Chapter 2
Sloane woke up in a hospital.
A young associate lawyer stood by the bed, clearly at a loss. “Ms. West, the court has finalized the ruling. You need to take care of your health now–don’t let this consume you.”
Still reeling from the pain in her chest, Sloane sat up abruptly, ignoring the IV needle in her hand as she rummaged through her bag.
“Can you please check if this paper holds up?” Her voice shook as she pulled out a document and handed it over.
The lawyer reviewed it and nodded. “Ms. West, your husband has already signed the divorce papers. Once you sign and file it with the court, the divorce will be finalized in about thirty to sixty days.”
That very morning, she’d taken the document to Declan and knelt before him.
Maybe he was in too much of a rush… or maybe he just didn’t believe she would actually leave.
He assumed the agreement was a bluff. Without even glancing at it, he signed.
But he’d never realize–everything she said was real.
Sloane didn’t wait another second. She yanked out the IV and rushed straight to City Hall to submit the paperwork.
Once it was done, she made one last stop–at the coast. In the light, drizzling rain, she knelt down on the cold, wet sand. “Mom… wherever you are, I’ll find a place by the sea and stay with you forever.”
The only response was the icy wind sweeping off the ocean.
She didn’t know how long she knelt there. When she finally wiped her tears away, she pulled out her phone and made a call. “Hi. I… I’d like to schedule a staged death and extraction.”
Her voice was broken, but her tone left no room for doubt. “The cause of death will be listed as homicide. I’ll arrange the scene. All you need to do is rescue me and create a new identity. Then send me abroad.”
This wasn’t just about divorce.
One month from now, she’d make him pay–personally. And it would be something ‘surprising‘ Declan would never forget.
By the time everything was in place and Sloane returned to the mansion, night had fallen.
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Chanter 2
The lights were on in the living room. Declan was sitting on the couch, gently spooning chicken soup into Vivienne’s mouth.
“Declan, I uploaded that apology letter online,” Vivienne said as she tilted her head and leaned against him.
“Sloane’s been smearing me for so long–let the internet teach her a lesson. You’d better stay out
of it.”
Declan swallowed hard but still nodded. “Alright. She made her bed.”
Sloane suddenly remembered vicious voices online–mocking her mother’s death as well–deserved, sneering that she was just a washed–up maid, not even fit to lick the boots of a woman like Vivienne.
Her chest tightened. She walked into the room, face blank.
“Where were you?”
Declan asked, noticing her pale complexion. His tone softened slightly. “What happened to your forehead?”
Sloane ignored him.
Vivienne chimed in, her voice high and saccharine. “Oh, you’re back, Sloane! Perfect timing–I brought you some gifts. Come take a look.”
Declan cleared his throat, clearly hesitant. “Sloane, Vivienne’s still recovering from the coma. She’s going to be staying here for a while. I need you to be considerate. She’s lactose–intolerant, can’t eat cold foods, needs ten hours of beauty sleep, and only drinks fruit juice if it’s freshly pressed…”
Each word felt like a dagger to Sloane’s heart.
She let out a cold, disbelieving laugh. “You want me to take care of her?”
“Come on, Sloane. Let bygones be bygones. You used to work as a housekeeper for my family- you’re good at this. I trust you…”
His voice trailed off.
Beside the dining table, an entire list of Princess Vivienne–care instructions was laid out–267 items long.
Luxury shopping bags were scattered all over the floor–scuffed Chanel clutches, freebie Hermès
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keychains, worn Dior heels….
So these “gifts” were just designer trash she no longer wanted.
Sloane suddenly remembered: years ago, one of Declan’s friends had once sneered and called her “a servant girl.” That night, Declan had gone ballistic–he’d pulled strings and shut down a near–billion–dollar project just to defend her.
“Sloane is my wife. Anyone who dares belittle or bully her is insulting me.”
And now, he was doing it himself, handing her over to her enemy–as a live–in maid.
So much for love. So much for promises.
She would never believe him again.
Blinking back the tears burning her eyes, Sloane told herself: just thirty more days. She would endure anything.
She didn’t expect Vivienne to pull her first stunt–screaming from a nightmare that very night.
Sometime after midnight, Vivienne burst into the master bedroom barefoot. Declan had just stepped out of the shower.
“I can’t sleep alone,” she whimpered and climbed into his arms, pressing herself against his bare chest. “The mattress in the guest room is too hard. I’m scared. Stay with me?”
Declan’s brow furrowed slightly.
And Sloane could see it–he felt sorry for her.
So sorry, he didn’t even care that Sloane was right there. He cradled Vivienne in his lap like she were fragile crystal.
Then he looked at Sloane and said, “Sloane… Vivienne’s never suffered in her life. Do you think you could… maybe take another room tonight?”
In that moment, Sloane caught a glint of triumph flash across Vivienne’s face.
She smiled bitterly, picked up her pillow, and got up from the bed.
“If Miss Blake likes this bed so much, then let her have it.”
Not just the bed. She could have the room, and the man, too. Sloane didn’t want any of it anymore.
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