At eighteen, I stumbled upon Vaughn Vance helping a scholarship student with her torn blouse. His expression was grave, his movements clumsy and hesitant. At twenty-six, I married Vaughn Vance in a match arranged by our families. But everyone in New York’s elite society knew he kept a portrait of that same girl locked away in his study. Three years into our marriage, I asked for a divorce. He was silent for a long time before signing the papers. "If you ever need anything," he said, "don't hesitate to ask." Later, I attended a gala on the arm of my law firm partner. A friend from college teased us, "Who would've thought the two of you, always at each other's throats in debate championships, would end up holding hands?" Late that night, Vaughn's name lit up my screen for the first time in months. "That riverside penthouse you insisted on," his voice was a low growl. "Was it because you could see his law firm from the window?" 1 A bitter wind rattled the windows, but inside, the air was still and warm. Across from me on the sofa sat a man in a tailored suit, his tall, lean frame exuding an aura of cool command. His face was just as chiseled as it had been at eighteen, his features sharp and deep-set. The only thing marring his perfect facade was a fresh cut on his temple, a stark, angry line against his skin. An hour ago, I’d gotten a call from the police precinct. Vaughn had been in a fight. When I arrived, a woman was cupping his face, dabbing at the wound with painstaking care. I recognized her. Mia Foster. A classmate of ours from high school. The moment she saw me, she flinched back like a startled fawn. Vaughn immediately moved to shield her, his voice tight with displeasure as he spoke to me. "She's... delicate. Don't frighten her, Eleanor." I said nothing, simply turned and followed an officer to handle the paperwork. By the time I returned, Mia was gone. The drive home was suffocatingly silent, at least on my end. Vaughn was on the phone the entire time. He was still on it now, his voice a low and gentle murmur, a caress meant only for the woman on the other end of the line. I had never seen this version of Vaughn before. A tenderness in his gaze, a focused devotion... he was giving every ounce of his patience to Mia. And in that moment, the thought of divorce, once a distant whisper, became a deafening roar. 2 If Vaughn and I were childhood friends, bound by destiny, then Mia was his North Star—the one he could only ever wish upon. We all met in high school. Unlike the silver-spoon world Vaughn and I inhabited, Mia was a scholarship student. She was beautiful, brilliant, and possessed an infectious optimism. The day she transferred into our class, she captured Vaughn’s attention, and he never looked away. I once thought his fascination was a fleeting novelty. That belief shattered the day Mia was framed for stealing class funds. A group of girls cornered her in the girls' restroom. By the time I got there, the bullies had vanished, leaving Mia alone in the echoing, tiled space, her blouse torn open at the front, her shoulders bare and trembling. I was shrugging off my blazer to cover her when I saw him. Vaughn emerged from one of the stalls, holding her ruined shirt. Mia’s back was to him, her voice thick with tears. "You should go. If anyone sees you here, we'll never be able to explain it." "Then we won't explain," Vaughn said, his voice steady. "Just... put this on." They stood in a tense standoff for a moment before Mia relented. But her fingers were trembling too violently to manage the remaining buttons. Without a word, Vaughn stepped forward. "Let me." His face was a mask of solemn concentration, his large hands surprisingly clumsy as he fumbled with the small pearl button. As he finished, I saw the tips of his ears burn a tell-tale crimson. Then his head snapped up, his eyes locking with mine. A flicker of panic crossed his features before he regained his composure and strode towards me. "You're here. Good. Help her." He started to leave, then paused and turned back, his voice low and urgent. "And Eleanor? Keep this to yourself." I promised I would. By that afternoon, a photo of Vaughn, his hand on Mia's chest as he helped her with her shirt, had gone viral throughout the school. Vaughn was convinced I had betrayed him. That day, for the first time ever, he unleashed his fury on me. "Don't think just because our parents have you on a pedestal that I won't touch you, Eleanor," he snarled. "You're their choice for a daughter-in-law, not mine! No one decides who I marry." I pressed my lips into a thin line. "Believe me or not, I had nothing to do with this." He laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "You were the only other person there. Who else could it have been?" "It wasn't me!" I lifted my chin, my voice stubborn. "Besides, why would I spread a rumor like that?" "Because you're jealous that she and I are together." My mind went blank. "W-what? When did that happen?" He looked at me, his eyes filled with a cruel pity. "I saw her... broken. It's my job to protect her now." "But... we were..." He cut me off, his patience gone. "Eleanor, don't tell me you actually thought all those years I looked out for you meant I was in love with you?" An icy dread flooded my veins, rooting me to the spot. That night, the Vance family found out about Vaughn and Mia. His father dragged a defiant Vaughn to my house to apologize. Vaughn stood there, his jaw set stubbornly, and spat the most rebellious words I'd ever heard him say: "If you love Eleanor so much, why don't you marry her yourself?" His defiance earned him a hail of fury from both our fathers. The Vaughn of back then didn't understand the game. He hadn't realized that I had been groomed since childhood to be a Vance. As the sole heir, he had no say in who he would marry. And so, in the end, he married me. After the photo scandal, Mia transferred schools. After graduation, Vaughn was sent to study abroad. He stayed for eight years. When he returned to take over the family company, he was a different man. The boyish arrogance was gone, replaced by a quiet, formidable presence. He came to me and proposed. "We're both still single," he'd said, his tone matter-of-fact. "We might as well get it over with." I knew a dynastic marriage was my fate. Marrying someone I'd known my whole life seemed like a small mercy. It was only later that I learned the first thing he did upon returning was find Mia. But she, with all her pride, had turned him down. Marrying me was just his way of getting back at her. 3 "I have to go out. You should get some sleep." Vaughn's words pulled me from my reverie. He stood and walked towards the door, his voice softening as he spoke into his phone. "Don't be scared, I'm on my way. They won't touch you... Yeah, lock the door. I'll be there soon." I stood up too. "You're leaving? It's so late." He barely paused. "Something came up. I'll be back late." As he reached the door, I called his name again. He turned, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "What is it now?" "Vaughn," I said, my voice unnervingly calm. "Let's get a divorce." Instantly, his eyes blazed with anger. He fought to keep his voice level. "What are you trying to pull now?" "Mia was scared tonight," he said, as if explaining to a child. "She has no one here. She had to call me." I stared at him, my gaze unwavering. "And 'helping' means showing up at the lounge she works at every night to play her knight in shining armor? The great Vaughn Vance, getting into a brawl at a police precinct over a waitress. Is that your idea of 'helping'?" His lips thinned into a blade. His dark eyes held a dangerous warning. "I will get to the bottom of what happened tonight," he said, his voice like ice. He paused, adding, "And it had better have nothing to do with you." The words hit me like a physical blow. A cold shock coursed through me. In the three years of our marriage, Vaughn had never been truly angry with me. For a while, I'd allowed myself to believe he'd moved on from Mia, that he was ready to build a life with me. How foolish I'd been. It was all a fantasy. I remembered the portrait. For a while, a painting of Mia hung in his study. He'd painted it himself and made no effort to hide it from anyone, including his family. His grandfather had thrown a monumental fit, which ended with our wedding portrait being hung in its place. The painting of Mia was locked away in a cabinet. Now I understood. He hadn't surrendered. He was just fighting a silent, private war against all of us. Outside, the wind howled. A draft slipped in from the open balcony door in the dining room, and I shivered. Just then, a shrill, piercing scream erupted from Vaughn’s phone. In an instant, the cold fury in his eyes shattered, replaced by raw, primal fear. He was already moving, a blur of panicked motion towards the door. "Mia, don't be afraid! I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't you dare open the door for anyone—" His voice was cut off as he slammed the door behind him. The click of the latch was a final, deafening sound, sealing all his tenderness away from me. That night, Vaughn didn't come back. I sat alone on the sofa until the sun came up. As the city awoke, two messages appeared on my phone. The first was a photo: Vaughn and Mia, walking side-by-side into a hotel. The second was a single sentence: Divorce him. Choose me? I scrolled up to see three older, unread messages from the same number: Eleanor, I'm back. I'm here if you need me. Always. Do you really love him that much? Could you try loving me instead? I blinked, my eyes stinging, and typed back a single word: Okay.
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