Vivienne's POV
The coffee shop is empty when I arrive. Too empty.
I shouldn't have come. Every instinct is screaming at me to leave, but my feet won't move. The mysterious person who's been sending me those messages—those awful photos and videos—said they'd meet me here at 8 AM sharp.
I need answers. I need to know who's been watching me. Watching Damien. Watching us fall apart.
"Mrs. Sterling. Or should I say, soon-to-be Ms. Hart?"
I spin around. A woman in a black coat sits in the corner booth. I didn't even hear her come in. She's maybe forty, with sharp eyes and a smile that doesn't reach them.
"Who are you?" I demand.
"Someone who wants to help you." She gestures to the seat across from her. "Sit. We have a lot to discuss about your husband's lies."
I don't sit. "Tell me who you are or I'm leaving."
"I'm Marcus Chen's assistant. Though he doesn't know I'm here." She slides a folder across the table. "Your husband and mine have history. Bad history. And I've spent three years gathering evidence of everything Damien Sterling has done—every lie, every manipulation, every secret. I thought I'd use it to destroy him in business. But then I saw you. And I realized you deserved to know the truth more than anyone."
My hands shake as I reach for the folder. But before I can open it, my phone buzzes.
A text from Rebecca, Damien's assistant: "URGENT. Gallery opening moved to tonight. Owner says you need to be there. Address attached."
I stare at my phone, confused. "I don't work at any gallery."
The woman smiles wider. "Not yet. But you will. Open the folder, Vivienne. It's all in there—including the deed to Riverside Art Gallery, signed over to you this morning. Your husband just bought you a gallery. Didn't even ask if you wanted it."
My stomach drops. "What?"
"That's what men like him do. They buy things. They control things. They think money fixes everything." She leans forward. "But you and I both know some things can't be fixed. Some betrayals run too deep. That folder contains proof of every time Damien Sterling chose business over you. Every meeting with Celeste he claimed never happened. Every lie he told to keep you exactly where he wanted you—powerless and grateful."
I grab the folder and run.
The Riverside Art Gallery is beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows. White walls. Track lighting that makes everything glow.
And it's mine? Just like that?
I'm standing in the middle of the empty space when Rebecca rushes in, out of breath. "Oh thank God. I thought you wouldn't come."
"What is this, Rebecca? What's happening?"
She looks nervous. "Mr. Sterling bought this gallery yesterday. He hired the best curator in the city to stock it with emerging artists. He had your name put on everything—the deed, the business license, the bank accounts. He didn't want you to work at a gallery, Vivienne. He wanted you to own one."
"Without asking me?"
"He knew you'd say no." Rebecca wrings her hands. "He's been planning this for two months. He wanted to give you back your dream. The one you gave up to marry him."
My chest feels tight. "I didn't give up anything to marry him. I gave up everything for Celeste. For the fake pregnancy she made me believe was real."
Rebecca's face goes pale. "You know about that?"
"She told me yesterday. She was so proud of herself." I open the folder the woman gave me. Inside are photos of Damien entering buildings, timestamps, locations. But something feels wrong. The handwriting on the notes looks familiar. "Rebecca, when did Damien find out there was no pregnancy?"
"Three days after your wedding. He had a doctor run tests without telling you." She looks ashamed. "He made me swear never to tell you. He said you'd leave if you knew he knew."
"But he could have let me go. He could have annulled the marriage."
"He didn't want to." Rebecca's voice drops to a whisper. "Vivienne, I've worked for Damien Sterling for eight years. I've seen him build an empire. I've seen him destroy competitors without blinking. But I've never seen him care about anything the way he cares about you. He's just really, really bad at showing it."
The gallery door opens. Damien walks in carrying a briefcase, his tie loose, his hair messy like he's been running his hands through it.
He stops when he sees me. "You came."
"You bought me a gallery?"
"You love art. You gave it up for your sister. For me. I wanted to give it back."
"By making decisions for me? By buying things without asking?"
"Yes." He doesn't even try to deny it. "Because I'm terrible at this. I'm terrible at talking. I'm terrible at showing you how I feel. So I buy things. I fix things. I control things because that's all I know how to do. But I'm trying to learn better. I'm here, aren't I? I'm showing up. I'm trying."
Before I can respond, the gallery door slams open again.
Celeste struts in wearing a red dress and the biggest smile I've ever seen. Behind her are three photographers and a man with a video camera.
"There you are, darling!" She rushes to Damien and throws her arms around his neck. "I've been looking everywhere for you. The fundraiser starts in an hour and we need to look perfect for the cameras."
She kisses his cheek. The cameras flash.
Damien peels her arms off him like she's poison. "What are you doing, Celeste?"
"What do you mean? We always go to the Children's Hospital Fundraiser together. It's tradition!" She poses for more photos. "Smile, Damien. We look so good together."
"We're not together." His voice is ice. "We were never really together. It was three months in college, eight years ago, and I ended it because you cared more about my money than me."
Celeste's smile doesn't move but her eyes go hard. "Don't be silly. You're just upset about the divorce. Once Vivienne signs everything and moves on, things will go back to how they're supposed to be."
"I'm not signing anything," I say quietly.
Everyone turns to stare at me.
"What?" Celeste's smile finally cracks.
"I withdrew the divorce petition this morning." I look at Damien, really look at him. At the hope flickering in his eyes. At the way he's holding his breath like my next words will either save him or destroy him. "Because seven years is long enough to waste. And because I'm tired of letting you manipulate my life, Celeste."
The cameras are going crazy now, flashing and clicking. Celeste looks like I slapped her.
"You can't do that," she hisses. "He doesn't love you. He loves me. He's always loved me."
"Actually," Rebecca says, stepping forward with her tablet, "I have eight years of evidence that says otherwise. Every time Mr. Sterling mentioned Vivienne's name in meetings. Every time he rearranged his schedule to be home for dinner even though she never knew. Every gift he bought and never gave because he thought she'd feel obligated. Every time he asked me if she seemed happy, if she was eating enough, if she looked warm enough. Should I keep going?"
Celeste's face twists with rage. "You're all crazy. Damien, tell them. Tell them you're just being kind to her until the divorce is final."
Damien looks at my sister with something close to pity. "I stopped loving you—if I ever did—the moment I had one real conversation with Vivienne. You want to know when? Her graduation party. She was sitting on the balcony alone, and we talked about grief and loss and building something beautiful from ashes. That night, I fell in love with the woman I'd barely noticed before. Every day since has been me being too afraid to tell her."
I can't breathe. Seven years. Seven years we've both been suffering in silence.
Celeste laughs, but it sounds wrong. Broken. "You're choosing her? Plain, boring, always-in-the-way Vivienne over me?"
"Every single time," Damien says.
The photographers are eating this up, cameras clicking rapidly. Celeste realizes she's losing control of the narrative. Her face goes from shocked to calculating in seconds.
"Fine. FINE." She pulls out her phone. "You want to know the truth? ALL of it? I have screenshots. Messages. Proof that Damien has been lying this whole time."
She holds up her phone. On the screen is a text conversation between her and someone named "D.S." The messages talk about meeting in secret, keeping things quiet, making sure Vivienne doesn't find out.
My heart stops. "Damien?"
"That's not me." But he looks confused. "Celeste, what are you doing?"
"Showing everyone who you really are!" She's scrolling frantically now. "All those times you said you weren't with me? Here's proof. Here's—wait." Her face goes white. "These messages... these aren't..."
She drops the phone. It clatters on the gallery floor.
Rebecca picks it up and her face goes from confused to shocked to angry in three seconds. "These messages aren't from Damien Sterling." She shows me the screen. "The contact says 'D.S.' but the number is different. This is—"
"Me."
We all turn. Standing in the gallery doorway is a man I've never seen before. He's tall, handsome, and smiling like this is all very funny.
"Sorry I'm late to the party." He walks in casually, hands in his pockets. "But I couldn't let Celeste take all the credit for my hard work. Damien, it's been a long time, brother."
Damien goes completely still. "No. You're dead. You died in that car accident two years ago."
"Did I?" The man laughs. "Or did I just let everyone think I died? It's amazing what you can do with enough money and motivation." He looks at me. "Hello, Vivienne. I'm Damien's little brother, Marcus Sterling. And I've been waiting seven years to destroy everything he loves."
The room spins. Damien's brother? But Marcus died. The funeral. The grief. Damien crying for weeks.
"You're not Marcus," Damien whispers. "You can't be."
"Oh, but I am. And I have so many things to tell your wife about you." Marcus's smile is cruel. "Things that will make her wish she'd signed those divorce papers when she had the chance."