2025-09-02 17:21:29Just as the truck slammed into the front of their car, the driver-side door flung open—sending both of them flying out with force.
The red glow that had briefly lit the air vanished the moment their bodies hit the ground.Vivienne gasped, struggling to catch her breath and stay calm. Slowly, she lifted her head to examine her body. A soft, disbelieving smile crossed her lips—there wasn’t a single injury.
“It’s a miracle…” she whispered.She turned to her left and saw Evan lying unconscious not far from her.
“Evan! Evan!”Vivienne scrambled to her feet and rushed to him, tears streaming down her face.
There were no severe injuries on Evan’s body—just scrapes on his arms. But he was out cold.She gently patted his face, desperately trying to wake him.
“Evan! Wake up! Please!”A few cars had pulled over, and Vivienne waved frantically. “Please, someone help me—my husband!”
Her cry for help was quickly answered. An ambulance arrived and the paramedics rushed to Evan. They lifted him onto a stretcher and headed straight to the hospital.
Vivienne sat beside him in the ambulance, holding his hand as her tears kept falling.
“Please don’t die, Evan. Please…”Fear twisted inside her chest. She prayed over and over, begging the universe not to take him away.
Even when they arrived at the hospital and Evan was taken into surgery, anxiety gripped Vivienne like a vice. The next two hours felt like an eternity.
When the doors finally opened and the doctor walked out, Vivienne stopped breathing. He looked directly at her, and panic surged in her chest.
“Doctor… don’t tell me—”She froze as a nurse pushed a wheelchair out from behind the doctor.
Evan was sitting in it, smiling wide.“Evan… you…”
“Yes, he’s perfectly fine. All wounds have been cleaned, and there’s no internal damage. Mr. Evan is cleared to go home,” the doctor informed her.
“Thank you for your care,” Evan said as he stood up from the wheelchair. The doctor and nurse nodded and left them alone.
Seeing Evan healthy and vibrant filled Vivienne with relief. She let out a shaky breath, thinking to herself, Maybe I overreacted… but thank God, he’s okay.
“Thank you,” Evan said warmly.
“For what?”
“For worrying about me. The way you looked at me and stayed by my side… that proves there’s still love left.”
Evan stepped closer, arms out to hug her—but Vivienne instinctively pushed him away, scowling.
“Of course I was worried—we were in the same accident, and you protected me! I’m not heartless. But that doesn’t mean you can hug me like nothing happened! My heart is still broken from your confession!” she snapped.“I’ve told you the truth, Vivienne. I wasn’t lying.”
She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.
“You say you weren’t lying, but you gave two different answers! Which one should I believe, Evan? I can’t keep hurting like this. This marriage… has to end.”“No!” Evan immediately grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a quieter corner.
“Believe whatever you want,” Vivienne said coldly, yanking her hand away. “The divorce is already in motion.”
“Just let me say one thing. One offer,” Evan said, eyes locked on hers—serious, desperate, sincere.
Vivienne crossed her arms, her expression stone cold, but she allowed him to continue.
“Give me five days. I’ll prove I was framed by Darian Voss. I’ll show you the truth. If I fail—then I’ll accept whatever consequences you choose.”
Vivienne studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“If you can’t prove it in five days—we divorce.”Her phone rang from inside her purse, cutting through the tension like a knife.
She frowned when she saw the caller ID: Grandma Helena.
Vivienne stepped away to answer.
“Yes, Grandma,” she said quietly.“Oh, thank God. I saw the crash on the news, and when I recognized your car, my heart nearly stopped! Is this how you plan to kill me, Vivienne?!”
“I’m sorry, Grandma. But we’re okay. Evan and I aren’t hurt—”
“What?!”
Grandma Helena’s shriek made Vivienne hold the phone away from her ear.
“Vivienne, have you lost your mind?! I suspected something the moment I saw that crash happened near the prison! You went to pick him up, didn’t you? You're still involved with that man—a convicted criminal!?"Vivienne turned to look at Evan, who was watching her silently. Her chest tightened.
She loved him.
Evan was her first love. She remembered how hard it was to convince him to marry her. His social status had always been a barrier, especially after his mother fell seriously ill. Vivienne’s parents had even triple-checked their accounts to make sure no money was being funneled to Evan.But she’d found ways to secretly support his mother’s treatment. She never once felt ashamed of Evan working at a regular company.
Her love for him had been real. Powerful.“You’re wrong about him,” she whispered into the phone. “I’ll explain later.”
“Excuse me? Are you defending him again?!” Helena snapped. “You should’ve divorced him the moment he got out! He’s a threat to the LaRue family’s reputation!”
Suddenly another voice came through the phone—it had been handed off. Vivienne exhaled sharply.
“Vivienne,” her mother, Nancy, said sternly, “if you care about this family, you’ll divorce Evan immediately. That man is a disgrace. You almost died in that crash because of him!”
“This is all a misunderstanding! He was framed!”
“Framed? You’re still clinging to that excuse? I don’t want to hear another word! Come home alone, Vivienne. Grandma’s calling a full family meeting tonight. Do not bring Evan.”
Before Vivienne could respond, the call ended.
She lowered the phone and stared ahead, anger and pain flashing in her eyes. Then she turned back toward Evan, her expression calm but determined.
“What happened?” Evan asked gently. “What did they say?”
Vivienne looked up at him.
“We need to find you something decent to wear,” she said. “Because tonight… you’re coming with me to the family gathering.”
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130
The afternoon sun hung low over the hills of Saint-Tropez, painting the sky in vibrant strokes of magenta, gold, and soft violet. A gentle sea breeze rustled through the cypress trees, carrying the sharp, sweet fragrance of crushed grapes and wild lavender across the high stone terrace of Villa Seraphine.Below in the private vineyard, the harvest had concluded for the day. Sturdy wooden crates filled to the brim with dark, glistening grapes were already stacked neatly near the estate's cellar entrance, waiting for the evening pressing. The quiet chatter of the local village workers faded down the winding gravel driveway as their trucks departed, leaving behind the peaceful, timeless tranquility of the Mediterranean evening.On the main stone terrace, a long wooden table had been set for a quiet family dinner. White linen napkins, crystal glasses, and small bowls of cured olives and fresh figs caught the warm golden light of the setting sun.Evan stood by the stone balustrade, watchin
129
The late summer heat had given way to the deep, golden stillness of early September. Across the low, rolling hills of the estate’s private vineyard, heavy clusters of dark purple grapes hung ripe on the vine, ready for the annual harvest.The morning air carried a sharp, crisp edge from the Alps, cutting through the warm coastal breeze. High above the sea, the Villa Seraphine seemed to rest in complete harmony with the land, its ancient stone walls sun-baked and peaceful under a vast, cloudless sky.Inside the spacious kitchen, the aroma of fresh espresso, warm honey, and stone-baked bread filled the room. Large glass doors stood wide open to the stone patio, letting in the cheerful sound of birdsong from the olive grove.Evan stood by the marble island, wearing a casual dark green sweater and comfortable trousers. He was carefully spreading apricot jam over a slice of warm brioche, his movements calm and entirely unhurried. Across the counter, three-year-old Leo sat on a high chair,
128
Five years later.The morning sun over the Côte d'Azur was brilliant and warm, cutting through the light mist rolling off the Mediterranean and bathing the Villa Seraphine in a soft, golden glow. The air was rich with the familiar scent of wild pine, lavender, and the salt of the sea, carrying the quiet, steady rhythm of the tide crashing against the stone cliffs below.Evan stood on the wide stone terrace, wearing a loose white linen shirt and light trousers, a cup of dark espresso in his hand. His dark hair was lightly touched with a few faint strands of silver at the temples, but his face was relaxed, carrying a deep, unshakeable calm that only years of true peace could forge.He leaned against the warm stone balustrade, watching the small wooden sailboat bobbing gently in the water near the private pier. Beside him, an old, leather-bound book on coastal navigation lay open on the iron table."Are you planning on sailing to Corsica before breakfast, or just admiring the rigging?"E
127
The morning of the showcase arrived with a crisp, clear radiance over Paris. The rain from the previous night had washed the city clean, leaving the grey limestone facades along Rue de Grenelle gleaming under a pale amber sun.Inside the main showroom of the LaRue Atelier, the air was thick with the rich scent of freshly cut white lilies, espresso, and steam. Long racks of tailored winter coats, velvet evening gowns, and hand-embroidered silk capes lined the perimeter of the polished parquet floor. Tailors, dressmakers, and lighting technicians moved with quiet, practiced efficiency under Elliot’s watchful eye.Evan stood on the small iron balcony overlooking the courtyard, holding a warm cup of black coffee. He wore a dark navy sweater and tailored trousers, looking every bit the relaxed proprietor of a thriving European house. His eyes scanned the cobblestones below, noting the two discreet security guards posted near the archway—not as tactical sentries watching for an armed assaul
126
The Paris train station was a cathedral of iron and glass, alive with the rhythmic hiss of steam engines and the echoing shuffle of thousands of autumn travelers. Outside, a gentle French rain slicked the grey cobblestones of Rue de Grenelle, reflecting the glowing yellow streetlamps as dusk settled over the city.Inside the quiet sanctuary of the LaRue Atelier’s private upper-floor apartment, a crackling fire burned in the marble hearth. The room smelled of old paper, polished mahogany, and the faint, sweet scent of roasting chestnuts wafting up from the street vendor below.Evan stood by the tall sash window, holding a crystal glass of sparkling mineral water. He watched the rain streak down the glass pane, blurring the lights of the Parisian boulevard. In the reflection, he saw Vivienne sitting at a small antique writing desk across the room, carefully reviewing the guest list for the private autumn showcase set for the following evening."You've been standing at that window for tw
125
Autumn arrived on the Côte d'Azur not with a bitter chill, but with a subtle sharpening of the light. The thick, golden haze of late summer gave way to crisp blue skies and cool morning air that drifted down from the Maritime Alps. The sea turned a deeper shade of sapphire, its waves lapping rhythmically against the secluded stone cove below the Villa Seraphine.Inside the villa’s primary studio, the high ceiling-to-floor windows were propped wide open. A gentle breeze stirred the long lengths of charcoal wool, midnight-blue velvet, and silver-threaded lace hanging from tall iron display racks.Vivienne stood at a large cutting table, a pair of heavy brass shears in hand, carefully shearing through a bolt of double-faced cashmere. Her dark hair was gathered into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, secured with an amber pin. She worked with quiet, practiced rhythm, completely immersed in the tactile creation of her upcoming winter line.From the corner of the studio, the steady, rhyth
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