Tainted Love

Chapter 14

Victor’s Apartment

Vivian trudged toward the door as though each step weighed a ton. She didn’t want to answer it….of course she didn’t. The day had already unraveled like a poorly tied knot. Victor hadn’t come home last night and had ignored every call and text she’d sent. The longer she stared at her silent phone, the more her heart thudded with a heavy, restless worry.

The doorbell rang again, sharper this time, dragging her out of the haze of frustration. She swallowed the knot in her throat and flung the door open.

A delivery man stood there, cap tilted low over his forehead, a brown carton in his hands. “Ms. Vivian?” he asked, his voice brisk, businesslike.

Vivian rolled her eyes. “My name and address are right there, aren’t they? Can’t you read?”

The man blinked, startled. “Sorry, ma’am. Sign here, please.”

She snatched the pen, scribbled her signature in a single furious motion, and shoved the clipboard back. The door slammed with a sharp crack before he could say another word.

“Sorry for yourself,” she muttered under her breath, turning the lock with a sharp twist. The box felt heavier than it should, its weight pressing against her palms like an accusation.

Dragging herself to the parlor, she set it on the coffee table and dropped onto the couch with a sigh. “This order arrived early,” she whispered to herself. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to be here until next week.”

But something about the package didn’t sit right. The logo she expected from the company she’d ordered from wasn’t there. The handwriting on the label looked unfamiliar……sharp, almost hurried.

Her stomach tightened. Maybe it was the wrong delivery. But there it was, plain as day: her name, her address. No mistake.

“What the hell?” she murmured. A cold edge of dread slid into her chest.

Her imagination began to churn. What if it was… a bomb? What if someone had killed Victor and sent her his body parts? The thought was grotesque, but it clung to her mind like wet cloth.

Her hands trembled as she grabbed a pair of scissors. The tape split with a hiss. She lifted the flaps and peered inside…..

⸻

Miles away, Victor was on his knees.

His arms wrapped tightly around Bianca’s legs, his forehead pressed to her thighs as he sobbed like a child. The words lodged in his throat, too heavy to push out. “Bianca…” he stammered, his voice breaking. “I…..I…….”

Tears ran unchecked down his cheeks. He was going to be a father. A daddy. He could barely breathe around the sudden weight of the thought. His chest swelled with something he had never known…..something raw, overwhelming.

“Thank you,” he choked. “Thank you, Bianca.” His voice cracked again, thick with disbelief.

Bianca’s own eyes glistened. She had known this would shake him. Victor had never truly let go of the wounds from his childhood: a father imprisoned, a mother who had spent her last strength trying to survive. He had grown up feeling unwanted, like a boy no one had chosen to love.

She reached to pull him up, but he clung to her, burying his face deeper, as if letting go would undo the moment. At last, she knelt and wrapped her arms around him, holding him until his shudders began to slow.

Victor pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over the screen. For a moment he hesitated…..Vivian’s name glaring in the notifications……but then he switched it off. He wanted no interruptions. Not tonight. Not when the woman he truly loved…..and the mother of his child…….was in his arms.

#####

The black limousine slid to a silent stop after hours of shadowy travel. Its polished body reflected the faint moonlight like a dark mirror.

A man in a crisp black suit stepped out first. He was broad-shouldered, his movements clipped with military precision. Weapons glinted beneath his coat; he was armed to the teeth. He opened the back door and bowed slightly.

The woman inside met his gaze with an expression that demanded answers. He understood without a word. “The area is secure, ma’am,” he said with quiet authority.

Still, she scanned the surroundings, her sharp eyes distrustful. Only when she was satisfied did she step onto the cracked pavement.

Mrs. Dary. Her designer heels barely touched the ground as she approached the derelict house. The stench of mildew and rot hit her nose and she flinched. “Disgusting,” she whispered, gathering the hem of her silk dress so it wouldn’t brush the dirt.

Inside, the darkness pressed close.

Finally she reached the room.

And there she was.

Pascaline.

She sat like a lifeless statue, chained to a heavy wooden chair. Her hair hung in tangled curtains around her face. Though her clothes were clean, something about her seemed ruined….like a ghost that had long since forgotten how to live.

“Leave us,” Mrs. Dary said sharply. The six armed men withdrew without a word, their boots echoing on the wooden floor until silence swallowed the room.

Mrs. Dary’s voice trembled with a fury she barely contained. “Pascaline, why? Haven’t you done enough? What do you want from me now?”

The chained woman didn’t move. Her head remained bowed, her stillness unsettling.

“Talk to me!” Mrs. Dary’s voice cracked. “Why won’t you leave my mind? Years have passed….you should know your place by now! It’s my home now. He is my husband. And she…..she is my daughter!” Her breath quickened. “Aren’t you happy for us? Is everything supposed to belong to you? I didn’t steal anything. I only fought for what I wanted. You used to tell me, ‘Go for it.’ Remember? That’s exactly what I did. So stop haunting me. Stop making me see you in my dreams!”

Pascaline did not flinch.

Mrs. Dary’s shoulders sagged. For a heartbeat her voice softened, as if confessing a private sin. “I had to move you aside. You were in my way. But I’ve done nothing wrong. Please…..just let me have my peace.”

Still no answer.

Frustration flared; she swore under her breath and turned sharply. The heavy door slammed behind her, plunging the room back into darkness.

Slowly, Pascaline raised her head. Her hair fell back just enough to reveal eyes empty as an abandoned grave. She stared at the closed door, her lips unmoving. Her silence was heavier than any curse.

#####

“Cecilia?” Vivian whispered, her voice trembling with a sudden spark of joy. Her best friend had finally reached out. She tore open the letter eagerly.

The neat handwriting danced before her eyes:

*Vivian, I know you’ll be surprised to receive this letter. My message is short. My dream has come true…,….I’m a CEO now. Everything I told you has come to pass. I’m still pursuing my master’s. But I have a message for you. I have recorded the lyrics of a song for you. After listening, you have six hours to contact me. Else I’m afraid you might not hear from me again.*

Vivian smiled, her heart warming at her friend’s success. She reached for the small audio device enclosed in the package and pressed play.

Music spilled into the room….soft at first, then sharper as a male voice began to sing:

The devil doesn’t bargain…

He’ll only break your heart again…

It isn’t worth it, darling…

He’s never gonna change…

Vivian froze. The lyrics cut through her like shards of glass.

He’ll never be Prince Charming…

He’ll only do you harm again…

This is a song by a musician Alec Benjamin trying to say that

It’s a metaphor for realizing that some people (or patterns) are like the “devil”: they feed on control or manipulation, and no amount of patience, sacrifice, or love will transform them. The song is a reminder that self-preservation sometimes means walking away, because trying to bargain with someone who refuses to change is ultimately a silent form of self-destruction

Her smile vanished. The message was clear. Cecilia was warning her….again….about Victor.

Her chest tightened. Rage flared like gasoline catching fire. In a single motion she hurled the device against the wall. It shattered with a metallic crack. She ripped the letter into jagged pieces and scattered the gifts across the floor.

Memories rushed in…uninvited, relentless. The cheating. The lies. The nights he hadn’t come home.

Tears welled hot and blinding. “No!” she screamed, voice breaking. “Nooo!”

She clutched her head. “I can change him! I can… I can!”

Her gaze dropped to her flat stomach. Her trembling hand came to rest gently over it, almost protective.

“I can change him,” she whispered hoarsely to the tiny life she imagined there. “I can change your dad. I promise.”

Her words hung in the air….half plea, half prayer….as the broken pieces of the device glinted on the floor, silent witnesses to a love already fractured beyond repair.

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