Chapter 8
Vivian
It happened on a Monday. I was curled up on my couch, grading papers, when the buzzer screamed through the apartment.
I almost ignored it, but then I remembered—packages, neighbors, the normal stuff of a new life.
When I pressed the intercom, Ryan’s voice oozed through the speaker. “Vivian. Please. I just want to talk.”
Every cell in my body went cold.
I buzzed him in, more out of habit than anything else.
He stood in the hallway, thinner and meaner than I remembered. The suit hung on him. His eyes had lost their color.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
I shook my head. “We’ll talk here.”
He looked around, embarrassed. “I need to apologize.”
I waited.
He hunched his shoulders, lowering his voice. “Lisa lied to me. She tricked me. She said you’d given up, that you didn’t want me anymore. I was stupid, Vivian. I made a mistake. Please—let me fix this.”
I stared at him, refusing to flinch.
He kept going. “You’re still my wife, Vivian. Nothing’s official. We can get past this. I’ll do anything.”
I said, “You made your choice. You chose her.”
His face twisted, desperate. “I made a mistake. You can’t erase years together just because I screwed up.”
I shrugged. “Turns out, I can.”
He stepped closer, voice rising. “You’re not even pretending to mourn us. I see the photos, Vivian. I see you with him. You’re not fooling anyone.”
Before I could answer, another voice cut in:
“Is there a problem here?”
Alejandro stood at the end of the hall, cool as glass in a storm. He wore jeans, a t-shirt, nothing that screamed billionaire judge—but the authority was all over him.
Ryan sneered. “What the fuck! What are you doing here?Who the hell do you think you are?”
Alejandro smiled, slow and lethal. “Alejandro Bellandi. I believe you’ve heard the name.”
Ryan blanched, then doubled down. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Alejandro walked closer, stopping a foot from Ryan. “It does, actually. If you harass Vivian again, we’ll call the police. You’re not welcome here.”
Ryan barked a bitter laugh. “You think you can buy her, just like that?”
Alejandro didn’t blink. “No one owns her. Least of all you.”
For a moment, Ryan looked like he might hit him.
But then he just shook his head, voice full of venom. “You think she’s yours? She’s still my wife until the court says otherwise. Don’t forget that.”
He stalked off, slamming the building’s front door so hard the glass rattled.
I stood in the silence, hands shaking.
Alejandro stepped closer, his voice gentle. “Are you alright?”
I nodded, but the tears spilled anyway.
He reached for me, and for the first time, I let him hold me. His arms were strong, the heartbeat beneath his shirt solid and real.
He didn’t say anything stupid, just waited until I stopped shaking.
“I’m sorry,” I said, hating how small my voice sounded.
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You never have to be sorry for feeling things, Vivian.”
I looked at him, and suddenly it was all too much—Ryan, Lisa, the past year, the way Alejandro never judged or pushed, just let me be myself.
I kissed him.
It was gentle, careful, nothing like the needy, desperate kisses of my old life.
He pulled back first, eyes bright.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
I nodded.
He smiled, and for a moment, the whole world fell away.
Later, we sat on the couch, not talking, just sharing the silence.
I asked, “Why do you do this for me? You could have anyone.”
He said, “Because you see me, Vivian. Not the suit. Not the bank account. Just me.”
It sounded so simple. Maybe it was.
He left at midnight, and I watched from the window as he crossed the parking lot, hands in his pockets, whistling a tune I recognized but couldn’t name.
Across town, Lisa sat on the bathroom floor, hugging her knees to her chest.
She was alone. Ryan hadn’t come home. The silence was suffocating.
She glanced at her phone, wondering if she should call me. But pride won, like always.
She cried instead.
At the same time, in a smoky bar at the edge of the city, Ryan sat across from a man whose suit was worth more than Ryan’s car.
“I need help,” Ryan said.
The man smiled, all teeth. “You’re in luck. I specialize in fixing problems.”
Ryan slid a photo across the table. “It’s her. And him.”
The man glanced at the picture, then at Ryan. “You want the judge gone?”
Ryan hesitated. “Just teach him a lesson. Make him go away.”
The man grinned wider. “Easy.”
He tucked the photo into his jacket and stood. “We’ll be in touch.”
Ryan finished his drink, hands still shaking.
He didn’t see the man stop outside, pull out his phone, and dial.
“It’s me. We have a problem. The husband is making moves.”
On the other end, Alejandro’s consigliere answered, “I’ll tell the boss.”
Back at the apartment, I slept for the first time in days.
Dreamless, peaceful, warm.
In the morning, Alejandro called.
He sounded different—tense, distracted.
“There’s something you need to know,” he said.
But before he could finish, the line went dead.
Holy. Freaking. Heck.
I had no idea what was coming for us.