled up. I watched our custom mugs get tossed into a trash bag with a sharp clink.

That was the mug Christian had held my hand to mold.

"Wait."

I hurried down the stairs, snatching a small wooden box from a maid's hands.

Inside was a wooden hairpin Christian had hand-carved for me on my twenty-fifth birthday. He had told me he would love me forever.

"Drop it," Christian's icy voice sounded behind me.

I clutched the box to my chest, my knuckles turning white. "Christian, this is mine."

"Is there a single thing on your body that wasn't bought with my money?" Christian stepped closer, looking down at me with utter contempt. "Vivian, did you really think playing the role of Mrs. Blackwood for three years made you the owner of this estate?"

He snatched the wooden box from my grip and threw it onto the hardwood floor.

Crack.

The box splintered, and the wooden hairpin inside snapped in half.

Without an ounce of hesitation, Christian stepped forward, grinding the broken hairpin into the dust with his expensive leather shoe.

"Trash belongs in the trash can."

My breath caught in my throat.

I stared at the broken pieces on the floor. My eyes burned, but I refused to let a single tear drop.

Tiffany stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Christian's, saying softly, "Christian, let it go. Vivian has lived here for three years, after all. We should leave her with some dignity. Why don't we let her stay in the basement guest room for now?"

The basement room was damp, dark, and usually reserved for temporary cleaning staff.

Christian spared me a cold glance. "Since you're taking your sweet time signing the papers, you can stay in the basement. Tiffany is staying for dinner tonight. You'll cook. Her stomach is sensitive, and she can't stand restaurant food."

I snapped my head up to look at him.

In the past, Christian never let me cook. He said my hands were meant for professional interpreting, not kitchen grease. If I ever made a meal, he would fuss over my hands for hours.

Now, he wanted me to play maid for his first love.

"What? You got a problem with that?" Christian stepped into my personal space, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Vivian, learn your place. Until the divorce is finalized, you better keep your head down and keep Tiffany happy."

I looked at his familiar face, suddenly feeling a bone-deep exhaustion.

"Fine. I'll do it."

I turned and walked into the kitchen without looking back.

Behind me, the sound of their laughter echoed through the house. It felt like a physical blow, leaving me bruised and bleeding inside.