VIONNE'S POV

After signing those papers.

I thought there would be some kind of relief, some kind of freedom in finally letting go of Harrison. But instead, I felt nothing. Just this numb weight sitting on my chest, pressing into my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

It was past eight when I finally picked up my phone. Maddie's name sat at the top of my recent calls.

I pressed dial.

She picked up immediately. "Vionne ?"

The moment I heard her voice, the dam inside me broke again.

"He left," I said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "He really left."

"Oh, honey..."

I could hear her shift, maybe sitting up or grabbing her keys. "Tell me everything."

So I did.

Everything from the moment Harrison dropped the envelope on the bed, to the photo, to the park, to signing the divorce papers. I tried to stay calm, to sound strong. But Maddie heard the cracks in my voice.

And she didn't sugarcoat her response.

"Your stepsister is a snake," she said bluntly. "And Harrison is a fool. You didn't deserve any of that."

I closed my eyes. "I feel so stupid. I kept thinking I wasn't enough. That I failed."

"You didn't fail anything," Maddie snapped. "You were married to a liar. You gave your heart to someone who didn't deserve it. That's not failure. That's love. He was the one who failed, not you."

I swallowed hard, biting my lip to hold back the fresh wave of emotion. "I just... I don't know what to do now."

There was a pause on the other end before she said, "Come out with me tonight."

I blinked. "What?"

"I'm serious," she said. "Let's go out. Just us. You need a change of scene, some loud music, maybe a drink-or five. You can't stay in that house crying over him forever. He's not worth it."

I hesitated.

Going out? I didn't even feel like putting on pants, much less makeup.

"I don't know if I'm ready-"

"No one's ever ready," she cut in gently. "But sometimes you have to fake it. Just for one night. Be Vionne before Harrison. The Vionne I remember. Strong. Beautiful. Wild."

I let out a small, shaky laugh. "I was never wild."

"Well, maybe it's time to start."

I didn't say yes, but an hour later, I found myself standing in front of the mirror, slipping on a deep burgundy dress I hadn't worn in years. It hugged my curves, dipped low in the back, and made me feel something I hadn't in a long time-alive.

I put on light makeup, added a little mascara, and gave my hair some loose waves. It wasn't much, but when I looked at myself in the mirror, I almost didn't recognize the woman staring back.

Maybe that was the point.

By the time I stepped outside, Maddie's car was already waiting in the driveway. She rolled down the window and whistled when she saw me.

"Damn, girl. You look like sin and sorrow wrapped in silk."

I laughed for real this time. "You're ridiculous."

She winked. "Ridiculously right. Now get in."

We drove with the windows down and music blaring. She talked the whole time, filling the silence with stories from work, gossip from mutual friends, and the time she nearly got arrested for slapping her ex at a wedding.

"And I swear," she said, taking a sharp turn, "if I ever see Harrison in public, I'll throw my drink in his face. No hesitation."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to. He deserves to feel half the shame he dumped on you."

I glanced out the window, my smile fading just a little. "What if he doesn't feel any shame?"

She was quiet for a moment before reaching over to squeeze my hand. "Then you walk away knowing you were always better than him."

We pulled up in front of a bar I didn't recognize-dark lights, thumping music, and a long line of people outside.

"Don't worry," Maddie said, dragging me by the hand. "I know the bouncer."

Of course she did.

Inside, the music hit me like a wave-loud and electric. People moved on the dance floor like they were chasing something. The air was thick with perfume, laughter, and spilled liquor.

We made our way to the bar, and Maddie ordered shots before I could protest.

"To freedom," she said, holding hers up.

I clinked my glass against hers, and we knocked them back.

One shot turned into two.

Two into four.

We danced. We laughed. For a while, I forgot. I let go. I let Maddie pull me into the crowd, let strangers brush past me, let the beat vibrate in my chest until it drowned out everything else.

But the peace didn't last long.

Around midnight, Maddie's phone lit up. Her face changed instantly.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She showed me the screen. "My little sister just got into a car accident. Nothing major, but I need to go check on her. She's freaking out."

"Go," I said immediately. "She needs you."

Maddie bit her lip. "You'll be okay?"

I nodded. "I'll order a cab. I just need a few minutes."

She hesitated but gave me a tight hug. "Text me the second you get home. I mean it."

"I will."

And then she was gone.

I turned back to the bar, sitting down with a soft sigh. The room spin just a little, but I felt strangely calm. Hollow, but calm.

That's when I noticed someone slide into the seat next to me.

He didn't speak right away. Just leaned over the counter to get the bartender's attention. His voice was deep, smooth.

"Whiskey. Double."

He turned to me then, his eyes dark and unreadable. Handsome in a way that made my stomach flutter, not polished like Harrison, but rough around the edges, with stubble on his jaw and a faint scar above his brow.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Rough night?" he said, nodding toward the drink in my hand.

I gave him a tired smile. "Something like that."

He took a sip of his whiskey, eyes still on mine. "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Fair."

There was a pause. Then he said, "I'm Ethan."

"Vionne ."

We talked. Nothing deep. He told me about his job, how he hated Mondays, and how he once set his kitchen on fire trying to cook pasta.

I laughed more than I expected to.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the pain. Or maybe it was the way he looked at me-like I was interesting, like he didn't know anything about my past and didn't care.

Somewhere between our third drink and a shared plate of fries, I realized I was leaning closer.

So was he.

And before I could stop it, his lips found mine.

VIONNE'S POV

The elevator ride to his hotel room was quiet, filled with the kind of tension that pressed into my chest and made my heart beat faster. I could feel his eyes on me as we rose floor after floor. He didn't touch me, but his presence filled the small space like smoke. Heavy. Warm. Dangerous.

His room was on the twelfth floor. Clean. Dimly lit. A big bed waiting in the center like a silent promise. He closed the door behind us, and the click of the lock sent a thrill down my spine.

I turned. He was already there. And I kissed him again.

It was desperate. Hot. Our mouths crashed together like we'd waited too long. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, gripping like he didn't want to let go. My fingers found the back of his neck, tangled in his short hair, anchoring myself to him.

We didn't speak. We didn't need to.

Clothes came off one by one, my dress slipping over my head, his shirt tugged free and tossed aside. His jeans hit the floor. My bra unhooked, falling somewhere between the hallway and the bed. His hands were all over me, rough palms trailing over my ribs, my stomach, my hips.

He kissed my neck, slow and firm, making my skin burn under his mouth. His lips moved lower, across my collarbone, down to the top of my chest. He kissed me like he wanted to learn me. Like he needed to taste every inch of me just to prove I was real.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't feel broken. I didn't feel rejected. I felt wanted.

He laid me down on the bed like I was something precious, even though we both knew this wasn't love. This wasn't about forever. It was about now. About escaping. About feeling anything other than the pain I'd been carrying.

His hands slid down my sides, thumbs brushing over my thighs as he leaned over me. His body was solid, warm, strong. His mouth returned to mine, slower this time, deeper. Our tongues tangled, and I moaned softly into the kiss, my hands moving over his back, fingers dragging down his spine.

When he kissed down between my breasts, I arched toward him, breath catching in my throat. He took one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking gently, then harder, until I whimpered. His other hand cupped the other breast, fingers teasing, brushing, making my stomach tighten and my thighs press together.

"You're so damn beautiful," he murmured, voice thick and low, vibrating against my skin.

I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. I just let myself feel it.

Then his hand moved between my legs. He touched me over my panties first-soft, slow strokes that made my breath hitch. When he finally slid them down, he paused, eyes locking with mine.

"Okay?" he asked, his voice rough.

I nodded. "Yes."

His fingers dipped into me, and I gasped.

"You're soaked," he whispered, a wicked smile pulling at his lips. "God, Vionne ..."

He kissed me again, slower now, as his fingers moved inside me. One at first. Then two. Curling, searching, finding just the right spot. I clung to him, moaning into his mouth, my hips rocking against his hand. My skin burned. My legs trembled. Everything inside me tightened, building fast, harder than I expected.

"Don't fight it," he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. "Just let go."

And I did.

My orgasm hit hard, tearing through me like a wave crashing against rocks. I cried out, clutching his shoulders, my body jerking against his hand as he held me through it. He kissed my face, my neck, my lips-never letting go.

When it passed, I lay back on the bed, dazed, breathless, my chest rising and falling fast. My skin was damp with sweat, but I felt lighter. Like something had broken loose inside me.

He leaned over me, brushing my hair out of my face. "You okay?"

I nodded, still catching my breath. "Yeah..."

His mouth curved into a small smile, and he kissed me again, this time soft, slow, patient.

"Your turn," I whispered, sliding my hand down between us. I found him hard, thick, waiting for me. He groaned low when I wrapped my fingers around him and stroked, watching me with dark eyes as I moved slowly up and down his length.

I felt powerful.

Wanted.

He bit his bottom lip as I ran my thumb over the head, feeling the heat and wetness there. He was big, and he felt so good in my hand. His whole body tensed under my touch, his eyes burning into mine.

"Condom?" I asked, my voice still hoarse.

He reached into the drawer beside the bed and grabbed one. I watched him roll it on, my stomach fluttering with nerves and excitement.

Then he was back on top of me, kissing me deeply, lining himself up between my thighs.

He paused.

"You sure?" he asked, his voice low and careful.

"Yes," I whispered. "Please."

He pushed in slowly, stretching me inch by inch, and I gasped at the sensation. It had been so long. The pressure was thick, deep, and overwhelming, but in the best way. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He filled me completely.

And for a moment, we didn't move. We just breathed. His forehead pressed to mine. Our eyes locked. My hands found his face, tracing his jaw, the scar near his brow.

Then he began to move.

Slow strokes at first, steady and deep. Each thrust made my breath catch, made my back arch, made my fingers clutch at his shoulders. He moved like he was trying to memorize me from the inside out.

I matched his rhythm, our bodies rocking together in perfect sync. The tension built again, slow and steady, curling in my stomach like fire. His mouth found my neck, my shoulder, my jaw. He moaned my name, and the sound made me tighten around him.

"God, you feel so good," he whispered, his voice raw.

The bed creaked beneath us, the headboard tapping lightly against the wall. My skin was slick with sweat. My hair clung to my face. But I didn't care. I only cared about the way he made me feel-full, alive, wanted.

He shifted his angle slightly, and the next thrust made me cry out. He hit something deep, something that sent a jolt of pleasure through my whole body.

"Right there," I gasped.

He kept going, over and over, hitting that same spot, driving me higher. My nails scraped down his back. His mouth found mine again. The kiss was messy now, hot and urgent, all tongue and teeth and breathless moans.

"I'm close," I whispered.

"Me too," he groaned, speeding up.

The tension inside me snapped, and I came again, harder this time, my body convulsing around him as I cried out, shaking in his arms. A second later, he followed, hips jerking, a deep groan tearing from his throat as he spilled into the condom.

He collapsed beside me, both of us gasping for air.

VIONNE'S POV

One month.

That's how long it had been since Harrison walked out and I signed those divorce papers. A whole month of trying to breathe normally again.

I tried to pick myself up every morning and act like I was okay. I told myself I didn't need him. I told myself he wasn't worth my tears.

I even had a wild night with a stranger. I didn't remember his name again, I didn't care. I just wanted to forget. I wanted someone else's hands on my body, someone else's lips against my skin. I thought maybe, just maybe, it would erase the memory of Harrison's touch. It helped for a moment.

And I didn't think things could get worse.

It was a rainy Tuesday. The kind of day that already made your bones feel heavy. I was curled up on the couch, knees tucked to my chest, sipping lukewarm tea. The kind that had lost all warmth, like everything else in my life. I was trying to focus on a book, but I had read the same sentence seven times and still had no idea what it said.

That's when my phone rang.

My father's assistant. Her voice was cold and sharp, like always. No warmth, no kindness, just clipped words like she was reading off a script.

"Mr. Wallace requests your presence at the mansion this afternoon. Four o'clock sharp."

My stomach twisted. I hadn't heard from my father in weeks. Not when the divorce hit the papers. Not when the photos of Harrison and Nora started spreading like wildfire. Not a single call. Not a single word. And now he wanted to see me. Just like that.

I didn't know what to expect. A part of me, a small, desperate part hoped he finally cared. Maybe he realized I'd been suffering. Maybe he regretted the silence. Maybe he wanted to be there for me. Maybe, for once, he would act like a father.

I dressed slowly. I didn't want to look weak, even if I felt it in every bone of my body. I chose a simple navy-blue dress. Something elegant. Something that made me feel like I still had a little dignity left. I put on low heels and touched up my makeup. Just enough to cover the tiredness under my eyes. Just enough to look like I was still standing on my own two feet.

The drive to the mansion felt longer than usual. The sky was gray and heavy, and raindrops slid down the windows like tears.

When I arrived, the gates opened like always. But nothing felt the same. The mansion looked colder. Quieter. Like it already knew I wasn't welcome anymore.

I walked in and one of the house staff led me straight to my father's office.

And the second I stepped in, I couldn't breathe.

Nora was there.

Harrison was there.

And sitting comfortably in the armchair, like it was her house, was Nora's mother, Deborah.

Nora looked radiant. She wore a soft pink dress, the kind that made her look delicate and sweet. Her blonde hair was curled into soft waves, her makeup perfect, like she'd stepped out of a magazine. And her smile-God, that smile-was the kind that made your skin crawl. She looked thrilled to see me.

Harrison stood beside her, casual, like he belonged there. His hand rested lightly on her lower back. The same hand that used to hold me. The same hand that used to trace circles on my skin when I couldn't sleep.

I froze in the doorway. My eyes moved to my father. He was behind his desk, his face blank, his hands folded neatly in front of him.

"Sit down," he said. His voice was flat, hard.

I sat slowly. My legs felt weak, like they didn't trust the ground anymore. I gripped the hem of my dress, trying to steady my hands.

"They're engaged," he said.

No warning. No kindness. Just the words.

I stared at him. My mind couldn't catch up. My heart slammed against my ribs.

Nora lifted her hand, her smile widening. A diamond ring glittered on her finger. My mother's diamond. The one my father swore he'd keep safe.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said like it was nothing. "Daddy thought I should have it."

My mouth went dry. My chest hurt.

"You're marrying my husband," I whispered.

"Ex-husband," she corrected with a soft, fake smile. "And it's not like you were making him happy."

I turned to my father. Desperate. Hurt. "Dad, how can you let this happen? Harrison cheated on me. With Nora!"

He didn't even blink.

"Nora makes Harrison happy. That's all that matters now."

His words hit harder than I thought they could.

"What about me?" My voice cracked, no matter how hard I tried to hold it steady. "What about how I feel?"

He leaned back in his chair, eyes hard. "You? You humiliated this family. You walked out of your marriage like a drunk. Slept with God knows who. You let the media tear us apart."

Tears burned behind my eyes. "I was heartbroken. I didn't plan any of it."

"You're a disgrace," he said, cold as ice.

I gasped. The word felt like a slap.

He reached into his drawer and pulled out an envelope. He placed it in front of me like it meant nothing.

"What is this?" I asked, barely able to breathe.

"Legal transfer documents. All my company shares are now under Nora's name. She deserves it. She's responsible. Composed. She'll carry the Wallace legacy forward."

My heart stopped. "You're cutting me off?"

"I'm cleaning up your mess."

I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. My whole body felt numb. My skin burned from the inside out.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw something. I wanted to make them all feel the way I did.

But I didn't.

I stood up. Slowly. My knees wobbled beneath me. I looked my father in the eye.

"You really mean it," I said.

He didn't flinch. "You're no longer my daughter."

Just like that.

Nora smirked like she'd won.

Harrison didn't even look at me.

Deborah chuckled under her breath like it was all a game.

I turned around and walked out.

I didn't cry until I got to my car.

Then I broke.

I clutched the steering wheel, pressing my forehead to it, and sobbed until I couldn't breathe. My body shook. My throat burned. My heart felt like it had split open and no one cared.

I had lost everything.

My husband.

My family.

My place in the world.

And the worst part?

Not a single person in that room loved me.