The Price of Divorce

The tense atmosphere at the front door shattered the second they stepped out of the car. Audrey’s furious voice cut through the cool evening air, sharp and unyielding.

"Don't you dare look at Vivienne!" Audrey stormed down the marble steps, jabbing a rigid finger toward Damon. "The news is plastered with those leaked airport photographs! You and that woman, paraded across every television screen and gossip site in Kaeloria. Do you possess even the basic realization that you are a married man?"

Damon stiffened under the verbal assault. He ran a hand through his hair. "Mom, let me explain—"

"Explain what?" Audrey screamed, her face flushed with maternal outrage. "That you treat your wife with such blatant disrespect? When it comes to grace, talent, and simple decency, Vivienne is leagues ahead of that homewrecker! How could you parade her around like some trophy?"

"Clara is not a homewrecker," Damon stumbled, offering a weak defense. "You don't understand the situation. She needed my help at the terminal."

His flimsy words acted as a direct match to Audrey's raging fire. "Still defending her under my roof? Have you lost your mind?" Audrey pointed a trembling finger toward the grand front doors. "Get out of my sight. Go to your grandfather's private study right now. He is waiting for you, and I promise you, Winston will not be as forgiving as I am."

Damon clamped his jaw shut. He shot one last venomous glare at Vivienne, blaming her for the ambush, before storming past his mother and taking the grand staircase two steps at a time.

Once his heavy footsteps faded into the upper levels of the estate, Audrey pressed a hand to her chest. She let out a frustrated breath. "What a mess. How did I raise a son with such terrible judgment?"

Vivienne stood quietly to the side. A deep, aching pang of gratitude washed over her, warming the cold hollows of her chest. She stepped forward, gently resting a hand on Audrey's trembling arm. "Take a breath, Audrey. Please don't upset yourself over this. Your health is more important."

Audrey turned, her eyes softening as she looked at her daughter-in-law. She reached out, pulling Vivienne into a fierce, tight embrace. "We will always stand by you, Vivienne. Even if we have to throw that ungrateful boy out onto the street, you are a Winslow."

Wrapped in the older woman's arms, Vivienne felt anchored. Audrey’s unwavering loyalty provided immense comfort. This woman acted more like a true mother to her than Miriam Carter, her actual adoptive mother, ever did. When Vivienne went through her darkest days three years ago, nearly breaking under the weight of her arranged marriage, Miriam stayed far away. But Audrey sat by her hospital bed, weeping and holding her hand for an entire week.

Over the span of three years, the suffocating obsession Vivienne once harbored for Damon faded. The desperate need for his validation burned out long ago, leaving behind only a quiet, lingering sadness. She wanted a clean exit from this hollow marriage. The thought of fighting Clara for Damon's affection sounded exhausting and pointless. Yet, walking away meant leaving the Winslow family, and they remained her only genuine refuge in the world.

After comforting Audrey in the foyer, Vivienne made her way upstairs. She walked down the ornate, dimly lit hallway, her heels sinking silently into the plush Persian carpet. As she approached the heavy oak doors of Winston’s private study, the muffled sounds of a heated argument reached her ears.

Vivienne deliberately slowed her footsteps. She paused near the carved wood, pressing her attention toward the voices echoing from inside the room.

Winston’s tone held a cold, stern finality that left zero room for negotiation. "Let me make this crystal clear," the older man declared. "If you insist on divorcing Vivienne, I will personally transfer twenty percent of Winslow Construction's valuable shares directly into her name."

A heavy thud echoed from the room, like a fist hitting the mahogany desk.

"And," Winston pushed further, his voice booming with unquestionable authority, "if you dare to marry that woman, you will resign from your position immediately. The Winslow family will cut you off. You won't see a single dime of our money."

Through the thick door, Vivienne heard Damon’s bitter protest. "Grandpa, how can you side with her? The Carter family doesn't even want Vivienne anymore! They threw her out like trash! Why should we be the ones stuck with her?"

"I don't care about the Carters!" Winston barked in response, the sound vibrating through the wood. "I was the first person to hold Vivienne when she was born. I watched her grow. She is the ultimate victim of their past grievances, and those grudges have nothing to do with us."

Damon tried to interrupt, but Winston overpowered him. "You want to cast her aside to chase your mistress? Fine. But understand the price. You make your choice right now, Damon. Clara, or your grand inheritance. You cannot have both."

Vivienne held her breath. The silence that followed Winston's ultimatum stretched long and heavy. She didn't wait to hear Damon's surrender. Pulling her gaze away from the oak door, she continued silently down the hall toward her own bedroom.

Later in the evening, the grand estate settled into a tense quiet. Vivienne sat calmly at her vanity. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, taking a cotton pad and meticulously wiping away her makeup. The cool air of the room felt soothing against her skin, offering a brief moment of peace.

Without warning, the bedroom door flew open. It slammed against the wall with a loud crack.

Damon stormed into the room, his face flushed red with unhinged anger. He crossed the floor in quick, aggressive strides, stopping just behind her chair. He glared at her reflection in the mirror, sneering.

"What kind of black magic did you work on my grandfather?" Damon demanded, his voice thick with venom. "He treats you better than his own flesh and blood!"

Vivienne did not flinch. She set the cotton pad down on the marble vanity, keeping her eyes fixed on the mirror.

"Don't ignore me!" Damon snarled. "You play the pathetic victim so well, don't you? You manipulate him into handing over twenty percent of the company's shares. You set a calculated trap to keep me bound to you. It's sick."

Vivienne’s reflection hardened. The calm indifference shattered, replaced by pure, icy resolve. She spun around in her chair, facing him head-on.

"Don't project your failures onto me," Vivienne shot back with lethal precision. "If you truly loved Clara, none of Grandpa's threats would matter. You would willingly leave all the money behind and run off with her."

Damon opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat.

Vivienne rose to her feet, closing the distance between them. She ruthlessly dissected his character, stripping away his righteous anger piece by piece. "Grandpa knows exactly who Clara is and what she did. He would never accept her, and you know that in your bones. The real obstacle keeping you apart isn't me. It’s you."

She stared directly into his eyes, exposing the ugly truth he tried so hard to bury. "You simply cannot stomach the thought of giving up your fancy, privileged lifestyle. You like the cars, the status, the endless bank accounts. You need the Winslow name."

"Shut up," Damon hissed, his hands balling into tight fists.

"You refuse to admit that your own financial interests are worth more to you than Clara," Vivienne shouted, her voice echoing off the high ceiling. "Instead, you use me as a convenient scapegoat! You blame me because you are too weak to make a real sacrifice. You are a coward, Damon!"

The words struck a deep, sensitive nerve. Damon's face contorted into a twisted mask. A toxic mixture of deep humiliation and explosive rage warred in his features. His chest heaved as he stood paralyzed under the weight of her dissection. He wanted to scream, to tear her arguments apart, but he found zero defense against the cold, hard facts.

The suffocating, heavy tension in the bedroom stretched until a sharp knock at the open door broke the silence.

Lucas, the head servant, stood in the hallway with a bowed head. "Excuse the interruption. Dinner is served in the main dining room."

Damon tore his gaze away from Vivienne. He adjusted his collar, his jaw ticking, and marched out of the room without another glance.

Vivienne took a slow, steadying breath. She smoothed down the fabric of her dress and followed him out.

The grand dining table shone under the glow of the crystal chandelier. The entirety of the Winslow family united around the long stretch of polished mahogany. Despite the elegant setting and the spread of gourmet food, the dynamic at the table sat crystal clear.

Damon sat rigid, aggressively poking at his plate. Across from him, his younger sister, Chloe, and his father, Richard, openly and warmly sided with Vivienne. They ensured her glass remained full and directed all their pleasant conversation her way, leaving Damon to simmer in his own isolated frustration.

Chloe leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She cheekily bumped her shoulder against Vivienne’s. "You know, if Damon decides to pitch a fit and run off again, I think we'll be just fine. We can simply split his massive fortune right down the middle."

Richard chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. "I wouldn't argue with that."

"Right?" Chloe beamed, gesturing with her fork. "We will take all that cash and hire a bunch of gorgeous male models to entertain us. We don't need him."

A sudden, brief flicker of hidden guilt sparked deep within Vivienne's chest. Her mind flashed to the previous night, to the shadowed hotel room, the tangled sheets, and the mystery man whose scent still lingered in her memory. She swallowed hard, forcing a polite smile to mask the sudden heat rising to her cheeks. She had essentially lived out Chloe's wild joke just twenty-four hours ago.

Damon slammed his silverware down. "Keep talking nonsense, Chloe."

Winston cleared his throat. The low, rumbling sound instantly silenced the table's lighthearted banter. The patriarch sat at the head of the table, his expression grave.

"Enough," Winston declared, his tone shifting into business. "Damon is not leaving. He will officially assume the role of the company's general manager starting tomorrow morning."

Chloe groaned softly, her disappointment obvious, but she kept quiet.

The mood in the dining room instantly sobered. Winston placed his hands flat on the table, addressing the harsh reality haunting their legacy. "We need to focus. You all know the state of our construction business. The market is saturated. The economy is rapidly shifting underneath our feet."

Richard nodded, his brow furrowing with deep concern. "Our profits took another hit this quarter."

"Exactly," Winston agreed. "In order to survive, it is a necessity for us to secure the Eden Resort project. It is a massive, lucrative government-approved development. Landing it will guarantee our company's survival for the next decade."

Richard sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dad, securing the Eden Resort is a pipe dream. The competition waiting to fight for a piece of that pie is cutthroat. Every major firm in the country is bleeding themselves dry trying to get the bid."

Winston leaned forward. "If we can get one key person on our side, it won't be that hard. Gideon Kensington."