Chapter 13

Vivi tossed and turned in bed, unable to shake the thoughts of Damien from her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face, felt his touch. It was maddening.

With a frustrated groan, she threw off the covers and padded to the window. The night sky stretched out before her, stars twinkling in the darkness. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, trying to calm her racing heart.

Meanwhile, across town, Damien sat in his car, parked outside a seedy bar. He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. He'd come here intending to drink away his troubles, to forget about Vivi. But he couldn't bring himself to go inside.

"Damn it," he muttered, slamming his palm against the dashboard. He knew he should let her go, that she was his father's wife now. But the thought of never touching her again, never seeing that spark in her eyes... it was tearing him apart.

Back at the mansion, Vivi paced the room. She tried to remind herself why she'd agreed to this marriage in the first place. Her family needed the money, and Reginald could provide a comfortable life. But was it worth sacrificing her happiness?

She thought about the way Damien had looked at her, like she was the only woman in the world. No one had ever made her feel that way before. It wasn't just lust - there was something deeper there, a connection she couldn't deny.

Vivi collapsed onto the bed, burying her face in her hands. She was trapped, caught between duty and desire. The thought of spending the rest of her life with Reginald, pretending to be happy, made her feel sick to her stomach.

But what could she do? She'd made a commitment, and breaking it would have consequences. Her family was counting on her. She couldn't just throw that away for a man she'd known for such a short time.

Vivi stood at the window, her reflection ghostly in the glass. She traced the outline of her face, wondering how she'd ended up in this situation. The mansion felt like a gilded cage, trapping her in a life she never truly wanted.

Across town, Damien finally stepped out of his car. The cool night air hit his face, sobering him slightly. He walked aimlessly down the street, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Every step took him further from the bar, but no closer to a solution.

Back at the mansion, Vivi's phone buzzed. She ignored it, knowing it was probably Reginald checking in. The thought of speaking to him made her stomach churn. Instead, she found herself scrolling through her contacts, finger hovering over Damien's name.

Damien found himself in a small park, sitting on a bench beneath a streetlight. He pulled out his phone, staring at Vivi's number. His thumb hovered over the call button, but he couldn't bring himself to press it.

Vivi paced the bedroom, her mind racing. She thought about the life ahead of her - endless parties, fake smiles, and a husband old enough to be her father. Then she thought about Damien - his laugh, his touch, the way he made her feel alive.

In the park, Damien watched a couple walk by, hand in hand. He felt a pang of jealousy, imagining what could have been with Vivi. But he knew it was impossible. She was his stepmother now, off-limits forever.

Vivi flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. She knew she should delete Damien's number, cut all ties. It was the right thing to do. But something held her back, a tiny spark of hope she couldn't extinguish.

Damien stood up, ready to head home. As he did, his phone slipped from his pocket, clattering to the ground. When he picked it up, he saw a new message notification. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the sender's name: Vivi.

Vivi's fingers trembled as she stared at the message she'd just sent. It was simple, just two words: "I'm sorry." She tossed the phone onto the bed, heart racing. What had she done?

Across town, Damien read the message over and over. His mind raced with possibilities. Was she sorry for their affair? For marrying his father? For sending the text? He typed out several responses, deleting each one before finally settling on: "Me too."

The silence that followed was deafening. Both Vivi and Damien sat in their respective locations, phones clutched tightly, waiting for a response that might never come.

Vivi paced the bedroom, her silk robe swishing around her legs. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd made a terrible mistake. Not just in sending the text, but in everything leading up to this moment. The marriage, the affair, all of it.

Damien left the park, walking without direction. The city lights blurred around him as he replayed every moment with Vivi in his mind. He found himself outside a liquor store, contemplating drowning his sorrows.

Damien stood outside the liquor store, his hand on the door handle. He hesitated, thinking back to earlier that day when Vivi had pushed him away. The hurt in her eyes, the tremble in her voice - it all came flooding back. He released the handle and stepped back, deciding against drowning his sorrows in alcohol.

Meanwhile, Vivi sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the outline of her phone. She thought about her family, about the financial security this marriage had brought them. For a better life for her loved ones, this was the right choice. Wasn't it? She tried to convince herself, repeating the mantra in her head: "This is better. This is better."

Damien walked aimlessly through the city streets, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted between him and Vivi. The passion they'd shared, the connection he'd felt - it all seemed like a distant dream now.

Vivi stood up and walked to the window, gazing out at the manicured gardens of the Blackwood estate. This was her life now - a life of luxury and comfort. She should be grateful, she told herself. But the image of Damien's face kept intruding on her thoughts, making her question everything.

Damien's sleek sports car swerved into the driveway of the Blackwood estate, tires screeching against the pavement. The engine sputtered to a stop, and the driver's door swung open with a heavy thud. Damien stumbled out, his usually graceful movements now clumsy and uncoordinated.

From her bedroom window, Vivi watched the scene unfold with a mixture of concern and trepidation. She recognized the telltale signs of intoxication in Damien's unsteady gait and disheveled appearance. Her heart raced as she debated whether to go downstairs or stay hidden away in her room.

After a moment's hesitation, Vivi made her decision. She crept down the grand staircase, her bare feet silent against the cold marble. As she reached the foyer, she heard the front door slam shut.

"Damien?" she called out softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

But Damien paid her no heed. He staggered past her, the scent of whiskey hanging heavy in the air around him. Without a word or glance in her direction, he made his way to the living room and collapsed onto the plush leather couch.

Vivi followed him, wringing her hands nervously. "Damien, are you okay? Do you need anything?"

Damien's eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, finally met hers. "Don't," he slurred, raising a hand to stop her approach. "Just... don't. Leave me alone, Vivi."

The harshness in his tone made her flinch. Vivi opened her mouth to speak again, but Damien cut her off before she could utter a word.

"Please," he said, his voice softer now but no less firm. "Just go. I don't want to talk. I don't want anything. Just leave me alone."