Reclaiming Her Smile

"Why the hell do you see Vivian in every single woman?" Gideon snapped. He tossed his phone onto the smooth surface of the table, deeply annoyed by Jared’s lingering topic. Every time Vivian's name breached their casual conversations, Gideon visibly cringed. It was a tiring replay of the time Jared spotted a random dancer in the ballroom and made the exact same ridiculous comparison.

The dim, moody lighting of the Crimson Club booth suddenly felt suffocating to Declan. The low thrum of the bass vibrating through the floorboards grated on his nerves. He was already in a foul mood from the day's viral humiliations regarding Lance Mercer's public confession. Declan could not stomach another second of this ongoing, probing discussion about his estranged wife. His jaw ticked as a muscle feathered along his cheek. Without another word, he abruptly stood up. He knocked his glass against the mahogany table, leaving the amber liquid sloshing over the crystal rim, and abandoned the plush booth, leaving his friends staring after him in stunned silence.

Across town, far removed from those suffocating elite circles, the atmosphere hummed with a different energy. Inside the secure walls of their private room at Mirari Studio, Vivian and Hazel were still riding the euphoric high of a successful livestream.

Safe from prying eyes, Hazel carefully removed her pink star mask and placed it on the vanity. She turned to her mother, her large eyes sparkling with an innocence that melted Vivian’s heart.

"Mommy, that's the happiest I've ever seen you smile," the little girl said earnestly.

The innocent, truthful observation pierced Vivian’s soul like a physical blow. She froze, the lingering adrenaline from the broadcast evaporating instantly. She realized with crushing guilt that during the four years trapped in her toxic, emotionally barren marriage to Declan, she had nearly forgotten how to genuinely smile. She had spent a thousand days molding herself into the perfect, docile wife, burying her joy under layers of duty and submission.

Vivian reached out and gently pinched her daughter's warm cheek. "You were amazing today, Hazel. I had no idea you possessed such natural dancing skills. Your rhythm was flawless during the stream."

Hearing the compliment, Hazel shyly lowered her head. A light flush crept up her neck. She picked at the hem of her dancing skirt. "I've always loved dancing. But Grandma and Auntie despised it. They said it was low-class. I didn't want them to scold you for letting me do it, so I stopped."

Vivian's breath hitched. Tears rushed to her eyes, stinging hot and fast. The revelation struck her hard. Hazel had shown a natural talent for rhythm since she was just a few months old. As a toddler, she used to choreograph her own clumsy, adorable routines in the middle of the living room. When the dancing dwindled, Vivian assumed her daughter had simply lost interest in the hobby.

Now she understood the devastating reality. Hazel lived in constant, paralyzing fear. Overwhelmed with profound guilt over how the Thornes' endless disdain had severely stifled her own daughter's spirit, Vivian fell to her knees and pulled Hazel into a tight, fierce embrace.

"Listen to me, sweetheart," Vivian murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of Hazel's head. "From now on, you can dance whenever you feel like it. You don't have to hide your talent. We won't be living with Grandma anymore, and I've separated from your dad. Is that okay with you?"

The notion of the divorce hadn't been formally discussed with Hazel yet, leaving Vivian holding her breath in anxious anticipation.

To Vivian's immense relief, Hazel pulled back, her face brightening with sheer thrill. "Does this mean we don't ever have to stay at Grandma's house again?"

"You don't want to stay there either?" Vivian asked, taken aback by Hazel's enthusiastic, unhesitating response.

"No." Hazel shook her head bluntly, her pigtails swaying. "Grandma and Auntie don't like you, and they don't like me. I don't like them either!"

The young girl admitted her mutual, deep-seated dislike for the cruel Thorne women without an ounce of regret, proving just how toxic the environment had been. Being the daughter of a humble shoemaker had made Vivian a prime target for Beatrice and Fiona's daily scorn, a cruelty they seamlessly extended to the innocent child. Hazel’s existence had been kept a dirty secret for three years.

Seeking a total fresh start, Vivian officially moved out of her temporary quarters the very next day. She took Hazel and relocated into a modest, cozy apartment she had secretly owned prior to her marriage. It was a sanctuary, a desperate escape from the cold, sprawling emptiness of the Thorne mansion. She needed a space that felt lived-in and warm.

Her ever-supportive friend Bianca had prepped the place in advance, ensuring the pantry was stocked and the utilities were running smoothly. The moment Vivian unlocked the front door and stepped inside, a synthesized, robotic voice chimed from the ceiling speakers.

"Hello, host. I am Odie, your smart home butler. Awaiting your command."

Vivian paused, her brow furrowing as she recognized the sharp, commanding cadence of the voice. She burst into laughter, turning to her friend. "Bianca, have you lost your mind? I left that house to forget all about them, and here you are setting me up with an Odie?"

Bianca crossed her arms, a proud, vindictive smirk playing on her lips. "With everything you endured there, since we couldn't get your money back in the settlement, at least let's get some petty revenge. I programmed this smart home butler not just with that jerk Declan's voice, but his elitist mom's and sister's, too. Switch them up when you want to give them a piece of your mind!"

Vivian gave her a resigned eye-roll as they entered the apartment. Hazel immediately scampered down the hall, happily exploring her new pink, lace-filled bedroom that Bianca had decorated with dozens of plush dolls.

As Vivian and Bianca comfortably settled into the plush couch in the living room, Bianca scrolled through her tablet. "The internet buzz hasn't died down. The comments are going wild, shipping you with Lance Mercer. Honestly, Vivian, Lance is leagues better than that scumbag Declan."

Vivian waved the comment off dismissively, sipping her hot coffee. "Lance is great, but let's not play matchmaker. I just want to enjoy life with Hazel right now. I'm not interested in romance." Her emotional capacity for love had been drained and destroyed by her exhaustive marriage.

Suddenly, the peaceful atmosphere shattered. Bianca slammed her hand onto the coffee table, rattling their ceramic cups against the saucers.

"That Declan is the ultimate, irredeemable lowlife!" Bianca yelled, her eyes flashing with pure rage as she stared at her screen. "His divorce papers are barely even warm, and he is already planning to get publicly engaged to Stella Hayes!"

She forcefully shoved her phone directly into Vivian's line of sight. It displayed Stella's curated social media post. The post subtly boasted about a luxurious spring engagement, prominently featuring a cropped image of a man's hand lightly resting on a table. The hand bore Declan's distinct, undeniable red mole on the middle finger.

Vivian barely glanced at the glowing screen, offering only a faint, dismissive smile. She leaned back against the couch cushions, her heart steady and unbothered. "To me, they're just strangers now. Whether they're getting happily engaged or married, it's none of my business anymore."

Bianca, however, practically seethed over Declan's staggering ingratitude. She grabbed a wooden coffee stirrer and aggressively scratched at a napkin on the table, pretending it was Declan's face.

"It still pisses me off!" Bianca argued, furiously insulted that he would so openly flaunt his shiny new relationship. "If it weren't for you speaking up back then, Declan would have faced utter humiliation, and the entire Thorne Group might have tanked into financial ruin! He is ungrateful and callous. Flaunting Stella like this is just a way to say everything you did for him was a waste, and you deserved all the pain."

"In his eyes, that's exactly it," Vivian sighed, having long resigned herself to that harsh reality.

"That asshole," Bianca muttered, snapping the stirrer in half. Vowing to win the ultimate game of life and public perception, she clapped her hands together. "We might have lost in love, but we won't lose in life. If he thinks he can just stomp all over you, we're going to stir up some trouble to make him pay. I am deploying Preston this time. His noble, charmingly perfect image will crush Declan's massive ego!"

"Cut it out, will you?" Vivian pleaded, her tone turning serious as she reached over and pushed Bianca's phone down. "You have already set me up with two guys this month; people are going to start thinking I'm a serial dater. Plus, I refuse to use Preston like that."

She shook her head, her expression firm. "Preston is different from Lance. He is pure, upright, and untainted. I just couldn't bear to drag him into the messy, toxic aftermath of my divorce."

Reluctantly, Bianca dropped the vengeful scheme, crossing her arms in defeat. "Fine. I won't call him. But you have to admit, seeing Declan's face drop would be priceless."

Vivian offered a small, appreciative smile for her friend's loyalty, but her mind drifted. Upon casually hearing Bianca mention earlier that Preston had finally returned to town after a long tour, Vivian's eyes softened.

Preston was a rising star on the ice, and his gentle presence always brought an undeniable sense of calm. She quietly decided in her heart that she would take Hazel to visit him at the ice rink. The child needed a fun distraction, and Vivian knew the gentle figure skater always brought peace.