Chapter 3

He noticed the suitcase instantly. His brow furrowed.

"Where are you going?"

"Traveling."

"Traveling." He loosened his tie like the word was a joke. "You've spent seven years running this household without a single night away. You really think you can just leave?"

He crossed his arms.

"Vivian. If you're trying to pressure me into backing down, it won't work."

"I don't think you're right. And I don't think Serena and I did anything wrong. I've taken care of you for seven years — it's time you showed some appreciation."

I said nothing. I didn't argue.

I walked to the closet and slid the suitcase back in.

It was light.

Like the seven years I'd spent inside this house. Like the marriage I'd been expecting for just as long.

I'd told myself it was lush and full.

It was hollow straight through.

Ethan gave a satisfied nod.

"Good. You understand." He let out a low, dismissive sound. "There's no one else in the world who'll give you a home, a balcony full of flowers, everything you have here. Count your blessings."

His voice had a certainty to it — and under it, something colder.

The faint, sweet scent of strawberries drifted off his clothes.

A delayed ache settled in my chest.

"Remember — you're not the woman who used to shine on stage. You're Ethan Harrington's housekeeper now. A woman who's been domesticated out of any other usefulness. Stop pretending otherwise. Behave yourself, and I'll take care of you—"

His voice carried through the sound of the shower running, half-muffled by steam.

I didn't respond.

What he didn't know was that the suitcase I'd put back in the closet held my passport, my ID, and a change of clothes.

I hadn't backed down.

I'd bought myself another day.

My flight was the day after tomorrow.

The next afternoon, Ethan called me — unexpectedly, voluntarily.

His voice was softer than it had been in months.

"The company's annual gala is tonight. Our partners have been asking about you."

A small pause. Then, almost gently:

"Come. And maybe... I'll make it official. Right there."

My heart stumbled for a moment. Then settled.

Not excitement. Something older and quieter.

Seven years. I needed an answer.

So I said yes.

That evening a courier arrived with a pair of sapphire earrings and a black off-shoulder dress.

My color. My size.

Something warm flickered in my chest.

I walked into the gala venue with my head up and the dress clinging right.

And stopped.

At the far end of the room, on a stage blanketed in white roses, Serena Thorne stood in the center — wearing a black beaded off-shoulder dress, sapphires glittering at her throat. Larger than mine.

Ethan was on one knee before her, ring box open.

The spotlights circled them like a halo.

The cameras clicked. The room erupted.

It should have shattered me.

Instead I felt something almost like relief.

Of course. Of course it was always going to be this.

Ethan moved fast. He was at my side before I could step back, voice dropped low.

"This proposal isn't real. It's for Serena's birthday — she had this one request, and I'm fulfilling it. She needs a bridesmaid. Stand next to her. I'll explain everything when we get home."

The absurdity of what he was saying didn't seem to reach him.

He steered me by the elbow and positioned me beside Serena before I could speak.

So I stood there.

His actual girlfriend.

Wearing a smile I'd forced into place.

Watching the man I'd spent seven years loving slip my ring — the one I'd chosen — onto Serena Thorne's finger.

Watching them look at each other. Watching them embrace under all those lights while the room exploded with applause.

The fireworks outside burst open.

The guests laughed, faces stretched wide with joy that had nothing to do with me.

I'd dreamed this scene a thousand times.

I had always been the one in the center.

At the reception, when Ethan made the rounds with a glass in hand, Serena followed a half step behind him with a cup of something she'd made herself — my recipe. The one I'd burned through dozens of batches perfecting. The one Ethan had once smiled at and said: Will you make this for me forever?

Now he was drinking it from her hands.

"They were made for each other," someone said, raising a glass. "That's a baby on the way within the year, I'd wager."

"I'll drink to that," Ethan laughed.

The table raised their glasses.

Serena's eyes found mine. Her smile sharpened.

Under the noise, she leaned close enough that only I could hear:

"Seven years and you never got that proposal. I got it in one. You're just like your father — useless. Why don't you do what he did?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Enough for me to hear. Enough for the people closest to us to catch.

Someone looked away. Someone made a quiet sound in the back of their throat.

Ethan heard. Or he must have. He was standing close enough.

He did nothing.

I picked up the glass of red wine beside me, took one calm sip, and poured the rest over Serena's smiling face.

Then I turned to Ethan.

"Is this what tonight was for? To use me as a prop? A test? Or just entertainment?"

The laughter cut off.

Ethan's jaw set. "Vivian. I explained — and you're making a scene again. What is wrong with you?"

He stepped between Serena and me, his body a shield.

I didn't look at him.

"Whatever it was for," I said, my voice steady, "I'm done."

"Ethan. We're over."

His hand snapped around my wrist.

His voice shifted — lower now, and ugly.

"Take that back. Games like this don't work on me."

"Let go."

I pried his fingers off one by one.

He laughed, short and cold.

"You spent seven years in that kitchen. You're years behind everyone else out there. Who's going to want you? I'm not even upset you ruined the proposal — just apologize to Serena and we'll move on—"

A full glass of red wine.

Poured slowly over his head.

The room gasped.

Ethan looked up, drenched, stunned.

I held out my hand.

"Give it back."

"What?"

"The watch. My father's watch."

It had been on his wrist for years. My father had pressed it into my palm the day he died, one last breath left in him: Take it, Vivian. As long as you have it, I'm still here.

I'd given it to Ethan. Back when I believed in us.

I wasn't asking anymore.

"My hand." He almost laughed. "You stayed. You gave it willingly. You're the one ending this — and now you want it back? On what grounds?"