Chapter 3

By 7 a.m., Vivienne had slept exactly ninety minutes.

She stood in front of Sloane Park's bathroom mirror, concealer over the dark circles, armor on. A fitted black Dior blazer. Hair pulled back. No jewelry except her mother's pearl earring studs.

She looked like a woman going to war. Good. She was.

Her phone had forty-seven missed calls from Roman and twelve from her mother-in-law, Constance Steele. She ignored them all except one text from an unknown number.

"Mrs. Steele, I'm a reporter from The Daily Metropolitan. We've received an anonymous tip about last night's incident. Care to comment?"

Vivienne stared at the message. She hadn't leaked anything. Which meant someone at that party had.

She typed back: "No comment." Then she forwarded the message to Margaux.

Sloane appeared in the doorway, holding two espressos. "Your mother-in-law just called me. She used the phrase 'family honor' four times and 'ungrateful' three times."

"What did you say?"

"I said you were in a meeting and hung up." Sloane handed her the coffee. "Viv, before you go back to that house, we need to talk about the twins."

Vivienne's jaw tightened. "Not yet."

"Viv—"

"I said not yet, Sloane. If Roman finds out about Luca and Mia before the divorce is finalized, he'll use them as leverage. I know him."

Sloane studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. But the kids' nanny called this morning. Luca asked when Mommy is coming home."

The sentence almost broke her.

Vivienne closed her eyes, breathed in, breathed out.

"Tell Margaux to expedite. I want the divorce papers filed by end of week."

When Vivienne arrived at the Steele residence, Constance was already waiting in the foyer like a gargoyle in Hermès.

"Where have you been?" Constance's voice was ice. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Good morning, Constance."

"Don't you 'good morning' me. Roman told me what happened. You humiliated him at his own party."

Vivienne set down her bag calmly. "I humiliated him? I walked in on him having sex with my best friend on a banquet table."

Constance didn't even flinch. "Men have needs, Vivienne. A smart wife looks the other way."

"A smart wife. Right."

"Your mother understood this. God rest her soul, she knew how to keep a household together."

The mention of her mother sent a spike of white-hot rage through Vivienne's chest, but she kept her face perfectly still.

"My mother," Vivienne said softly, "built a $30 billion company from nothing. She didn't 'look the other way.' She was the way."

Constance's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Before Vivienne could respond, Roman appeared at the top of the staircase. He was freshly showered, wearing a cashmere robe, looking like a man without a single regret.

"Vivienne. You came back."

He descended the stairs slowly, hands in his pockets, as if this were a normal Tuesday morning.

"We need to talk," he said.

"We really do."

He gestured toward the study. Vivienne followed, passing the hallway where their wedding photo still hung. She didn't look at it.

Inside the study, Roman closed the door and leaned against his desk. "Last night was… unfortunate."

"Unfortunate."

"I'd had too much to drink. Naomi was—"

"Don't." Vivienne's voice was quiet but sharp enough to cut glass. "Don't you dare say her name to me."

Roman exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Fine. What do you want?"

"A divorce."

"I already told you—"

"I know what you told me. And I'm telling you: I have grounds." She pulled a printed copy of the prenuptial agreement from her bag and slid it across his desk. "Fidelity clause. Section 14, paragraph 3. You breached it in front of three hundred witnesses."

For the first time, something flickered behind Roman's eyes. Not guilt. Fear.

"Vivienne, let's not be hasty—"

"The penalty clause activates automatically upon verified breach. Joint assets, the real estate portfolio, and your 15% stake in Steele Industries — all transfer to me."

Roman's face drained of color.

"You wouldn't."

Vivienne leaned forward, palms flat on his desk, and met his gaze with the full, terrifying calm of a woman who had absolutely nothing left to lose.

"Watch me."

She straightened, turned toward the door, and paused.

"Oh, and Roman? You should call your lawyer. Mine is Margaux Voss."

The sound of his fist slamming the desk followed her all the way down the hall.

She didn't flinch.

But what she didn't see was Constance, standing just outside the study door, phone already pressed to her ear, whispering urgently: "We have a problem. Find out everything about Vivienne Blackwell's finances — and find out now."