Chapter 3

Vivienne's POV

The video call stayed connected.

From somewhere off-screen on her end, Lucas's voice drifted through.

"Bianca, drink your milk."

That voice. Soft. Careful. It belonged to a stranger.

The venom in Bianca's face evaporated in an instant. She replaced it with a fragile, startled expression and mouthed silently at the camera.

He's here.

I was the only audience for this little show.

"Tonight is the family dinner. Bring the heir and let the families meet him. Make sure you save me a good seat."

Bianca ended the call.

Tonight was the Holt family's most important annual gathering.

It was a deeply tradition-bound event. Bloodlines, inheritance, legacy.

And she was planning to attend?

This was the ultimate provocation against me as his legal wife. It was a slap in the face to the entire Holt family name.

Before I could put the tablet down, the doorbell rang.

The old family butler led a procession of staff through the front door, each one carrying a formal evening gown.

"Mrs. Holt."

The butler's expression was stiff - professionally blank as he bowed.

"Mr. Holt has instructed that tonight's family dinner will include all board members and extended family. He asks that you be present and conduct yourself as befitting the lady of the house. The family's reputation must be maintained."

That woman was going to walk in there and parade her belly around, and he wanted me to smile and cover for him.

Lucas. What a perfectly shameless calculation.

The butler made a point of presenting a custom-tailored men's suit.

"This is what Mr. Holt will be wearing tonight."

I reached out and ran my fingers over the fabric. Expensive. Smooth. Cold to the touch.

Such fine material. What a waste, draping it over something so rotten underneath.

"Leave it there."

The butler set it down and led the staff back out.

I walked into the dressing room and picked up the small scissors used for trimming cigars.

This suit had been made three years ago, when I flew to Savile Row myself to have it commissioned from an old master tailor - a celebration of Lucas claiming his position at the top.

The cufflinks bore the Holt family crest. Every engraved line had been chosen by me, with care.

Snip.

The blades came down.

The sound of expensive fabric tearing was almost like a scream.

I cut mechanically. One stroke after another.

In that video, he had been lying against another woman's body, wearing different clothes.

If he was no longer fit to be called a man, then he didn't deserve the skin of one.

When Lucas returned, the dressing room looked like the aftermath of a storm.

Shredded silk and wool lay scattered across the carpet like black snow - the shattered remains of dignity.

I was sitting in the middle of it all, turning the scissors over in my hands.

He frowned slightly. No anger. He didn't even glance at the ruins on the floor.

"Derek, bring a backup suit."

He stepped over the scraps, walked to the mirror, and began loosening his tie.

There was a faint mark on his neck - barely there, covered with concealer, but visible under the bright lights of the dressing room.

He had ignored the entire wreckage around him and taken care to hide a small smudge of lipstick.

"I hear someone's planning to bring the heir to the family dinner tonight?"

I flicked a scrap of fabric off the floor with the tip of the scissors.

Lucas adjusted his tie clip in the mirror, unhurried.

"Bianca is carrying a child. I'm bringing her to meet my grandfather. Let the old man enjoy himself. Don't make a scene on a good night."

He stated his illegitimate child's existence as though it were a perfectly reasonable family arrangement.

"There won't be anything to enjoy."

I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it at his freshly changed trousers.

It was a surgical consent form. There were bloodstains on the edge.

Lucas picked it up and smoothed it open.

When he saw the hospital letterhead and the words Termination of Pregnancy, his pupils contracted sharply.

"I had someone take care of it for her. A little housecleaning."

My voice was flat. I watched his back go rigid.

"She should be on the operating table right now."

"Vivienne!"

He spun around with a shout and grabbed me by the throat, slamming me back against the closet doors.

"That was my blood. How could you-"

The veins on the back of his hand stood out. His eyes went red.

Watching him unravel like that, over an unborn child that wasn't even mine to lose, I suddenly found it almost funny.

So much for two people who were supposed to have each other's backs. One instinct, and all of it crumbled like wet paper.