“Not another word,” he snapped. “You’re going to end this. No more police. No more drama.”
Seraphine, standing beside Adrian, sniffled delicately, a fake bandage wrapped around her wrist. Her eyes glistened with well-practiced tears.
“Vivienne,” she said weakly, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just scared. I… I lost control.”
I clenched my fists, suppressing a scream.
My father’s gaze hardened. “Hear that? She’s apologizing. Now, you do the same.”
“I—”
“Now, Vivienne.”
Something inside me gave up. Tired. Exhausted. Sick of being cast as the villain in their story. I nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll apologize.”
Adrian’s expression softened slightly, though his voice remained cold. “Good. You’ll apologize to her—and to Elias.”
“Elias?” My voice cracked.
“Yes,” he said. “You scared him. He saw you and Seraphine fighting. He won’t stop crying. He thinks you’re dangerous.”
My throat tightened. “Adrian, that’s not fair—”
“Enough,” he interrupted again. “You’ll do it.”
So I did. Seraphine sat on the couch, pretending to be fragile. Elias sat beside her, little arms crossed, face cold.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “For everything that happened.”
Seraphine nodded, eyes lowered like the saint she pretended to be. “It’s alright, Vivienne. We all make mistakes.”
Elias glared at me. “Fine,” he muttered. Then, he picked up a pillow and threw it at me. “But I still hate you!”
“Elias!” Adrian barked.
I didn’t react. The pillow landed at my feet. I forced a faint smile. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “I understand.”
When they left, the silence of the house pressed down on me, heavier than ever.
That night, my phone buzzed with a message from my father.
Dad: It’s an act. I believe you. Don’t worry — I’ll handle the divorce. Go home to your mother. I sent Adrian and Seraphine on a business trip. You can leave while they’re gone.
I stared at the message for a long moment before a single tear slipped down my cheek. Relief—quiet, soft, almost unbelievable—flooded me. For the first time in months, my father believed me. He finally saw the truth.
Two days later, the doctor discharged me. Adrian arrived, flowers in hand, charm in full force.
“Vivienne,” he said softly, “I’m sorry. I was angry, emotional. The business… it’s been hard lately.”
I stared at the red roses—the same ones he had given me the first time he lied.