Chapter 62 The unknown Prenup document
Vivienne's POV
"Mrs. Moreau," he said. "Good afternoon."
Did he know? Had Raphael already told the staff that I was moving out? That I didn't belong here anymore?
"Good afternoon, Robert," I said, walking past him before he could say anything else.
In the elevator, Sarah squeezed my hand. "In and out. We grab what you need and we leave. Thirty minutes maximum."
"Okay,” I nodded.
The elevator opened directly into our apartment. Rapheal's apartment. The penthouse took up the entire top floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Modern furniture that costs more than most people's cars. Artwork on the walls that I had never really understood but Marcus said was valuable.
It felt cold and empty now. Like a museum instead of a home.
"Where's your bedroom?" Sarah asked.
"This way,” I replied.
I led her down the hallway to the master bedroom. Our bedroom. The bed was still unmade this morning. I could see the impression where I had been lying when Rapheal said those words. I want a divorce.
"Do you have suitcases?" Sarah asked, already opening the closet.
"In there. Top shelf."
She pulled down two large suitcases and spread them open on the bed. "Start packing. I'll help."
I opened my dresser and started pulling out clothes mechanically. Underwear. Socks. Shirts. Jeans. My hands moved on autopilot while my brain tried not to feel anything.
"What about this?" Sarah held up a red dress.
The one I had worn to our first anniversary dinner. Rapheal had told me I looked beautiful that night. He kissed me in the elevator on the way down to the car. He had held my hand across the table at the restaurant.
Has any of it been real? Or was he just playing his part in our contract?
"Leave it," I said.
Sarah put the dress back without arguing.
We packed in silence for a while. Clothes, shoes, toiletries, jewelry. The practical things I would need. I left behind the expensive dresses Rapheal had bought me for charity galas. Left behind the designer handbags and the fancy shoes I never felt comfortable in. Took only the things that were actually mine. The things I had owned before this marriage or the simple clothes I actually liked wearing.
"What about photos?" Sarah asked, pointing to some framed pictures on the dresser.
I looked at them. Our wedding photo. A picture from a vacation in Hawaii. One from a company Christmas party where we were both smiling at the camera.
"No," I said. "I don't want them."
Because looking at them hurts too much. Because I didn't know which moments were real and which were performances. Because keeping them felt like holding onto something that never actually existed.
I moved to the closet and grabbed my laptop bag from where I always kept it. My personal laptop, not the work one. I checked to make sure it was inside along with the charger.
Then I noticed something.
A small locked drawer in the closet organizer. I had seen it before but never paid much attention to it. Rapheal said he kept important documents in there. Birth certificate, passport, things like that.
But now I was curious.
I tried the handle. Locked, as expected.
"What are you doing?" Sarah asked.
"There's a locked drawer here. Rapheal keeps documents in it."
"So?"
"So maybe there's something in there I should know about. Something relevant to the divorce."
Sarah came over and looked at the drawer. "Do you know where he keeps the key?"
I thought about it. Rapheal was meticulous about certain things. He had a small safe in his office here at home where he kept important items.
I went to his office. A room I rarely entered because it was his private space. His desk was neat and organized. Everything in its place.
The safe was behind a painting on the wall. A small digital safe. I knew the combination because he had given it to me once when he needed me to retrieve a document while he was traveling.
My birthday. 08-15-92.
I punched in the numbers and the safe clicked open.
Inside were stacks of papers, some cash, his passport, and a small key.
I took the key.
Back in the closet, I tried it in the locked drawer. It fit perfectly and turned with a soft click.
Inside the drawer were folders. Legal documents. I pulled them out and started flipping through them.
Property deeds. Investment statements. Corporate documents.
And then I found something that made my blood run cold.
A folder labeled "Marriage Contract - Draft."
I opened it with shaking hands.
Inside was a detailed prenuptial agreement. Pages and pages of legal language. Terms and conditions. Provisions about property division, spousal support, termination clauses.
It was dated one week before our wedding.
But I had never seen this document before. Never signed it.
At the bottom of the last page, there was a note in Rapheal's handwriting.
"V refused to sign. Proceeding without prenup per grandfather's timeline requirements. Will address in divorce settlement."
V refused to sign.
But that was a lie. He had never asked me to sign a prenup. Never even showed me this document.
Why would he write that I refused?
"Viv?" Sarah's voice came from behind me. "What did you find?"
I handed her the folder without speaking.
She read through it quickly, her eyes getting wider with each page. When she got to the note at the bottom, she looked up at me.
"This is fraud," she said. "He created a fake record claiming you refused to sign a prenup that he never actually offered you."
"Why would he do that?" I asked, even though part of me was starting to understand.
"To create a paper trail," Sarah said slowly. "To make it look like he tried to protect his assets before marriage but you refused. To make you look greedy or manipulative in court if you tried to claim marital property."
My hands clenched into fists.
He had been planning this from the very beginning. Even before we got married. He never intended to give me a fair settlement. He was already building his defense against me three years ago.
Every sweet word. Every tender moment. Every time he made me believe this was becoming something real.
It was all calculated. All strategic.
I pulled out my phone and started taking pictures. Every page of the document. The note in his handwriting. Everything.
"Monica needs to see this," I said.
"Absolutely," Sarah agreed. "This changes everything."