Chapter 2

Vivian's POV

I don't even know how I got back to the villa.

The villa was pitch black.

This was supposed to be Maxwell's and my safe haven. Our matching couple's slippers were still in the entryway.

Photos from our trip to Europe hung on the wall, and his suit jacket, which he'd casually tossed aside that morning, lay on the sofa.

Every single thing, at this moment, felt like it was mocking my stupidity.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, jarringly loud in the dead silence.

I mechanically pulled it out. The screen lit up - Vincent.

I answered. Before I could speak, tears streamed down my face. No sound, just uncontrollable sobs.

"Viv, what's wrong? Are you crying?" Vincent's voice was always so gentle, always the first to sense when something was amiss with me.

"Vin..." I only managed one syllable. My throat felt choked with cotton, unable to form words.

"Did that jerk Maxwell hurt you?" Vincent's voice instantly turned icy. He never liked Maxwell, enduring him only because I did.

I bit down hard on my lip, swallowing my sobs.

I couldn't tell him. I knew my brother too well; he'd rush over without a second thought, even if it meant risking the entire Vincent family fortune.

That was exactly what Maxwell wanted. He'd spent three years setting this trap. I couldn't let my brother fall into it because of me.

I took a deep breath, forcing calm into my voice. "No, we... we just had an arrangement."

"Vin, I'm tired. I want to come home."

Silence hung on the line for a few seconds.

"Then come home.” His voice held a solid, unwavering strength. “Don't think about a thing. I'll take care of everything."

"I'll find you a fiancé who actually deserves you."

"Break it off. Handle what you need to, and come back. Now."

"Okay." I nodded, the rain mixing with the salt of my tears, a bitter taste on my lips. "I'm sorry, Vincent. For all these years of making you worry. I'm coming home. I'll listen to you now."

After hanging up, my legs gave out, and I couldn't stand anymore.

I rushed into the bathroom, turned the water to its hottest, and scrubbed myself fiercely from head to toe. My skin turned crimson, as if I were trying to rub off a layer.

Dressed in clean clothes, I sat at my desk and opened a new diary.

The rain beat down outside. My hand, holding the pen, hadn't quite stopped trembling.

One: Get rid of all his things.

Two: Resign from the dance company.

Three: Say goodbye to everyone in this city.

Four: Delete the videos from his phone.

I took out my calendar and found the date of Vincent's company's IPO - Wall Street's bell-ringing ceremony. I circled it heavily with a red marker.

Downstairs, the sound of a key turning in the lock.

"Circling the date so you won't forget?” A voice, lazy and laced with the scent of whiskey, came from the doorway.

My body stiffened, the pen scratching a jagged line across the paper.

Maxwell leaned against the doorframe, the first two buttons of his shirt undone. His eyes were glazed, a slow, knowing smile on his lips. "Baby, I was just thinking about the unforgettable surprise I have planned for you that day."

I closed the diary, lifted my head to meet his gaze, and forced out a stiff smile, "Oh really? What a coincidence. I've prepared quite the surprise for you, too."