Chapter 4

Vivian's POV

From that day on, I was like a different person.

The next morning, Maxwell was still asleep when I started clearing out my walk-in closet. Everything he'd given me, or things we'd bought together as a couple, I packed into trash bags.

Maxwell woke up, frowned at the chaotic scene on the floor. "What are you doing so early?"

I didn't look at him, just said flatly, "These things are old. I don't like them anymore."

"If you don't like them, throw them out. I'll buy you more," Maxwell said dismissively, yawning. "Are you still going to the dance company today?"

"No," I tossed the last designer bag into a sack. "I've already quit."

Maxwell was fully awake now. He grabbed my wrist, his brows deeply furrowed. "Quit? Why? Don't you love dancing more than anything?"

I looked up, meeting his gaze with calm eyes. "I've been dancing for so many years; I'm tired. I want to rest."

Maxwell stared into my eyes for a long time, as if trying to discern something, but my gaze was as still as stagnant water. Finally, he relented, pulling me into his arms and ruffling my hair. "Alright, dancing is too exhausting. I'll take care of you from now on. You can do whatever you want."

His fingers slid down my spine, carrying a strong suggestive undertone. "Besides, baby, I don't want any other man seeing your soft waist."

My body stiffened. I pulled away, pretending to be busy. "You should get to the office. I still have to finish tidying up."

After Maxwell left, I immediately called housekeepers to haul out all those dozens of trash bags, leaving everything sparkling clean.

As soon as I finished, breathing a sigh of relief, my phone rang.

It was a text from an unknown number, the message outrageously arrogant.

"Vivian, tonight at seven, the New York Charity Gala. Dare to come and I'll show you who the real mistress is. I'm Maxwell's fiancée, Chloe."

Fiancée?

I stared at those three words and just found it laughable.

Turns out, I wasn't even a girlfriend, just one of his many pawns.

That evening, I arrived at the charity gala in a simple white gown and instantly became the center of attention.

Soon, a woman in a fiery red dress, covered in glittering jewelry, approached me with a glass in hand. It was Chloe.

"You're Vivian?" Chloe sized me up, her eyes dismissive. "I thought you were some beauty queen. You're nothing special. Maxwell told me he's breaking up with you soon. If you're smart, you'll disappear now. Don't wait to be publicly kicked out; it'd be too embarrassing."

I didn't even bother to lift an eyelid, just responded with a flat, "Oh."

Whatever fiancée he might have, it no longer stirred a single ripple in my heart.

My indifference infuriated her. Clearly, she had never been ignored in her life.

"What is that attitude?!" she shrieked, then raised her hand and violently splashed the red wine in her glass all over me!

The cold liquid instantly soaked my pristine white gown, leaving a large, glaring stain across my chest.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd.

Chloe, far from satisfied, took another menacing step and shoved me hard toward a decorative staircase.

"How dare a mistress wear white? Have you no shame?"

Caught off guard, I fell hard, my body twisting awkwardly before impact. A sickening crack echoed as my forehead slammed into the sharp edge of a marble step. White-hot pain exploded behind my eyes, and my world went black.

The hall plunged into chaos. Chloe was winding up for another kick when a voice, cold as a blade, rang out from the entrance.

"Chloe. Do you have a death wish?”