Chapter 2: She Left Without A Word

Reginald's POV

Goddamn that woman!

Elena's words kept hammering in my head, making my blood boil as I slammed the door and stormed out of my Fifth Avenue apartment. My fists clenched so tight my knuckles turned white.

Three years ago. That night. Just thinking about it felt like a sucker punch straight to the gut.

That damn dinner party at the Stewart Villa? Nothing but a setup. I remembered walking in there, champagne flowing, chandeliers sparkling—all that high-society crap.

The moment I stepped through those double doors, heads turned as I waltzed in there like the big-shot CEO of Vanderbilt Group. Looking back, it was really talking about walking straight into a bear trap with both eyes open.

The old man Stewart kept shoving his daughter Elena in my face all night. "Reginald, meet my daughter - Harvard Business School hotshot." Pimping her out like she's his golden ticket.

And Elena? Man, she was working it. Squeezed into this tight black number, eye-fucking me across the table all night. Every time we'd reach for the wine, she'd pull that fake shy girl act. Those phony little smiles, "accidentally" brushing against me when she leaned in to chat - what a load of BS.

I can still remember how Elena kept filling my glass with that expensive scotch. "Special occasion," she said with that fake smile.

By midnight I was completely drunk, making an idiot of myself in front of all those Manhattan elites. I couldn't even walk straight, so Adam had to drive me home. He practically carried me to my room. "Boss, you're gonna have one hell of a hangover." he warned. If he only knew what was really coming.

Then, right as planned, Elena shows up at my door in this thin silk robe. "Just making sure you got home okay," she said, playing innocent.

Then pulls that oldest trick in the book - "accidentally" spills water all over herself, making sure that robe left nothing to the imagination. Next thing you know, we're going at it. She's scratching up my back, putting on a show loud enough to wake the dead.

The next morning, Adam's call woke me up with the worst hangover ever. "Boss, you need to see this right now."

Photos of Elena coming into the estate late at night were all over social media. And the financial media was already speculating about a merger between Vanderbilt and Stewart Industries through marriage. That's when it hit me - I'd been set up from the start.

Right on schedule, the Stewarts showed up at my door two hours later. Elena playing the innocent victim, while her father paced around my living room, acting all self-righteous.

"This is outrageous, Reginald," he shouted, hitting my coffee table. "You've destroyed my daughter's reputation!" Then came his real agenda: I had to marry Elena to "save their family name," and how "beneficial" it would be for both companies.

He even pulled out a pre-written prenup. With the press outside and board members calling non-stop, what choice did I have? I had to give in.

For three years I've been living this lie, watching Elena play the perfect wife in public. And now she wants a divorce, but claims she doesn't want anything else? Bull-fucking-shit! A woman who schemes her way into marriage doesn't just walk away empty-handed.

I just drove away in my car, not knowing where to go. I couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. My chest felt tight and I just needed to get away. Ended up checking into a hotel - anywhere was better than going home. I knew I wouldn't get any sleep that night anyway.

The next morning, eyes burning from lack of sleep, I dragged myself to the Vanderbilt Estate, my eyes automatically scanning every corner. The fresh air had the sweet smell of the orchids that my grandfather, Richard, had taken such good care of.

Normally, at this time, I'd find Elena and Grandpa standing together, talking about how the orchids were growing. Her laugh was like a bell, and it would fill the air.

But today, there were just Grandpa's precious flowers, blooming in silence. Their scent hung in the air, but no Elena.

Just then, Martha, our old butler, hustled over with fresh coffee. I tried to sound casual. "Mrs. Vanderbilt hasn't shown up yet?"

She wouldn't look me in the eye. After a bit of hesitation, she finally said in a whisper, "No, sir. Do you want me to call her?"

"Don't bother." My voice came out harsher than I intended. In three years, Elena had never missed a day visiting Grandpa. Not one. That thought made my stomach turn.

Then Grandpa's demanding voice came from his greenhouse as he didn't even look up from his precious plants. "Where's Elena?"

"No fucking clue. Crashed at a hotel last night." I shrugged, trying to look indifferent.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" Grandpa snapped, finally looking at me with those steel-gray eyes.

"Since when do I need a permission slip to sleep somewhere else?" I shot back, my temper flaring.

He glared at me, his face reddening. "Everything a Vanderbilt heir does needs the family's approval."

He noticed the servants lowering their heads, pretending not to eavesdrop on our little family drama. Then he growled, "Get your ass upstairs. Now."

In his study, he shoved his tablet in my face. The headline hit me like a ton of bricks: #VivianDrakeAffair trending - Mystery Mogul Caught with Emmy Winner.

The photos were everywhere. It was just me helping Vivian after she twisted her ankle outside some restaurant. But the media had turned a simple act of being nice into a huge scandal.

"It's not what it looks like," I started to explain, but Grandpa's cold laugh cut me off.

"If it's not true, then fix it," he barked, slamming his fist on the desk. "This mess you've created—have you even thought about what it does to Elena and the Stewarts?"

The thought of Elena running to him and playing the victim made my blood boil. "What the hell does it have to do with her?"

"Don't play stupid with me!" he exploded, and hurled his teacup straight at me.

I jumped out of the way, and the cup smashed on the carpet.

Grandpa stood there, chest heaving, his voice shaking with anger. "As long as I draw breath, that woman will never be a real Vanderbilt! Don't make the same mistake as your father!"

Hearing him mention my father really got to me. I forced myself to take a deep breath and said, "I know."

His face softened just a fraction. After we discussed some business stuff—the only language we both really spoke—I walked out his study.

After leaving the estate, I frowned as I called my assistant, Adam, ordering him to make that TikTok trend vanish.

That evening, I walked out of the elevator into my Fifth Avenue apartment and froze. Something felt wrong. Then I caught that familiar jasmine perfume in the air. A figure in white was standing by the window, waiting for me.

"Why the hell are you still here?" I demanded, my voice echoing in the quiet space. When she didn't answer, I kept pushing. "Didn't we just sign the divorce papers? You didn't even show up at grandfather's today. What are you playing at?"

Still nothing. My heart racing, I started walking toward her, determined to get some answers. But before I could reach her, she spun around, and her face lit up with something that looked like... joy? What the fuck?

Vivian came running toward me, arms outstretched, shouting, "Reginald, you're back?"