Vivian, seeing me in my Tom Ford suit willingly eating a hot dog on a park bench, teared up and swore.
She vowed she would make it big one day.
The life I was accustomed to—private clubs and tailored suits—she wouldn't make me give up.

I told her the life I wanted, I'd build myself.
She just needed to be herself.
I was with her for her, for how she treated me.
If the day came she stopped treating me well, even if she made the Forbes list, I'd leave her.
"I'll treat you well forever! If I ever make you cry, you can kill me!"
"Make you cry? I'd deserve to die!"

She always acted so indebted, constantly vowing her devotion.
Swearing on her life.
I watched her tears fall, half amused, half moved and handed her a tissue.
But she grabbed my hand, insisting fiercely that I believe her.

She said everything that was mine would stay mine—she'd work hard to give me the best life.
Seeing her so determined and tough, I asked my dad to discreetly channel more opportunities her way.
In the legal world, success often comes down to who you know.
Landing big cases, building a reputation, finding loopholes in complex documents— sometimes you just need someone to give you a leg up.
To spare Vivian's pride, I never told her that her first major break was backed by my father.
I waited.
Without realizing, I fell asleep.
I dreamed about Vivian's early days after passing the bar.
Days spent grinding at the law firm.
Weekends, me helping her track down case details, verifying facts that clients hid or smoothed over.
Exhausted, we'd share cup noodles from the convenience store.
Catching naps in the backseat of my car during breaks.
She'd let me rest my head on her arm without complaining, even when it went numb.
Before her, I'd never met a woman so patient, so gentle.
She was nothing like Joan.
I truly believed finding someone utterly different from my mother meant I wouldn't repeat my father's mistakes.
"Sir, you fell asleep. I put a blanket over you."
"It's so late now, Mrs. Garcia might not come home tonight. Maybe you should go upstairs and rest?"
The housekeeper woke me, laying a blanket over my shoulders.
I checked my phone.
Two hours had passed since Vivian said she'd bring me a hot dog.
I called her.
To ask if she was coming home tonight.
The call connected, but no one said hello.
Instead, I heard rhythmic sounds.
Confused, I listened.
"Ms. Garcia, who makes you feel better—me or your husband?"
Leo's voice came clearly through the phone.
I didn't have to imagine I knew exactly what they were doing.
My left chest tightened – sour, painful, suffocating.
Vivian was nothing like Joan... so why make the same mistake?
I couldn't understand!
"Of course, you!" Vivian gasped out the answer.
I silently ended the call.
Pointless questions weren't worth dwelling on.
I told the housekeeper to rest.
Wrapped in the blanket, I stared at the crystal chandelier above the spiral staircase.
That chandelier was the first thing Vivian bought for our marital home.
She said the first time she saw it, it reminded her of me.
She said I was dazzling, radiant, like that chandelier—that one look had captivated her.
I rolled my eyes, complaining it was gorgeous but a nightmare to clean.
She pulled me close, pinning me against the wall.
Her eyes burned with intense, fiery love.
"Owen, you deserve the most beautiful, the best things! If it's hard to clean, we'll replace it!"
"As long as you like it, I'd work myself to death gladly!"
Her words were getting out of hand, so I silenced her with a kiss.
She held me tight, like I was a priceless treasure.