Chapter 9 - The Severing
The ballroom had become an arena of absolute humiliation.
Daniel stayed on his knees, his forehead pressed against the polished marble where his sister’s wedding confetti lay scattered. His shoulders heaved with ragged, ugly sobs.
Vivienne looked down at her left hand.
On her fourth finger sat a simple, platinum band—a ring she had paid for herself at a small artisan shop in Brooklyn during their second month of marriage, because Daniel had claimed his funds were tied up in family investments.
She gripped the ring.
It was tight against her swollen knuckles—her body had retained water over the last two months—but she pulled with steady, deliberate force. The platinum slid over the joint, leaving behind a pale, indented circle of skin.
She held the ring between her thumb and forefinger.
“Daniel,” she said.
He lifted his tear-streaked face, his eyes lighting up with a pathetic, desperate spark of hope. “Vivienne?”
She opened her fingers.
The platinum ring fell.
*Clink.*
It bounced once against the stone, rolled six inches, and came to rest directly inside the yellow smear of crushed prenatal vitamins that Eleanor’s heel had destroyed.
“Mr. Mercer,” Vivienne said, turning her back on her husband.
“Yes, Lady Vivienne?”
“Prepare the paperwork for an immediate, expedited annulment on grounds of fraud and irreconcilable cruelty. Ensure there is a permanent, ironclad restraining order prohibiting any member of the Vaneux family from coming within one thousand yards of myself or my child.”
“The filings are already drafted, ma’am,” Mercer replied. “They will be signed by a superior court judge before sunrise.”
Arthur wrapped his right arm around Vivienne’s shoulders, pulling her gently against his side.
“Let’s go home, sweetheart,” Arthur said softly. “Your nursery at the estate has been ready for two weeks. The conservators finished the mural of the river yesterday.”
Vivienne looked at her father and smiled. For the first time all evening, the diamond-hard tension in her chest melted into pure, warm relief.
“I’d like that, Dad.”
Together, they turned and walked toward the entrance.
Behind them, the room erupted into chaos.
Two uniformed federal marshals entered through the side doors, holding legal injunctions for Marcus Vaneux. Chloe was being carried out of the room by two bridesmaids, screaming that her life was ruined, her veil torn and dragging through spilled wine. Eleanor was slumped against a banquet table, clutching her chest, screaming for an ambulance that nobody in the room bothered to call.
And Daniel remained on the floor.
As Vivienne reached the massive bronze doors, she did not look back. Not once.
May you like
The heavy mahogany and brass doors swung open, welcoming her into the cool, clean autumn night air. Behind her, the doors swung shut for the final time, sealing the Vaneux family inside the tomb of their own making.
***
