The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Lyvana followed Mark down the hallway, her wedding dress brushing against the floor. Her heart was still trying to believe this had happened, that she was finally married.
Mark had said he'd bought them a penthouse, their first home as a married couple. Of course, he'd used all her savings to do it.
When he unlocked the door, she expected a cozy new home.
Maybe some champagne.
Maybe a few flowers.
Something romantic.
Anything actually... she wasn't so hard to please.
What she didn't expect was another woman sitting comfortably on her sofa with her legs crossed and a glass of water in her well-manicured hand.
Lyvana froze.
It was clarisse Davenport, Mark's personal assistant — and she looked perfectly at ease, watching a movie on the TV.
When she saw them, she smiled and paused the movie, standing up slowly.
"Baby, you're back," she said, walking straight toward Mark. "I was beginning to feel lonely."
Lyvana's mouth went dry. Baby?
Mark didn't even flinch. He just set his keys on the counter and loosened his tie.
"Lyvana," he said smoothly, as if nothing was wrong. "You remember Clarisse?"
Clarisse laughed softly, sliding an arm around his waist. "Did you finally tell her about us?"
Lyvana felt the world tilt under her feet. "Mark, what is this?" Her throat burned. "I thought you swore there was nothing between you and this woman. What..."
"Don't make a scene, Lyvana." He cut her off sharply. "You know I love you, but you can never give me children."
Her voice trembled. "Mark. You told me you were okay just being with me. Or was that a lie?"
"No man will be okay with not having any children," he said quietly.
"You are now telling me this? On our wedding night?"
Clarisse smirked, still holding onto her husband like she belonged to him. "Mark, don't be too harsh on her. Poor girl still believes in fairy tales."
Lyvana's fingers clenched around the edge of her dress.
"This is not what you promised..." Her words trailed off.
"There you go again, always playing the victim. Everything isn't about you, Lyvana. I am just tired of your tantrums." He groaned, rubbing his face.
"I am playing the victim?" She walked toward him. "So that is how it is now?"
"Get used to this," he said flatly, setting his glass down. "I want an open marriage."
Lyvana stared at him, her chest tight, the room suddenly felt too small to breathe in.
"An open… marriage," she repeated slowly, as if saying it aloud might make it sound less cruel.
Mark shrugged, as though he were discussing the next meal. "This way, everyone gets what they want. You keep your status. I get heirs. Clarisse understands that."
Clarisse nodded, lifting her water glass. "It's very modern, Lyvana. You should try to be open-minded."
Lyvana laughed softly, the sound hollow and broken. "You planned this," she said, her eyes never leaving Mark. "You married me knowing exactly what you would do."
Mark's jaw tightened. "I married you because I loved you. But love alone isn't enough."
"Then why take my money?" Lyvana asked. "Why take my vows? Why stand there today in front of everyone and lie to my face?"
Mark sighed, checking his watch. "Are we done? It's been a long day, and the caterers will be here early for the wedding brunch. I suggest you go to the guest suite and freshen up. You look... tired."
"The guest suite?" Lyvana echoed. "In my own home?"
"It's our home, Lyvana," Mark corrected sharply. "And tonight, I'd prefer to celebrate with someone who doesn't make me feel like I'm at a funeral."
He turned his back on her, walking toward the master bedroom with Clarisse trailing behind him.
Lyvana stood alone in the expensive, cold living room. Her wedding dress felt like a cage. She looked at the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows — the same city that had watched her say "I do" just hours ago.
No, she can't do this.
Lyvana turned and walked to the master bedroom and pushed the door open slowly.
The room smelled of expensive cologne and red wine. Her suitcase lay on the floor, the one she had packed for their honeymoon.
Clarisse was unbuttoning Mark's shirt, smiling as if this was rather her wedding night. She looked up, her expression shifting from a smirk to one of bored annoyance.
"I thought Mark told you to go to the guest suite, Lyvana," she said. "Don't tell me you've come to watch. That's a bit kinky, even for you."
Mark turned, his face hardening at once.
"What do you want now, Lyvana?"
Lyvana didn't flinch. "I came to let you know, that this marriage ends tonight. Not tomorrow. Tonight."
Mark scoffed. "You're overreacting."
Lyvana walked to the table and grabbed a heavy crystal centerpiece.
Without a word, she turned and hurled it at them; it hit the mirror instead. The glass shattered, causing Clarisse to shriek and scramble back toward the headboard.
Mark froze, his face turning red with rage.
"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted then stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face.
"Are you fucking insane?" he screamed at her.
Lyvana didn't back down.
"I am ending the funeral, Mark," Lyvana said, holding her cheek, her eyes locked on his. "You want an open marriage? You've got it. You can be open to the fact that I'm leaving."
Mark shook his head.
"I am going to take everything back from you," she continued. "My company, and this apartment, which you bought with my money," she screamed.
"You are crazy, Lyvana," Mark said to her. "You signed over the company to me right after the wedding. Have you forgotten? As for the apartment, well it's in Clarisse's name because she is carrying my child."
At that Lyvana's face settled on her unmistakable but clear bump.
Oh God, I am an idiot. Lyvana thought.
Mark grabbed Clarisse and headed for the door.
"We are going out," he said simply. "Don't wait up. We'll be back in the morning, when you have calmed down."
And just like that, they left. The door clicked shut. Lyvana stood there, still in her wedding dress, her chest tight and her hands trembling.