Chapter 4
I was tossing the last of my personal files into a cardboard box when my office door clicked shut.
The heavy scent of Chanel No. 5 hit my nose before she even spoke.
"Packing up already, Vivian?" Barbara leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms.
"Just clearing out the trash," I said without missing a beat, dropping a stack of old memos into the box.
Barbara chuckled, clicking her heels as she walked closer to my desk. "You know, I almost feel bad for you," she whispered. "You spent ten years breaking your back for this brand. Ten years playing the perfect wife, the perfect executive."
"But what does it matter?" She smirked. "Ten years side-by-side means absolutely nothing. One look at me, and he forgets you even exist. I win, Vivian."
I looked at her. Really looked at her. She thought she was taking a prize.
"Enjoy the promotion, Barbara," I said flatly. "Make sure you lock the door on your way out."
She sneered, spinning on her heels and marching out.
Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was the global executive group chat.
[Barbara Moreau]:Drinks are on me tonight! Celebrating the new promotion. Nobu at 8 PM. See you all there!
Before anyone else could reply, Louis’s name popped up.
[Louis Ashworth]:Wouldn't miss it. First round is on me.
I stared at the screen. A second later, a private text from Louis slid across the top of my screen.
[Louis Ashworth]:Wifey, I have to go to this dinner to keep up team morale. Don't overthink it. Get some rest.
I tossed the phone into my purse. I wasn't overthinking anything.
When I got back home, I pulled my massive Rimowa suitcase from the closet and laid it flat on the bed. I started throwing clothes in. Cashmere sweaters, jeans, business suits. No hesitation.
"Mom?"
I froze. Oliver was standing in the doorway, clutching his stuffed bear. His eyes darted from the open suitcase to my face.
"Are you leaving?" His voice cracked. "Are you leaving without me?"
My heart violently squeezed in my chest. I dropped the shirts in my hand and rushed over, dropping to my knees to hug him.
"No, no, baby. Never without you. We're going together," I promised, kissing his hair. "We're going to New York."
Oliver gripped my sleeves tightly. "But... my birthday is tomorrow."
I swallowed hard. "We can celebrate in New York, Oliver. They have the best pizza, and we can go to the huge toy stores—"
"No!" He shook his head, tears spilling over his cheeks. "Dad said he had a huge surprise. He promised. Please, Mom. Can we just wait? Just until my birthday is over?"
He looked up at me, his blue eyes so desperate it physically hurt me.
"I have a wish," Oliver whispered, his voice shaking. "When I blow out the candles, I'm going to wish that you and Dad never separate. And that Dad doesn't marry Auntie Barbara. If we leave now, the wish won't come true."
Tears blurred my vision. I hugged him tighter, burying my face in his shoulder. "Okay. Okay, baby. We'll wait. Just for your birthday."
The next night.
The sun went down. The house was completely silent.
Oliver sat at the massive dining table. In front of him was a store-bought chocolate cake. I had lit the eight candles an hour ago. They had burned down to little stubs, the wax dripping onto the icing.
It was 9:30 PM.
"He's probably just stuck in traffic," Oliver said quietly, swinging his legs under the chair. "Or maybe the surprise is so big it takes a long time to bring here."
Every time a car drove past the building, Oliver’s head snapped toward the window. Every time, the car kept driving.
By 10:30 PM, Oliver stopped looking at the window. He was just staring at his hands.
I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed my phone and dialed Louis's number. It rang five times before he picked up.
Background noise blasted through the speaker. Clinking glasses, loud music, people laughing.
"Vivian? What's up?" Louis shouted over the noise. He sounded slightly drunk.
"Where are you?" I demanded, my voice icy. "Do you know what day it is?"
"Uh, yeah, it's Sunday. Look, we're with the European distributors—"
"It's Oliver's birthday, Louis. He’s been waiting for you for four hours. Where is the massive surprise you promised him?"
"Oh. Right." There wasn't an ounce of guilt in his voice. Just mild annoyance. "Look. The surprise is in my nightstand drawer. Just give it to him for me. Have a slice of cake. I gotta go, Barb is calling me over. Bye."
Click.
I slowly lowered the phone. I walked into the master bedroom, pulled open his nightstand drawer, and looked inside.
Sitting right on top was a white envelope. I opened it.
Two first-class tickets to New York. For me and Oliver.
That was his grand surprise. Plane tickets to get us out of his way.
My phone buzzed in my hand. It was an Instagram notification. I opened the app.
The first post on my feed was from a mutual friend in the London social circle. It was a photo of Louis and Barbara at a fancy private club. Louis was kissing her cheek. But that wasn't what caught my eye.
The caption read: "Cheers to the happy couple! And congrats to the future Mrs. Ashworth on her new shares!"
Swipe to the second photo. It was a close-up of a legal document. An equity transfer agreement. Louis was gifting 15% of the Ashworth brand's shares to Barbara.
I kept scrolling, my fingers numb. The next post was from Sophie's public account.
It was a video. Louis was standing in a bright kitchen, wearing an apron, laughing as he piped pink icing onto a massive, multi-tiered macaron tower. Sophie was hugging his leg.
The caption: "Uncle Louis spent six hours making me my favorite French macaron cake! He's the best dad in the world! ❤️"
Six hours. He spent six hours baking for another man's daughter, while his own son sat in a dark dining room staring at melted candles.
"Mom?"
I spun around. Oliver was standing right behind me. He was looking down at my phone screen. He saw the video. He saw the macaron tower. He saw Louis laughing.
The silence in the bedroom was deafening.
Oliver didn't throw a tantrum. He just looked up at me, and something in his eyes completely died. The last bit of hope he had for his father just vanished.
"Mom," Oliver's voice was eerily calm. "I don’t want to stay here anymore. Can we go to New York now?"
"Yes," I choked out. "Yes, we can."
I didn't pack anything else. We had exactly what we needed. I grabbed the suitcases and rolled them out to the living room.
Before we walked out the front door, I pulled a manila folder from my tote bag and dropped it flat in the center of the dining table, right next to the ruined birthday cake.
It was the divorce agreement my lawyer drafted last week. I flipped to the last page, picked up a pen, and signed it.
Vivian Laurent.
Not Ashworth. Never again.
I grabbed Oliver's tiny hand. It was warm. He looked up at me, and for the first time tonight, he gave me a small, brave smile.
"Let's go," he said.
We walked out, and I slammed the door shut. I didn't look back once.
Louis and Barbara had just tied the knot in a private ceremony in Paris. After a month-long honeymoon, Louis didn't even bother stopping by the London manor. He went straight to the Ashworth Group headquarters for the Monday morning executive meeting.
He walked into the glass boardroom, fully expecting to see Vivian running the new seasonal launch, just like she always did.
Instead, his eyes swept across the table and landed on her empty leather chair.
"Where is Vivian?" Louis frowned, looking around the room. "Why isn't she here?"
The executives exchanged nervous glances. Everyone shook their heads in unison.
"Did she actually lose track of time playing tourist?" Louis muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.
Annoyed, he tossed the Q3 financial report onto the table, stood up, and walked out into the hallway. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.
It rang three times before connecting.
"Hey, wifey!" Louis said, his tone casual but slightly impatient.
"You’re never late for work. Why didn't I see you at the meeting today?”
“Are you seriously still not back from New York?"
