Chapter 7
1166 Words
And just like that… days turned into weeks, and weeks melted into months.
Vivian sat hunched over her laptop, fingers dancing lightly across the keyboard, when her voice pierced the calmness of the room.
“But you can still get a good-paying job with your degree. Why do you still want to go for your master’s?” she asked, her tone low and hesitant. Her eyes slowly lifted from her screen to meet Cecilia’s steady gaze.
Cecilia paused, closed her notebook, and leaned back on her bed. Her smirk didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You don’t get it, Vivian—because you have a golden ticket handed down to you in the form of your family business. I, on the other hand, have to carve out my own path. And let’s be real—if you were a CEO, and you had to choose between hiring someone with a degree and someone with a PhD, who would you choose?”
Vivian puffed her cheeks, then grinned like a child. “I’d employ you, of course. As my personal assistant. We could gist all day, talk about boys, gossip about our old lecturers…”
“Come on, Vivian. This is the real world,” Cecilia interrupted, chuckling but serious. “I’m not chasing another degree just for the title or a job position. I want to build something of my own—be my own CEO.”
She turned her laptop toward Vivian. “Now, help me out. Which country do you think would be best for my master’s?”
Vivian leaned forward slightly, then paused. Her expression faltered. One hand flew to her mouth as if trying to stop something. She bolted upright and rushed to the bathroom.
Cecilia blinked, startled. “Vivian? Are you okay? Do you need help?” she shouted toward the closed door.
“No! I’m fine!” came the muffled response.
Cecilia sighed and returned to her search. But just as she began typing, Vivian’s phone started to ring. The sound was sharp in the silence. She tried to ignore it—until the caller ID flashed on the screen: Wedding Planner.
Cecilia frowned. “Wedding planner?” she muttered. She shook her head. I must be overthinking this.
Vivian returned, wiping her face with a small towel, her steps unsteady.
“What’s wrong with you? You don’t look okay,” Cecilia asked, worried.
“I’m fine,” Vivian replied weakly.
“No, you’re not. You look pale. You need to see a doctor.”
“I will. Tomorrow. It’s… it’s probably becoming serious.”
“How long has this—” Cecilia started, but Vivian dashed off to the washroom again.
Cecilia’s brows furrowed deeper. “Vivian, I think we should go now!”
Vivian didn’t respond.
Trying to distract herself, Cecilia turned to her own laptop again, but it suddenly froze. “Great,” she muttered. “Now you're making my laptop sick too.” Frustrated, she stood and moved to grab Vivian’s laptop instead.
The screen lit up—and Cecilia’s heart sank. Wedding bookings. Dress fittings. Venue reservations. A document titled Vivian & Victor – Wedding Plan.
Just then, Vivian stormed out of the bathroom.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she barked, snatching the laptop from Cecilia’s grasp.
“Vivian… You’re planning a wedding?” Cecilia’s voice was a whisper, filled with disbelief.
“Why were you snooping through my things?” Vivian snapped.
“Snooping? Since when did borrowing your laptop become a crime?” Cecilia shot back. “That’s not the point. Are you really planning a wedding?”
“No! I mean… it’s for a friend,” Vivian stammered.
“A friend? What friend? Since when did you become a wedding planner?” Cecilia’s voice rose. “You’re hiding something.”
“Just let it go. It’s not a big deal,” Vivian tried to dismiss it.
“Is it… is it Victor?” Cecilia asked, her voice now trembling.
Vivian froze.
“Oh my God,” Cecilia breathed, her hand covering her mouth. “Vivian… how could you?”
“What is your problem?” Vivian snapped, glaring at her. “Why are you making this such a big deal?”
“You’re marrying Victor? Do your parents even know?”
“I’m an adult, Cecilia. I don’t need their permission for everything. I love them, but I come first in my life.”
Cecilia’s voice broke. “But how can you even think of marrying someone like Victor? You’re brilliant, beautiful, from a good family—”
“That’s your problem!” Vivian interrupted angrily. “You think Victor isn’t good enough for me because he doesn’t fit your idea of perfection. But you don’t know him like I do.”
“I know enough! He’s manipulative, he flirts around—”
“Shut up, Cecilia!” Vivian shouted. “Just because you’re my friend doesn’t mean you can insult my man.”
Cecilia stared, shocked into silence.
Vivian opened her laptop again and showed her a long message from Victor. Paragraphs of apologies, reassurances, sweet promises.
“He’s not cheating. He just tries to make me jealous sometimes. That’s all,” Vivian said quietly, almost defensively.
“I feel so sorry for you, Vivian. He’s playing you.”
“Enough!” Vivian screamed.
“No need to yell,” Cecilia said quietly, gathering her things. “Call me when you come back to your senses.”
She walked out, slamming the door behind her.
---
Later that evening, Cecilia sat on her bed in her mother’s mansion, her thoughts in turmoil. Her mother, Regina, sat beside her.
“You should tell her parents,” Regina suggested softly. “They’re in the best position to stop this madness.”
“No, Mom,” Cecilia sighed. “That would be betrayal. If I do that, I’ll lose her for good. Maybe even make things worse.”
Regina studied her daughter’s face for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “If you say so. But before she realizes the truth, it might be too late. Do your best to stop her, Cecilia. This isn’t something to be taken lightly.”
---
Meanwhile, inside an exclusive bar draped in velvet and luxury, Victor sat in the VIP lounge, surrounded by scantily clad dancers and rowdy friends.
“To riches and women!” one of Victor’s friends shouted, clinking glasses.
“Guys, relax,” Victor grinned, slapping a stripper’s backside as she passed. “The real party starts when I marry her. That’s when the real money comes in. I’m talking inheritance. Investments. Access to all of it.”
“You’re a legend, bro!” another friend shouted.
“Once I say ‘I do,’ I’m getting more than half of that family’s assets,” Victor said, leaning back with a smug smile.
The group erupted in cheers, unaware—or perhaps unconcerned—that love had nothing to do with it.
- Writer
