Chapter 63 Marcus
Vivienne's POV
I put the folder back exactly where I found it and locked the drawer again. Put the key back in the safe and closed it. Left everything looking untouched.
If Rapheal wanted to play games, I could play games too.
We finished packing quickly after that. Two suitcases full of my belongings. Not much to show for three years of marriage. But it was enough.
As we were heading toward the elevator, I stopped.
"Wait," I said
.
I went to the kitchen and opened the drawer where we kept miscellaneous items. A key to a small apartment I bought a year ago. It was just a random purchase.
I put it in my pocket like a talisman. A reminder of who I was before all of this. Before Raphael. Before the contract. Before I lost myself in someone else's carefully constructed lie.
"Okay," I said to Sarah. "I'm ready. Let's go."
We took the elevator down. I walked through the lobby. Past Robert the doorman who looked like he wanted to say something but didn't.
And just as we stepped outside onto the street, my phone rang.
Raphael.
I stared at his name on the screen. My finger hovered over the answer button.
"Don't," Sarah said firmly. "You don't have to talk to him. Monica said all communication should go through her."
She was right.
I let the call go to voicemail.
Ten seconds later, a text came through.
"We need to talk. This doesn't have to be difficult."
I almost laughed. It was already difficult. He made it difficult when he planned my destruction three years in advance. When he fired me. When he tried to manipulate me into accepting scraps of what I was actually owed.
I typed back a single sentence.
"Have your lawyer contact my lawyer. We have nothing to discuss directly."
Then I blocked his number.
Sarah grinned at me. "Hell yes."
We got in a cab with my two suitcases. As we pulled away from the building, I looked back one last time at the place I had called home for three years.
And I didn't feel sad anymore.
I felt free.
The cab ride back to Sarah's apartment was quiet. I stared out the window, watching the city pass by, my phone heavy in my hand. Part of me wanted to unblock Marcus's number and read whatever else he might have sent. Part of me wanted to call him and scream at him for everything he had done.
But I didn't do either of those things.
Instead, I opened my email and sent the photos of the fake prenup documents to Monica with a brief message:
"Found this in a locked drawer at the apartment. He documented that I refused to sign a prenup that was never shown to me. Call me when you can."
Her response came back within two minutes.
"This is exactly what we need. Don't touch the originals. I'll file a motion for discovery and we'll subpoena the documents legally. This proves intent to defraud. Well done."
Well done.
Like I had accomplished something important instead of just discovering how deeply my husband had betrayed me.
When we got back to Sarah's apartment, she helped me carry the suitcases inside. They looked out of place in her small living room. Too big. Too expensive. Remnants of a life that didn't fit here.
"You can put your clothes in the closet in the spare room," Sarah said. "It's mostly empty except for some art supplies."
"Thank you," I said. "For everything. I don't know what I would have done today without you."
She hugged me quickly. "That's
what friends are for. Even friends who disappeared for three years."