Chapter 5

I slapped the document onto the coffee table with a sharp thud. Vivian Lancaster crossed her legs, her red lips curling into a smirk, her eyes brimming with mockery.

"Oh? What's this?" She tapped the file with a manicured finger. "Don't tell me it's another apology letter?"

She tossed her long hair over her shoulder, her tone dripping with condescension. "Ryan, isn't it a little late to start sucking up to me now?"

I watched her smug expression, a cold laugh forming in my chest.

True.

I had written countless groveling letters just to make her happy. Looking back, those pathetic words were nothing but a joke.

"Not an apology letter," I said calmly. "A surprise."

Vivian arched a brow and reached for the file—just as her phone rang.

Her face lit up when she saw the caller ID.

"Hold on." She raised a hand to silence me. "It's Ethan."

Ethan Winslow's panicked voice crackled through the speaker. "V-Vivian... I... I hit someone with my car—"

Her expression darkened instantly. "Don't panic! I'm coming right now!"

She grabbed her purse and made to leave, but I blocked her path.

"Sign first." I pushed the document toward her. "It's urgent."

Vivian scowled. "Ryan, can't you be reasonable for once? He needs me right now!"

I nearly laughed out loud.

Ethan had been drunk driving, yet I was the one being unreasonable?

"One minute," I insisted.

With an impatient huff, she flipped open the file. Just then, Ethan's scream erupted from the phone. "Ah! They're hitting me—!"

"Hold on! I'm coming!" Her hands shook as she blindly flipped to the last page and scribbled her signature.

"Aren’t you going to read it?" I asked.

"What could you possibly have that's important?" She sneered. "Some petty contract, no doubt."

The click of her heels faded down the hallway. I stared at her retreating figure, my lips twisting into a cold smile.

There was a time when she would triple-check even the smallest agreement. Now, for Ethan’s sake, she hadn’t even glanced at what she’d signed.

Fine by me. Less hassle.

Vivian didn’t come home that night.

Instead, my phone buzzed with a flood of messages from Ethan:

[You saw what happened at the club, right?]

[Vivian only cares about me. Just give up already.]

I replied:

[Congratulations. Hope you’ll be just as gracious when she gets bored of you.]

The messages stopped instantly.

The next morning, I sent the signed documents to the realtor. By afternoon, a buyer arrived to view the penthouse.

"Why’s this place priced so low?" the man asked suspiciously.

"Breakup," I answered curtly.

He nodded in understanding. "The decor’s way too polished—definitely a woman’s touch."

I said nothing.

I had spent three months picking this apartment. Every detail of the renovation had been tailored to Vivian’s tastes.

Turns out, my entire life had revolved around her.

The buyer didn’t hesitate. By evening, the contract was signed. The handover was set for two days later.

Perfect.

My flight was in two days, too.