Vivienne
The drive back to the West mansion felt like a journey through a nightmare, and I couldn't stop thinking of what to say once I saw Roman. The blue box sat on the passenger seat with the manila envelope containing the quit notice.
"What should I tell him to do?" I questioned myself as I pulled into the driveway of the West mansion.
Fortunately for me, Roman's sleek sedan was already parked in its usual spot, but beside it sat a stunning rose-gold Bentley Mulliner Batur—which I recognized because I had always been a fan of cars. This car was a masterpiece of luxury: elegant, rare, and costing nearly two million dollars, according to what I saw online, which meant whoever was in that house with them was someone of importance.
My heart pounded hard against my ribs as I stepped out of the car, clutching my bag tightly.
I walked through the grand entrance of the mansion, but the heavy silence I usually faced was gone. Instead, the house was alive with laughter and high-pitched shrieks of excitement.
My in-laws were gathered around the coffee table in the living room, which was overflowing with glossy shopping bags and velvet jewelry boxes.
Phoebe was holding a sparkling diamond necklace against her throat, her face flushed with joy she had never shown me.
"Oh, Isabella! You really shouldn't have bought this for me," Phoebe gushed, her voice sounding like a young girl's. "This is rare and just arrived in the country, and yet you have it."
"It's just a small token of my appreciation for how you are good to me, Phoebe," Isabella's voice rang out. She was seated elegantly on the sofa, looking every bit the queen of the room. "The Sinclairs always take care of their friends."
Isabella Sinclair. If she were here, it only meant that the car outside belonged to her.
"Isabella, this watch is incredible. It's the latest one, and now I get to wear the limited edition!" Adrian shouted excitedly, flaunting the diamond wristwatch on his wrist.
"I can't wait to wear my beautiful green dress—the Versace dress—to my school reunion party tomorrow," Cassandra added, raising a green dress.
They were all singing her praises, laughing at the wealth she was showering on them. They didn't even notice I had entered the room. Even if I did, I would probably be invisible to them, especially in the presence of Isabella.
"Where have you been?"The cold, deep voice came from the staircase.
I looked up to see Roman descending. He had changed out of his suit into a casual but expensive cashmere sweater. His stormy green eyes locked onto mine, but there was no warmth—only a stern frown.
"I have been calling you," he said, reaching the bottom of the stairs and walking toward me, ignoring the festive scene in the living room. "You have disappeared all morning, according to my mother. Where the hell have you been?"
"I was at the orphanage," I said, my voice sounding flat and hollow even to my own ears. I didn't have the energy to play their games or hide my grief. "The woman who raised me, Sister Martha... she passed away last night."
The chattering and laughter in the room died instantly, but not out of respect.
Phoebe was the first to react. She let out a gasp, her eyes wide with disgust. "You mean you have been around sickness and death all morning, and then you just..." She gasped again. "Oh my God! You haven't even sanitized yourself! You are bringing the smell of the morgue and those wretched slums into this house!"
"Mother is right," Cassandra chimed in, leaning away from me as if I were contagious. "Honestly, Vivienne, have some consideration. We are sitting here with Isabella—who you didn't greet, by the way. That was bad of you," she pointed out, then scoffed as she continued. "Beautiful things surround us, and you come in looking like a stray and talking about dead people. It's macabre."
Adrian snickered, adjusting the new diamond watch Isabella had given him. "She is hoping for a handout to cover the burial. Orphans aren't exactly known for their life insurance policies, are they?"
Isabella sat there, a small pitying smile on her lips, and she muttered, "I am sorry about the loss." At least she acted like she cared, even if it wasn't genuine.
I nodded at her but said nothing, then I faced Phoebe. "Sister Martha wasn't just a 'dead person,'" I said as I tightened my grip on the box and manila envelope I held. "She was the closest thing to a mother to me," I snapped, raising my voice so loud it echoed through the room. "At least have some basic human decency to show some sympathy instead of worrying about the smell of a woman who truly loved me."
The room went deathly silent after I finished speaking, and for a few seconds, no one spoke until Phoebe let out a loud shriek.
"How dare you!" she shouted.
I ignored her and faced Roman instead. "I need to see you in private now. It is urgent," I informed him, and without waiting for his answer, I turned and headed up the stairs.
"Did you hear that?" I heard Phoebe scream from below. "Roman! Are you going to let her speak to us like that? Especially me? She is being completely disrespectful! She has lost her mind."
I ignored her and didn't stop until I reached Roman's study, holding the box and manila envelope tighter in my hand. A few minutes later, the door to the study opened, and Roman walked in. He passed by my side and then headed towards his chair behind his mahogany desk.
"Don't you ever speak to my mother like that again," he warned, his voice sounding low. "I don't care how emotional you are feeling. You will show respect to this family and stop acting like a stranger."
I didn't answer him. I didn't have the words to argue about Phoebe's feelings when my own heart was in pieces. Instead, I reached into my bag and threw the manila envelope onto his mahogany desk. It slid across the polished surface, coming to a stop right in front of him.
"Look at it," I commanded, my voice trembling with rage. "Look at it and tell me when you were planning on telling me."
Roman's brows furrowed in confusion. He glanced from me to the envelope, then slowly picked it up. He pulled out the document, his eyes scanning the lines of the official quit notice.
For a moment, I saw the flicker of surprise cross his face before it vanished behind his usual wall of indifference.
"How did you get this?" he asked with a flat tone.
"How could you do it, Roman?" I countered, ignoring his question. "How could you sign your name to that?"