It Is Bound to End Anyway

Valerie’s POV

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Maisie’s bedroom, casting a warm glow over the open suitcase resting on the mattress. I folded a stack of small pastel t-shirts, my hands moving with practiced efficiency while my mind raced a million miles a minute. I was packing a bag full of Maisie’s favorite things, meticulously preparing to send my young daughter away on a lengthy summer vacation with Sylvia’s parents. It was a drastic measure, but a necessary one.

I glanced over my shoulder. Maisie sat cross-legged on the plush rug, her small arms wrapped tightly around a pile of stuffed animals. Right on top of the pile sat the brand new toy Gideon had just given her—the exact same one I had seen clutched in Milo’s hands at the hospital. A fresh wave of disgust rolled through my chest, tight and suffocating. I forced it down, pasting a soft smile on my face for my daughter’s sake.

I had to protect Maisie. I knew the impending toxic chaos of the divorce proceedings would consume everything in its path. Gideon stubbornly refused to let me go, and his resistance meant this battle would turn ugly. Taking Maisie out of the immediate danger zone was the only way to shield her fragile heart from the fallout. She did not need to see her parents tear each other apart. She did not need to watch her father fight to keep a family he had already destroyed.

"Mommy, can I bring this with me?" Maisie asked innocently, holding up a large plush bunny.

I walked over and knelt beside her, smoothing down a stray lock of her hair. "You can bring all the toys you want, sweetie. You are going to have so much fun on the island."

She smiled, but the edges of it faltered. She dropped the bunny into the open suitcase and looked back up at me, her big eyes searching my face. "Mommy, why won't you come with me?"

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. "Because I have work here, sweetie."

"What about Daddy?"

I took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in my hands. "He has work too. Besides, you will come back right after the summer break."

She nodded, seeming to accept the answer for now, and promised to buy me gifts. I pulled her into a tight embrace, burying my face in her shoulder. I wanted to hold her forever, to keep her locked away from the pain her father was about to cause. But I knew this separation was the only way to guarantee her safety.

An hour later, the noise and chaotic energy of the busy airport terminal surrounded us. Announcements blared overhead, and travelers rushed past with heavy luggage. We stood near the departure gate, waiting for Sylvia’s parents to finish checking the bags.

A heavy, visible sadness settled over Maisie's innocent face. She kept glancing back at the terminal entrance, her small hands clutching the hem of her jacket. She was looking for a familiar figure in the crowd. A figure that was nowhere to be found.

"Is Daddy not coming?" she asked.

Her tiny voice cracked on the final word, and the sound shattered my heart into a thousand jagged pieces. I sank to my knees right there in the middle of the terminal, bringing myself to eye level with her. I stared into her tear-filled eyes, forced to swallow the bitter, painful truth. Gideon had not even bothered to come home last night. I had spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, wondering where my husband was, only to wake up and realize he was likely playing happy families with another woman.

I reached out and cupped Maisie’s soft cheek. "Sweetie, Daddy cannot come. He... he had a sudden, unavoidable work emergency in the office."

A tear spilled over her lashes and rolled down her face. She looked down at her shoes. "Is Daddy mad at me?"

"No!" I shook my head, pulling her tiny frame against my chest. "No, sweetheart. Daddy loves you so much. He could never get mad at you."

"Then why is he not here?" she whispered against my collarbone.

I bit my trembling lip, tasting salt and iron. I had no answer. I did not know how to calm her down, how to convince her that her father loved her when his actions screamed the opposite.

Thankfully, Aunt Vivienne and Uncle Richard approached, holding the boarding passes. Vivienne immediately knelt down and distracted Maisie with promises of beach trips and ice cream, coaxing a small, hesitant smile back onto my daughter's face.

Before we moved toward the security checkpoint, Uncle Richard pulled me aside. The bustling noise of the airport seemed to fade into the background as he looked at me. A heavy, stern frown carved deep lines into his weathered face. His gaze held no pity, only strict instruction.

"You are not involving your daughter in the mess you and your husband created, Valerie," he warned, his voice low and firm. "She is just a child."

I looked down at the polished floor tiles, feeling the immense weight of his words. "I won't, Uncle. I promise."

He let out a long sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. "Better be sure. We will take good care of Maisie. Just make sure that when we come back, she won't get hurt anymore."

I stood by the glass windows and watched the plane ascend into the clouds, my hands pressed flat against the cool pane. With Maisie finally safely out of the picture, the protective mother inside me stepped back, and the wronged wife stepped forward.

I left the airport and drove directly to the prestigious law firm of Tristan de Sol.

Tristan was not just any lawyer. He was my husband’s absolute best friend. They had shared years of history, standing by each other through countless trials. But more importantly, Tristan was the only lawyer I knew who possessed the strict principles and unyielding courage required to legally oppose Gideon’s incredibly powerful family. Every other attorney in the city could be bought, bullied, or intimidated by the Vance name. Tristan could not.

The receptionist guided me through the grand, mahogany-paneled hallways and ushered me into his private office. The room smelled of rich leather and expensive cologne. I walked over to his massive oak desk, my eyes scanning the framed photos arranged neatly on the surface. My gaze landed on a specific frame. It was a picture of the three of us on the day of my wedding with Gideon. No grand venue, no elaborate gown. Just Tristan standing beside us, smiling as Gideon and I held the signed marriage certificate.

The click of the door opening broke the silence.

"Valerie?"

I turned around. Tristan stood in the doorway, his hand still gripping the brass knob. The color drained from his face as his eyes widened in shock. He was visibly stunned by my unexpected presence. My private investigator had booked the appointment under a generic inquiry, keeping my identity hidden until this very second.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, his gaze never leaving my face. He gestured toward the leather couch in the center of the room. I took a seat, crossing my legs, keeping my posture rigid and unyielding. Tristan sank into the armchair across from me, still processing the reality of his new client.

"What brought you here?" he asked, clearing his throat to find his professional voice.

I did not waste a single second. I looked him dead in the eye and bluntly stated my objective. "I want to end my marriage with a divorce right now. And I want to know if you can help me achieve it."

Tristan’s jaw dropped. The professional facade shattered. He rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. He leaned forward, hesitating heavily, the weight of his loyalty pulling at his features.

"Valerie... Gideon is my best friend," he reminded me, his tone thick with awkward discomfort. "Did you two have a huge fight? You cannot just end this with a divorce over a disagreement."

I countered his hesitation with ironclad resolve. "And I am his wife. I am the one demanding a divorce."

"What did he do?"

"He cheated."

The blunt bombshell echoed off the walls of the opulent office. Tristan stared at me, his eyes searching my face for any sign of a joke or a hysterical exaggeration. When he found none, his face paled in absolute disbelief.

"No," he argued, vehemently shaking his head. "No, Valerie. You must be mistaken. Gideon would never cheat on you."

"He did. With Beatrice Finch."

Tristan recoiled as if I had struck him. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a short line behind his chair. "Valerie, you have to be wrong. Beatrice is a cunning woman. She deeply hurt Gideon in the past. She left him broken beyond repair. Because of that history, Gideon would never accept her back into his life. Not a chance. Especially now that he is legally married to you and you two share a daughter."

I remained unfazed by his passionate defense. I sat perfectly still, letting his words hang in the air before I delivered the final, fatal blow.

"What if they have a child?"

Tristan froze. He stopped mid-step, his body turning rigid.

The horrifying reality of the situation crashed into the room, hanging heavily in the air between us. A child. A child older than my own daughter. It served as undeniable proof that Gideon had maintained a connection with Beatrice long before he ever built a life with me. It meant that I might have only ever been a temporary rebound, a convenient distraction to help him forget the woman who broke his heart.

A deafening, suffocating silence stretched across the office. The hum of the city traffic outside the window faded away. Tristan turned his back to me, gripping the edge of his desk. His knuckles turned white. He stared out the window, completely lost in deep, conflicted thought. He was watching his lifelong understanding of his best friend crumble to dust.

I watched his rigid back, feeling my last shred of hope rapidly drain away. His silence spoke volumes. He was not going to help me. He could not bring himself to ruin his friendship, even for the sake of the truth.

I swallowed the bitter taste of disappointment. I grabbed my bag from the cushion, pushed myself off the couch, and began walking toward the heavy oak door. I had to find another way. I had to find another lawyer, even if it meant fighting a losing battle against the Vance empire.

Just as my hand reached out and wrapped around the cool metal of the doorknob, his voice broke the quiet.

"Valerie."

I paused, but I did not turn back.

Tristan turned around to face me. I could hear the shift in his breathing, the sudden, heavy weight of a massive, risky proposition forming in his chest.

"If you can definitively prove to me that the child’s father is indeed Gideon," Tristan said, his voice steady and resolute, "I will risk my lifelong friendship with him. I will take your case, and I will legally free you from this miserable marriage."

I slowly turned around to face him. The desperation and sorrow that had plagued me for days evaporated. My internal resolve hardened into diamond. I met his intense gaze with cold confidence.

"It is not hard to prove something that is true," I replied.

I left the law firm and walked out into the bright afternoon sun, my mind operating with surgical precision. I climbed into the private confines of my car and shut the door, sealing myself in silence.

I sat behind the steering wheel, staring straight ahead through the windshield. Tristan needed definitive proof, and Gideon was violently refusing to agree to the divorce. I needed a catalyst. I needed to execute my final, desperate ace. I had to weaponize the one external force that could physically force Gideon’s hand.

Beatrice Finch.

She was a cunning, ambitious woman. A woman like that would never willingly settle for being a hidden secret forever. She would inevitably seek her son's rightful, public place in the Vance family. She wanted the status, the wealth, and the title of the official wife. I fully intended to use her greedy ambition to secure my own freedom. If I pushed her, she would push Gideon.

I reached into my bag and pulled out my mobile phone. I scrolled through my encrypted messages and found the direct number my private investigator had previously provided.

I deliberately tapped the screen, dialing the digits one by one. I brought the phone to my ear, listening to the dial tone.

The line rang briefly. Once. Twice.

Then, a click.

"Hello? Who is this?" a woman’s voice asked on the other end.

I tightly clenched my jaws, feeling the muscles feather in my cheeks. I stared at my own reflection in the rearview mirror, my eyes dark and hollow, and coldly spoke a single word into the receiver.

"Beatrice."