The day Vivian Blackwood demanded a divorce for that celebrity—again—was the day I finally gave in. The hand holding her cigarette froze mid-air. After a beat, a smirk played on her lips. "What's this? Playing nice for a change?" "Found out that throwing a fit gets you nowhere, so you're trying a new tactic?" I slipped the wedding band from my finger and placed it on the table between us. My voice was steady. "No. I'm just done fighting." 1 After a long, heavy silence, Vivian stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. She leaned against the wall, her voice a low, casual drawl. "It's not that I'm in a rush, you know." "It's just that Kevin's career is really taking off." "And you constantly harassing him… it's just so tiresome, darling." I didn't answer. With deliberate, careful strokes, I signed my name—Leo Vance—on the divorce agreement. Only then did I look up. "Don't worry. It won't happen again." Vivian's relaxed posture stiffened slightly. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought. Then she pushed herself off the wall, a new, almost imperceptible edge of irritation in her voice. "Good. See that it doesn't." "Otherwise… you know the consequences." An involuntary shudder ran through me. The last time she'd pushed for a divorce, I had shattered. In a fit of despair, I leaked the explicit, taunting photos Kevin had sent me. Vivian's response was swift and brutal. She sued me for defamation. Her fans doxed me, plastering my personal information all over the internet until I was forced into a humiliating public apology. I remember the look on her face in the courtroom when the verdict was announced. She watched me crumble with the cool, detached air of a spectator, utterly in control. Then she'd leaned in, a triumphant arch in her eyebrow, and whispered, "Darling, pleased with the outcome?" It's strange. The memory was a suffocating, soul-crushing pain back then. But now, thinking back on it… My heart was a flatline. All I felt was a bitter, mocking irony. As I walked out the front door, luggage in hand, I glanced at the plane ticket in my pocket. It finally dawned on me, with a slow, creeping sense of finality. I was finally letting go of the love that had wrecked me. 2 On the massive screen in the city square, Kevin Reed grinned, the picture of confident charm in a luxury brand ad. The image blurred, merging with the memory of a snarling, defiant boy who had clawed his way into my life to tear it apart. Vivian had been right about one thing. Kevin’s career was on a meteoric rise. The leaked photos, far from damaging him, had been spun into a victory. His "unapologetic honesty" was hailed by his fanbase as the mark of a "fearless modern man." But the first time I knew—truly knew—about Vivian's affair, it was because Kevin himself had made sure of it. That first discovery sent me into a blind rage. I stormed the Blackwood family estate, determined to make every single one of them see the filth Vivian had dragged their name through. In the fallout, our friends all gave me the same advice. Be the bigger person. Let it go. But I couldn't. I hated her. I hated Vivian for her betrayal, and I hated her for turning me into this hysterical, raving lunatic. While I was falling apart, she was out living her life, wrapped around her new plaything. I refused to give in. I wouldn't be the one to quietly disappear. Then the paparazzi caught them, photos of them checking into a hotel splashed across every tabloid. The scandal was massive. To protect Kevin's career and reputation, Vivian did the unthinkable. She went public with their relationship. Every entertainment headline was a fairytale spin: "Heiress Finds Love with Rising Star." It was the final blow. I snapped. I stormed into her corporate office, screaming, shouting, a man possessed. Vivian, ever the strategist, calmly had Kevin escorted out, which only fueled my meltdown. I grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from her desk and threw it, splitting her forehead open. I called her trash, a whore who belonged in the gutter. When the storm of my fury finally broke, she stood there, blood trickling down her face, her expression unreadable. "You're right," she said, her voice ice. "I am trash. I did cheat. If you can't handle it, then divorce me!" The words hung in the air, stunning us both into silence. But I was the first to break it, my voice raw and torn, more unhinged than ever before. "Why the hell should I divorce you?!" "Why should I make it easy for you and that little parasite?!" "Vivian, you and he can spend the rest of your goddamn lives branded as the cheating bitch and the homewrecker you are!" 3 We didn't speak after that day. Vivian stopped coming home altogether. The only updates I got on her life were from Kevin's smug social media posts, each one a carefully curated tableau of their love. Battered from all sides, I made a desperate, scorched-earth decision. I posted our marriage certificate online, laying bare the truth of their affair. But before the story could even gain traction, Vivian moved against me. She paid off my mother's specialist, a top surgeon, ensuring he remained "unavailable" abroad, effectively holding my mother's life hostage. Then she gave me her ultimatum: retract my statement and publicly declare the marriage certificate a fake. The moment I understood what she had done, the blood drained from my face. I was so numb with shock I didn't even register the triumphant smirk on Kevin's face as he stood beside her. A strangled cry tore from my throat. "Vivian, you know her condition! You know she can't wait!" "You know this will kill her!" "How could you be so cruel?" But she was unmoved, calmly lighting another cigarette. She waited until I was an exhausted, sobbing heap on the floor. Only then did she extinguish the flame. "Darling," she said, her voice devoid of all warmth, "don't ever expect me to go easy on you." "Now, go make your statement. Don't ruin him." In that moment, a vise clamped around my heart. The world went gray. I was a fish gasping on dry land, suffocating in a world without air, without hope. I couldn't believe the woman standing before me was the one I had once loved. And that was the day I truly decided it was over. 4 But the humiliation was far from finished. My mother's life was on the line. I had no choice. I went online and confessed to the world that the marriage certificate was a forgery, that I was a jealous, obsessed liar. To this day, the comment section of that post is a cesspool of hatred directed at me. "Dude, are you that desperate for attention?" "Psycho. Can't believe he'd lie about our boy Kevin being a homewrecker. What a pathetic piece of trash." "Someone needs to slap some sense into this guy." "I'll chip in five bucks for the crowdfund." "Ten from me." … I moved through those days in a fog, a walking ghost. My only refuge was my mother's bedside, where I could pretend the world outside didn't exist. But even without seeing the internet, my mother knew something was wrong. My gaunt face and hollow eyes told a story I couldn't hide. One afternoon, she sighed, her hand frail in mine, and started talking about the past. About me and Vivian. The love of your youth is always the purest. In high school, Vivian had a crush on me, but she was too insecure, too proud to ever say it. Instead, she’d follow me from a distance every day, a silent guardian making sure I got home safe. Until the day a group of thugs cornered me. Vivian launched herself at them to protect me. They broke three of her ribs, but she never relented, shielding me with her own body until they gave up and left. After that, falling in love was as natural as breathing. This was before the Blackwoods claimed her. She was still just a scrappy girl living with her grandmother, perpetually hungry and wearing clothes that were little more than rags. It was my mother who helped her, slipping her money for food, even paying her school fees when she couldn't. And now, my mother's past kindness had become the knife twisting in my gut. She had no idea what her son was enduring. Looking at her face, growing more fragile each day, I thought, Let it be. This is enough. At least I still have my mother. At least I haven't lost everything. But fate has a cruel way of toying with those who are already broken. 5 When the hospital called with the news that my mother was critical, I ran. I raced for the hospital like a madman, only to be swarmed at my own front door. Kevin's fans. They had found my address. They surrounded me, a self-righteous mob hungry for justice. I couldn't break through. Panic clawed at my throat, my eyes burning with unshed tears as I tried to explain, to plead with them. But no one listened. "Wow, still living in your little fantasy world? How pathetic can you get?" "You had a lot of nerve slandering Kevin. Who are you crying for now?" In the struggle, someone shoved me hard. "Just apologize, you loser!" I stumbled and fell, landing hard on the pavement. I heard a snicker from the crowd. The sharp pain in my knee was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. Defeated, I gave in. Like a puppet on a string, I faced their phones and cameras and began to apologize. "I was wrong. I was delusional." "I'm so sorry for what I did to Kevin. It was all my fault." "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The mob, their crusade won, finally dispersed with triumphant smiles. "See? Wasn't so hard, was it?" But by the time I scrambled to my feet and rushed to the hospital, it was too late. For a split second, I thought I was trapped in a long nightmare. A dream where, when I woke up, I would still be a little boy curled up in my mother's arms. A dream where I had never met Vivian Blackwood, never been ground into dust by a world that despised me. But reality delivered the final, fatal blow. I had chosen the wrong person to love, and it had cost me my mother's last moments. 6 That day, I knelt by her bedside and cried until there were no tears left. The nurse who had cared for her told me my mother's last words. "She kept calling your name at the end." "She said… she said that whatever reason you had for not being here, she didn't blame you." "She just wanted you and your wife to be happy together." I clutched my mother's cold, still hand, sitting on the floor in a stupor, the silence of the room pressing in on me. The days that followed are a blur. The trip back to my hometown, the cremation, the funeral. Finally, I sat alone in the quiet memorial hall and made one last call to Vivian. At the very least, she should pay her respects to the woman who thought of her even at the end. When she answered, I realized my voice was a raw, unrecognizable rasp. "Mom's gone," I said. But the voice that came through the line wasn't hers. It was Kevin's, bright and sickeningly cheerful. "Well, congratulations." "Vivian's a bit busy right now, though. We're planning our next 'couple goals' post for Instagram. Can't keep the fans waiting." In the background, I heard Vivian's muffled voice, "Who is it?" I ended the call. I sat in that hall all night, a silent vigil with the dead. Then, with a calm I hadn't felt in years, I returned to the city. I bought a plane ticket. Liquidated my assets. And agreed to Vivian Blackwood's divorce. 7 Let the past be the past. Before boarding, I sat in the airport lounge and set my final revenge in motion. I was never the type to go down without a fight. I packaged up all the incriminating corporate data I had gathered and sent it to Vivian's biggest rival. Once the wire transfer confirming my payment hit my account, a strange sense of peace washed over me. Online, the storm of hate against me still raged. Every trending topic seemed to feature my face photoshopped into some new, grotesque meme. And pinned to the top of Kevin's profile was the sanctimonious post he’d made the day I was forced to recant. Kevin Reed: What goes around, comes around. Throw all the mud you want. I’ve never been afraid of a fight. The comments were a sea of sycophantic pity. "So unlucky for Kevin and Vivian to get tangled up with this creep. My heart goes out to them." "This is how a real man handles things. That other guy trying to ruin his reputation with dirty tricks isn't a man at all." "Kevin is too kind. He should have sued him into oblivion." A cold, humorless smile touched my lips.
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