Vivienne's POV
Someone is pounding on my hotel room door like they're trying to break it down.
I jolt awake, my heart racing. The clock on the nightstand says 11:47 PM. I've only been asleep for twenty minutes.
The pounding continues. BANG BANG BANG.
"Vivienne!" A voice I know too well. "Open the door!"
Damien.
I sit up in bed, frozen. How did he find me? I've been so careful. I checked into this cheap hotel using my maiden name. I paid cash. I turned off my phone's location.
"I know you're in there!" More pounding. "Please. We need to talk."
"Go away!" I shout.
"No."
"Damien, I swear to God—"
"I'm not leaving until you open this door. I'll stand here all night if I have to. I'll wake up every single guest on this floor. I'll—"
I throw the blanket off and storm to the door. I rip it open, ready to scream at him.
But the words die in my throat.
He looks terrible. His hair is a mess. His shirt is wrinkled and half-untucked. His eyes are bloodshot like he hasn't slept in days. He's holding the divorce papers in his hand, crumpled and creased.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"I'm not signing." His voice is rough. Desperate. "We need to talk."
I laugh, but it sounds bitter even to my own ears. "Talk? We haven't really talked in seven years, Damien. Why start now?"
"Because you're leaving me." His hands are shaking. The powerful CEO who never shows emotion is standing in a hotel hallway at midnight, shaking. "Because I can't let you go."
"You never had me to let go."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" I cross my arms. "You've ignored me for seven years. We sleep in separate rooms. You forget our anniversary. You work sixteen-hour days to avoid coming home. The only time you even look at me is when you're walking past me to get to your study."
"I know." His voice cracks. "I know I've been a terrible husband."
"Then why?" The question bursts out of me. "Why did you marry me if you were just going to make me feel invisible?"
"Because I'm a coward," he says simply. "Because I was terrified."
"Of what?"
"Of this." He gestures between us. "Of caring about someone. Of needing someone. Of..." He swallows hard. "Of loving someone who could leave me."
I stare at him. "You're not making any sense."
"My parents killed themselves when I was sixteen." The words come out fast, like he's been holding them in forever. "They lost everything in a business deal. One day we had a mansion and cars and money. The next day we had nothing. My father shot himself in his office. My mother took pills that same night. I found them both."
My hand covers my mouth. I knew his parents died, but I never knew how. He never told me.
"I had to raise my little brother alone," Damien continues. "I was sixteen years old, and suddenly I was responsible for a twelve-year-old kid. We lived in a one-room apartment. I worked three jobs. I put myself through college. I built my company from nothing." His eyes meet mine. "I swore I would never let myself need anyone again. Never let anyone have that kind of power over me."
"So you kept me away," I whisper.
"I thought if I didn't let myself love you, it wouldn't hurt when you left." He laughs bitterly. "Turns out I was wrong. It hurts anyway. It's been hurting for seven years."
"You're saying you love me?" I shake my head. "No. No, you don't get to say that now. Not after everything."
"I love you." He says it again, stronger this time. "I've loved you since the night in the garden. Since you told me about raising Celeste alone. Since you cried about missing your parents. Since you fell asleep on that bench and I carried you inside and you smiled in your sleep."
Tears are running down my face. "Stop it."
"I love the way you hum when you cook. The way you read three books at the same time and forget which story is which. The way you leave coffee cups all over the house because you keep forgetting where you put them." His voice breaks. "I love that you kept trying with me. That you brought me coffee every morning even though I never thanked you. That you made dinner every night even though I was never home to eat it."
"Then why didn't you tell me?" I'm crying now. Really crying. "Why did you make me feel like I was nothing?"
"Because I'm an idiot." He steps closer. "Because I thought keeping you safe meant keeping you away. Because I was so scared of losing you that I pushed you away first." He holds up the divorce papers. "But I can't do it anymore. I can't pretend I don't care. I can't sign these papers and let you walk away. I won't."
"You don't have a choice."
"Then I'll fight it. I'll fight you. I'll fight your lawyer. I'll fight the whole damn court system if I have to." His eyes are wild now. Desperate. "I'll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you matter. That you're not invisible. That you're the only thing I see."
"It's too late." The words hurt coming out. "Seven years too late."
"No." He drops the papers on the floor and grabs my hands. His touch is warm. Solid. Real. "It's not too late. Not if you still feel something for me. Not if there's even a tiny part of you that wants to try."
I should pull away. I should slam the door in his face. I should tell him to go to hell.
But I can't move. Because his hands are holding mine, and it's the first time he's really touched me in years, and my whole body is screaming at me to hold on.
"Do you still love me?" he asks quietly. "Even a little bit?"
"I—" The word catches in my throat.
"Tell me the truth, Vivienne. Do you still love me?"
"Yes." The confession breaks something inside me. "Yes, I still love you. I've never stopped loving you. That's the problem."
His eyes close like I just gave him the only answer that matters. "Then give me a chance. Give me one month to prove I can be the husband you deserve. If after thirty days you still want the divorce, I'll sign. No fighting. No lawyers. I'll give you anything you want."
"One month won't change seven years."
"Maybe not. But it's a start." He squeezes my hands. "Please. I'm begging you. One month."
I look at our joined hands. At his face, so desperate and open. At the divorce papers scattered on the floor between us.
One month. Thirty days to see if the man I married actually exists under all that ice.
"Okay," I whisper. "One month."
Relief floods his face. "Thank you. Thank you, I promise—"
"But there are rules," I interrupt. "You don't get to hide anymore. No more working sixteen hours a day. No more separate bedrooms. No more treating me like I'm invisible. If we're doing this, we're doing it for real."
"Anything," he says. "Whatever you want."
"And if at the end of thirty days I still want the divorce, you sign. No questions. No fighting."
His jaw clenches, but he nods. "Deal."
We stand there in the hotel doorway, holding hands, both terrified and hopeful and broken.
"So what happens now?" I ask.
"Now?" He pulls me closer, and for the first time in seven years, I let him. "Now we go home. Together. And I start proving that I meant every word I just said."
He leans down, and I think he's going to kiss me. My heart races. My breath catches.
But then his phone rings.
He ignores it. It rings again. And again.
"Answer it," I say quietly.
He pulls out his phone, still holding my hand with his other one like he's afraid I'll disappear. His face goes pale as he reads the screen.
"What?" I ask. "What's wrong?"
"It's my brother Marcus." His voice is tight. "He says there's an emergency at the company. The board is calling for an emergency vote. They want to remove me as CEO."
My stomach drops. "Because of the divorce?"
"Because I walked out of the meeting." He looks at me, torn. "I have to go back. I have to fix this."
And just like that, reality crashes back in.
"Of course you do," I say, pulling my hand away. "The company always comes first."
"No. Vivienne, that's not—"
"It's fine." I step back into my hotel room. "You have your answer. I have mine."
"What does that mean?"
"It means the month hasn't even started, and you're already choosing work over me." I grab the door handle. "Maybe we both know how this ends."
"Vivienne, wait—"
But I close the door before he can finish. I lean against it, listening to him on the other side.
"Vivienne, please. This isn't what it looks like. I'm coming back. I promise I'm coming back."
I don't answer.
After a minute, I hear his footsteps walking away.
I slide down the door until I'm sitting on the floor, my knees pulled to my chest.
He said he loved me. He said I was all he saw. He said he'd prove it.
And then he left.
Just like always.
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number: "He's not going to the office. He's going somewhere else. Want to know where?"
I stare at the message. Who is this? The same person who texted Damien earlier?
Another message: "Check your email. I sent you proof of where he's REALLY going. You might want to see it before you give him that month."
My hands shake as I open my email. There's a new message with an attachment. A photo.
I click on it.
The photo shows Damien... with Celeste. They're sitting in a car together. She's leaning close to him, her hand on his arm. He's looking at her with an expression I can't read.
The timestamp says it was taken yesterday.
My phone buzzes again: "Still think he loves YOU?"