Chapter 2

Vivian's POV

I hailed a taxi and went to a law firm downtown.

"Please draft a divorce agreement for me."

"Ms. Vance, the agreement you want to draft is... with Mr. Sterling?"

"Yes."

I ignored the lawyer's astonished look.

The lawyer opened his mouth, his face filled with utter disbelief.

After all, in Los Angeles, hearing that Sean Sterling was getting a divorce was about as likely as the sun rising from the west.

Once the agreement was drafted, the lawyer handed it over, carefully choosing his words to offer a reminder.

"Ms. Vance, this agreement will only take effect once Mr. Sterling himself signs it."

He was probably certain that Sean, who loved his wife more than life itself, would never sign his name on this document.

Just as nobody believed Sean would ever cheat.

I nodded, tucked the document away, and stood up to head home.

Upon arriving home, I didn't hesitate to start packing up the old belongings Sean and I shared.

There were truly quite a lot of keepsakes from our time together.

Rosalind and Sean's mother were best friends as well as neighbors.

Right after I was born, Teresa Sterling held Sean's hand to come visit Vivian Vance.

When I was one year old and playing with Sean, my tiny hand grabbed his and refused to let go.

After I learned to call for Raymond and Rosalind, the third name I ever spoke was Sean.

Once I learned to walk, Sean would hold my little hand and run all over the yard with me.

From the time I was thirteen, Sean remembered every single one of my menstrual cycles.

At school, Sean would coldly block all of my suitors.

At age twenty, he climbed to the peak of the tallest snowy mountain and made a lifetime vow.

During my university graduation ceremony, Sean couldn't wait to propose to me in front of everyone.

All of his friends said he was completely love-brained just for me.

How did such a wonderful Sean change so completely?

I pulled myself back from my thoughts.

I opened the bottom drawer of the desk. Inside were the love letters Sean had written to me—from our school uniform days to my wedding dress, hundreds of letters in total.

I threw all the love letters into a cardboard box.

Right after, I found my sketchbook in another drawer.

It was a thick book, filled entirely with sketches of Sean—his profile, his sleeping face, him tying his tie, and him focusing on his work.

Flipping to the last page, the man in the drawing was still smiling at me.

I closed the sketchbook and threw it straight into the box.

Then, I found a pair of small wood carvings we had made together, the ceramic cups we crafted, the 999 paper stars Sean had folded for me, and so on.

Finally, there were countless photos, from the years we ran around the yard to our wedding day—every single detail of what I once thought were my most precious memories.

Not a single photo was left behind; they were all packed into the box.

At the very end of my packing, I found a straw-woven ring at the bottom of my jewelry box.

That year, Sean was sixteen. We had just started dating, and our first date was on the school sports field.

He had learned the craft from god knows where, spending half of self-study class with his head down weaving it before slipping the straw ring onto my finger.

"Vivian, once you put on my ring, you have to stay with me for the rest of your life."

The teenage boy's hands had been shaking as he slipped the ring on.

Later, fearing the straw would wither and break, he specifically asked me for clear nail polish to carefully paint a layer over it, saying he wanted it to last until our golden anniversary.

And then, at some point, he simply stopped ever mentioning this ring.

My phone suddenly buzzed.

Joy's burner account had sent a video.

In the video, Joy was completely unclothed. Sean held a wine bottle, slowly pouring the red liquid over her body.

Then, he leaned down to clean her up with his mouth.

Immediately after, a text message followed:

[Mr. Sterling says it's delicious.]

My stomach instantly began to churn.

Joy's provocations were becoming more and more explicit. She was forcing a showdown.

I looked down at my palm.

The straw ring had long turned yellow and brittle; it crumbled at the slightest touch.

Our relationship was just like this ring—never to return to what it once was.

I raised my hand and threw the ring fiercely toward the cardboard box.

But I didn't notice that the ring grazed the edge of the box, bounced off, and rolled under the dresser.

"What are you packing?"

Sean had returned at some point.

"Nothing, just some trash that needs to be thrown out."

Without thinking much of it, Sean walked over, pulled me into his arms, and kissed my forehead out of habit.

His breath was still laced with the scent of red wine.

My stomach spasmed again. Suppressing my nausea, I pushed him away.

"You reek of alcohol. Go take a shower first."

Sean's eyes darted away as he quickly agreed.

"Right, I just finished entertaining a client."

He immediately turned and walked into the bathroom.

As soon as the shower started running, I pulled out a disinfectant wipe and rubbed my forehead furiously, only stopping when the skin turned red and painful.

Before long, Sean came out of the shower and clung to me again, resting his chin on the top of my head.

I quietly stepped out of his embrace and walked toward the guest room.

"There's an urgent project at the company that I need to work on. Go to sleep first; I'll stay in the guest room tonight."

Sean looked at his empty arms, his expression turning lonely.

"If you're tired, don't do it. I can have a professional management team take over. You just need to focus on being Mrs. Sterling."

I let out a soft chuckle and patiently mollified him.

"Vance Group is Raymond's life's work. How can we just hand it over to someone else? Go to bed, don't wait up."

In the past, hearing him say the words "Mrs. Sterling" filled me with happiness.

Hearing them now, however, only felt ironic.

The guest room door closed, separating two entirely different worlds.

Late into the night, I was completely sleepless.

The night was too quiet. The master bedroom door wasn't fully closed, and the sound of Sean making a phone call drifted down the hallway.

He was on the phone with his childhood friend, Logan Carter, speaking in Italian.

He didn't know that I had secretly learned Italian in the past just to help him verify overseas contracts.

Because of that, he had the call on speaker and spoke with absolute abandon.

"So, how does it feel to keep a canary?"

Sean chuckled, savoring the thought.

"Joy is young, so she's definitely tight and wet."

Logan laughed along.

"Well, looks like Mr. Sterling's dry spell has finally broken. Aren't you afraid Vivian will find out?"

Sean replied nonchalantly.

"Joy is very obedient. She doesn't demand status and never makes a scene. So, Vivian won't find out."

"What if she does?"

"Even if she does, she can't leave me."

Sean answered with absolute certainty.

"She has only ever had one man in her life—me. She'll only ever be mine."

After a pause, he casually added.

"But being together for so long, the spark is definitely gone. Holding her hand is like holding my own. Joy is different—she reacts the moment I touch her."

Another burst of knowing laughter erupted from the other end of the line.

I covered my ears tightly and curled up under the blanket.