Chapter 8
Vivian's POV
"Who lacks decency here? Say that again and see what happens."
Jason's arm was already drawing back.
"Jason!" I grabbed his arm with both hands. "Don't."
I felt the muscle beneath my hands, rigid and coiled. But he stopped.
Dylan and Hazel stood frozen. I didn't give them the space to recover — I stepped in front of Jason, too tired to filter the contempt out of my voice. "This is my brother. Jason Wilson." I let my gaze move between them. "The two of you really do think alike."
I watched Dylan's expression change.
Five years ago, I had insisted on marrying him against every objection, and I had walked away from the Wilson family completely. Not one of them had come to the wedding. He had every reason to assume that door was permanently closed — that I had no one left on my side.
Hazel looked equally blindsided, her mouth slightly open, nothing coming out.
I was done with all of it. I turned to Jason. "Let's go. I can't breathe in here."
Jason gave Dylan and Hazel a long, flat look. Then the sharpness in his expression eased as he turned to me, and he settled his hand back onto my shoulder. "Fine. But I've got a few things to say first."
He took one step forward and addressed Dylan directly, face to face. "Mr. Hudson. My sister's laboratory does not require your involvement or your concern. Rather than showing up here with your assistant to interrogate her, I'd suggest focusing your energy on signing those divorce papers — before people start saying Hudson Group doesn't honor its commitments."
He let the pause after that do its work, then slid his gaze to Hazel.
The meaning was unmistakable.
"You—"
"Hazel." Dylan's voice cut across hers, quiet and absolute.
She read the warning in his eyes and closed her mouth.
Jason glanced at her once more — brief, unimpressed — then walked out alongside me without looking back.
Dylan's POV
I stood there and watched the reception room door ease shut behind them.
Jason Wilson.
I hadn't believed she would actually reach out to her brother. And it hadn't once occurred to me — across all five years — that when the moment came for her to leave, the first person she would call would be Jason.
"Mr. Hudson, should we—"
"Who told you to come here?" I turned. I kept my voice down deliberately. "I specifically said to hold off on the divestment notice. Who authorized you to deliver that document on Hudson Group's behalf?"
She flinched at my tone. Her eyes filled almost immediately. "I was only trying to help—"
"Help." I looked at her. "You made a mess of it. That's what you call helping?"
She bit her lip. The tears came.
I watched her cry and felt the irritation not decrease but deepen — for reasons I couldn't cleanly name. Maybe it was the image of Allen's face still sitting somewhere at the back of my mind. Maybe it was Vivian's words: the two of you really do think alike.
After a moment I spoke, and my voice was still hard. "Enough. Stop. And understand this — from now on, you do not approach Vivian without a direct instruction from me. Not for any reason."
"...Understood." She lifted her hand and pressed it to the corner of her eye.
I caught the expression on her face for only a fraction of a second before I looked away. There were things I was choosing not to examine right now.
I picked up the untouched divestment notice from the table, tucked it under my arm, and walked out.
Vivian's POV
I got into Jason's car and sank back against the seat, eyes closing.
The tension that had been holding everything in place finally began to ease, and the exhaustion underneath came flooding in.
"You alright?" Jason started the engine and checked the rearview mirror.
"Fine. I saw it coming."
He delivered his verdict without ceremony. "Dylan's judgment is genuinely terrible. Five years with an assistant like that, letting her walk all over you, never once stepping in. Something is wrong with him."
I didn't respond to that. He wasn't wrong. I had endured it for five years too.
"Anyway," he said, "the cleaner the break, the better. Less to untangle later." He paused. "Don't worry about the lab. I've got you. Whatever you want to do — do it."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me." He caught my eyes in the mirror and gave me a look. "Mom and Dad are waiting for you at the house. Apparently when they heard about the divorce, neither of them slept that night. Too happy."
The moment he said Mom and Dad, something swelled in my chest — tender and complicated and a little hard to breathe through. Five years of near-silence, and the last time we'd spoken it had ended badly.
The car pulled into a quiet upscale residential area and stopped in front of a detached villa. I followed Jason through the gate and up the path, and before we reached the front door, it opened from inside.
My mother Sandra stood in the doorway wearing an apron, looking me up and down with the precision of someone who has been waiting to do this for a very long time. She made a small sound in her throat. "You actually remembered where the door is. I was starting to think you'd forgotten we existed."
My father Christopher stood just behind her. He cleared his throat gently. "Let her come in, Sandra. The important thing is she's back."
"Am I wrong?" My mother's voice went up. "She cuts off her own parents for a man — doesn't call, doesn't write — and if your brother hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known the first thing about what my own daughter was going through out there—"
Her voice broke, just slightly. She turned quickly and walked back inside, but not before I saw her press her lips together. "Come in, come in. Why are you standing out there like that."
I stood at the threshold, and felt the ache reach all the way to the back of my throat.
"Come on." My father gestured, his voice much gentler than my mother's. "You're home. That's enough."
The table was covered with the dishes I had grown up loving. My mother kept adding things to my bowl and kept talking — "Eat more, you've gone thin, didn't I tell you from the beginning that man was trouble, you just wouldn't listen—"
"Mom." Jason interrupted her. "Leave the past where it is. Vivian knows."
"She knows? If she knew, she wouldn't have spent five years being put through the wringer." She looked at me, and the sharpness in her face gave way entirely to something raw. "Just leave. Leave and don't look back. My daughter is worth more than that. You'll find someone who deserves you."
My father nodded. "Leaving is right. And whatever comes next — this is your home. It will always be here for you."
I kept my eyes on the bowl in front of me. The tears came anyway — quietly, without announcement, dropping into the rice one by one.
"Stop that." My mother pushed a handful of tissues into my hand and turned her face briefly away, dabbing at her own eyes. "He's not worth it."
"Yes." I nodded, not trusting my voice.
The weight in the air gradually lightened. My mother looked at me, then over at Jason, and her expression shifted with the speed of someone who has just remembered something important. "While we're on the subject — you. Don't think I've forgotten. Didn't you say you were going to look into some suitable candidates for your sister? How much time has gone by? Not a word."
Jason nearly inhaled his soup. He set down his spoon with an expression of patient suffering. "Mom. The divorce isn't even finalized yet. You want to set up dates right now?"
"By the time you find someone, her hair will be gray!" My mother was entirely unmoved. "You have all those business contacts — don't tell me there isn't a single decent young man among them. The moment the paperwork is done, you get started. My daughter is exceptional. She is not going to sit on a shelf while you take your time."
I felt the warmth rise in my face. "Mom, honestly, I'm not in any rush—"
"You're not, but I am." She fixed me with a look that brooked no argument. "This time we're finding someone who respects you. Genuinely. Family background doesn't matter — character does."
Jason raised both hands. "Fine. Fine. I'll look. Happy?"
"That's more like it." My mother gave a satisfied nod, then transferred a piece of steak to my plate. "Eat. Get your strength back. And you live here now for as long as you want to. Don't even think about leaving."
Jason went quiet after that.
I looked at his expression — the resigned acceptance of a man who knows when he's lost — and then at my parents, at everything in their faces they couldn't quite hide.
The cold that had settled into my chest over the past several years — the deep, accumulated cold of being unseen and unmattered — began, slowly and without fanfare, to melt.
"Okay." I said it softly, and meant it. And for the first time in longer than I could remember, the smile that came was real.
