Chapter 3
In the days that followed, with Declan staying by her side every night, Vivienne quickly regained he energy. Bored at home, she even started Inviting her girlfriends over for afternoon tea.
“Declan totally has feelings for you. When you were in a coma, he kept flying back and forth to London. He even swore that if you woke up, he’d divorce his wife for you!”
Sloane happened to walk past just in time to hear that. The words cut straight through her like a jagged blade.
With Declan not around, Vivienne dropped the act and called out, all fake sweetness and spite. “Sloane, what the hell is this coffee? Tastes like dishwater. Honestly? It’s disgusting”
Expressionless, Sloane stepped forward to take the cup away, but before she could, someone grabbed her wrist.
“What kind of attitude is that? You’re Vivienne’s maid now. Make her sick and you’ll be on your knees begging for forgiveness–got it?”
At Vivienne’s subtle nod, one of her friends sneered and snapped.
Before Sloane could react, the woman yanked her hair, and a full cup of scalding coffee went flying
straight at her.
“Stop!”
A sudden, angry shout broke the chaos. Declan had just stepped through the door. His eyes went dark as he stormed over, pulling Sloane behind him in one sharp motion.
“Who the hell said you could touch her?”
His roar had barely died away when Vivienne, who had been watching with a smirk, suddenly teared up. In one fluid motion, she grabbed her stomach. “Declan! No–it’s not what it looks like!”
“Don’t blame them, it’s all my fault… Sloane put dairy in my coffee on purpose. I’m in so much pain…”
Declan froze. His gaze turned toward Sloane, full of suspicion–and then cold.
“Dairy?”
“Sloane, I told you–Vivienne is lactose–intolerant!”
Unbelievable. Just one lie from Vivienne, and he went from protecting her to condemning her.
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Chapter 3
“I didn’t!” Sloane shouted, her hair still dripping with coffee, eyes burning with unshed tears “She’s faking it!”
But her words were drowned out–by Vivienne’s sobbing performance and her friends‘ dramatic
embellishments.
Finally, Declan lost it. He smashed the coffee cup on the table and picked Vivienne up in his arms.
“Sloane West, stay home and reflect on what you’ve done!”
But Vivienne wasn’t satisfied. She wept, trembling like a broken doll. “I don’t want to go to the hospital… No one’s ever treated me like this before. It hurts, Declan. Just let me die.”
She sobbed and resisted so stubbornly that Declan finally snapped. His voice cutting like ice as he called for the guards.
“Bring her to the back wing. Lock her in!”
The back wing. A soundproof, pitch–dark room the size of a closet.
It was originally designed as punishment for disobedient security staff–complete with random insect releases to “test endurance.”
Sloane trembled and struggled as the bodyguards dragged her out.
“No! Please! Don’t do this!”
But no matter how she cried and begged, the man walking away with Vivienne in his arms never once looked back.
For twenty–four hours, Sloane curled up in the dark corner, scratching at the crawling itch on her skin as if she were on fire.
Tiny insects scurried over her body, and the sensation nearly drove her insane.
She screamed. She sobbed. But the guards outside, under Declan’s orders, didn’t so much as flinch.
By the time she lost consciousness, her body was covered in welts and bleeding scratches. She’d forgotten what pain even felt like. Her body had gone numb.
Only one tear escaped, trailing down her cheek as she closed her eyes and let the last shred of love drain from her soul.
“Sloane… please. Wake up. Come on, open your eyes.”
A familiar voice pulled her back. Sloane gasped awake, blinking up at the crystal chandelier in the
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guest bedroom.
Declan sat at her bedside, visibly relieved to see her awake. His voice softened unconsciously 1 know you’re angry. But what you did was still wrong. You shouldn’t have hurt Vivienne.”
Hearing his blame before anything else, Sloane gave a bitter laugh. “You believe her just like that?”
Declan frowned, a flash of impatience in his expression. “Enough. I already hired someone to perform a spiritual ceremony for my mom by the coast. It’s over. Let it go. Right now, Vivienne’s the one who really needs help…”
“She’s been pampered since birth. She’s not sleeping. The doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong. The spiritual guide we brought in said the only way to break the bad energy… is for the person who harmed her to craft a protective bracelet. By hand. From thorns.
Sloane froze.
So all that time he stayed by her side, waiting for her to wake up–was just for Vivienne?
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