“Enough,” he interrupted again. “You’ll do it.”
So I did. Seraphine sat on the couch, pretending to be fragile. Elias sat beside her, little arms crossed, face cold.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “For everything that happened.”
Seraphine nodded, eyes lowered like the saint she pretended to be. “It’s alright, Vivienne. We all make mistakes.”
Elias glared at me. “Fine,” he muttered. Then, he picked up a pillow and threw it at me. “But I still hate you!”
“Elias!” Adrian barked.
I didn’t react. The pillow landed at my feet. I forced a faint smile. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “I understand.”
When they left, the silence of the house pressed down on me, heavier than ever.
That night, my phone buzzed with a message from my father.
Dad: It’s an act. I believe you. Don’t worry — I’ll handle the divorce. Go home to your mother. I sent Adrian and Seraphine on a business trip. You can leave while they’re gone.
I stared at the message for a long moment before a single tear slipped down my cheek. Relief—quiet, soft, almost unbelievable—flooded me. For the first time in months, my father believed me. He finally saw the truth.