Tainted Love

Chapter 26

The world came back in fragments.

A flicker of light.

A rush of air.

And the acrid sting of smoke.

Vivian coughed, her chest tightening as her lungs fought to understand where she was. The air felt thick, heavy with something that didn’t belong. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open …bright white ceiling, the faint beep of a monitor, the rustle of linen … and then it hit her.

A hospital.

Her mind tried to make sense of the pieces. The wedding… the dizzying flashes of lights… the crowd… the unbearable ache in her chest before everything went black.

Her gaze drifted sideways …and froze.

Victor sat in a chair beside her bed, one leg crossed casually over the other, cigarette smoke curling lazily into the air. He looked almost peaceful, as if the hospital room were nothing more than a private lounge. The smoke coiled toward her face, clinging to her throat and nostrils until she coughed again, this time harder.

Her voice came out weak, shaky.

“Victor…?”

He didn’t look at her. He only took another drag, exhaling slow ribbons of smoke into the sterile air. His eyes were distant …not with worry, but with thought. Cold, calculated thought.

Before she could speak again, the door swung open.

“Sir!” a young nurse exclaimed, storming into the room. “I told you already…you can’t smoke here. This is a hospital!” Her voice trembled, but she stood firm. “Please, put that out immediately.”

Victor turned his head with deliberate slowness, as if her voice had interrupted something far more important. His gaze sharpened, assessing her like one might a fly buzzing too close.

“Shut up,” he said quietly ….too quietly. Then he rose to his feet. Willy, who had been leaning against the far wall, followed his movement, his smirk a small shadow of approval.

“Do you even know who’s lying here?” Victor asked, stepping closer. The cigarette burned lower, glowing between his fingers. “Do you know who I am?”

The nurse straightened her back, though her hands trembled slightly. “Yes. Miss Vivian Dary. And that’s exactly why I’m asking you to stop,” she said, her voice gaining fragile courage. “Her family wouldn’t want to see…”

Victor laughed. The sound was soft, but it chilled the room. “Her family?” he echoed mockingly. “You think they get a say?”

He moved so fast she flinched. His hand caught her chin, his thumb pressing against her skin until she gasped. The smell of smoke and cologne closed in around her.

“I’m her husband,” he said, each word sharp enough to draw blood. “Get it through your head. You don’t tell me what to do.”

When she didn’t answer, he spat …a single, vile act that made her stumble backward, eyes wide with disbelief. Tears welled, not from pain, but from humiliation.

He stepped back, smirking. “Next time you question me, make sure you have a job to fall back on.”

The nurse’s lips trembled. “You’re a monster,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

Victor’s smirk deepened. “A rich one.”

She turned to leave, tears threatening to fall …but before she reached the door, a soft, hoarse voice filled the air.

“Victor…”

He turned at once.

“Vivian,” he said quickly, dropping the cigarette into the ashtray. “You’re awake.”

Her lashes fluttered, her eyes unfocused. “What… what happened?” she murmured. “Why am I here? What am I doing here?”

The nurse stepped closer, instinctively wanting to protect her. “Miss Dary, please don’t strain yourself,” she said gently. “You…”

But Victor cut her off, waving a hand dismissively. “She deserves to know.”

The nurse’s eyes widened. “No, sir …not yet..”

“She deserves to know,” he repeated firmly, turning back to Vivian. His tone softened into something that pretended to be pity. “Vivian, you fainted. You…”

He paused just long enough to make her look at him.

“…because your father’s dead.”

The words struck like a hammer to the heart.

Vivian blinked, confusion spreading across her face before it hardened into denial. “No,” she whispered. “No, he’s not. Don’t say that. You’re lying.”

She tried to sit up, her pulse racing, the monitor beeping faster. “No, my dad isn’t dead! He can’t be dead! I just…I just talked to him before…Victor, take me to him! Take me…”

The nurse hurried to her side. “Miss Dary, please …calm down, please! You can’t move like this…”

“Why not?” Vivian cried, pushing against the sheets. “I need to see my father!”

The nurse’s voice trembled with urgency. “Because your baby…”

The word froze the air.

Vivian’s lips parted. “My… baby?” she repeated, her voice trembling. “What… what about my baby?”

The nurse bit her lip. “Please, let me call the doctor,” she said softly, trying to hide the fear in her eyes. “Just breathe, Miss Dary. Please. I’ll get the doctor right now.”

She rushed out, nearly running down the hall. Victor sighed and sat back down, running a hand through his hair as if bored of the entire ordeal.

Vivian clutched her stomach, her voice breaking. “Victor… my father… my baby… what’s happening to me?”

He looked at her for a moment …really looked at her …but whatever emotion flickered in his eyes, it was gone before she could name it.

Minutes later, the door burst open again. The doctor entered briskly, the nurse behind him.

“Miss Dary,” the doctor said calmly, “you need to stay still. Any movement can put both you and your child at risk.”

“Is… is my baby…” Vivian’s voice cracked, her hand trembling on her belly. “Please, tell me my baby’s okay.”

The doctor hesitated, then said gently, “Your baby is alive … but unstable. You must remain calm. Stress can be dangerous right now. Please, for your child’s sake, try to relax.”

Vivian’s breath came in shallow gasps. She turned her face to the pillow and let the tears come. The nurse reached out to comfort her, but Victor’s glare stopped her in her tracks.

When the doctor left, silence filled the room again …a suffocating, fragile kind of quiet.

Vivian’s mind replayed the words Your father’s dead over and over until they blurred into a single unbearable truth. Her chest ached. Her throat burned. Her father’s laughter…the warmth of his arms, the pride in his eyes … all of it flooded her memory until it hurt to breathe.

“Victor,” she whispered. “My father’s dead. Because of me.”

Victor rubbed his temples. “Vivian, please. Don’t start blaming yourself. It’s not healthy for the baby.”

She turned to him slowly, her red, tear…swollen eyes searching his face. “You don’t even care, do you?”

He stiffened slightly. “Of course I care,” he said, though his voice was flat, his expression untouched. “But what’s done is done. He’s gone, Vivian. There’s nothing you can do. You have to look at the bright side.”

“The bright side?” she repeated in disbelief.

He nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yes. You’re his only child. Everything he owned is yours now …the company, the estate, the fortune. He left behind a legacy, Vivian. You should see that as a blessing, not a curse.”

For a long moment, she just stared at him.

Then she laughed …a broken, bitter sound that wasn’t laughter at all. “Victor,” she whispered, shaking her head. “My father’s dead, and you’re talking about money?”

He frowned, confused by her tone. “Vivian, I’m trying to be realistic. He’s gone. Crying won’t bring him back.”

Her chest tightened, a quiet sob breaking free. “You’re not realistic,” she said. “You’re heartless.”

Victor’s expression darkened. “I’m practical,” he corrected sharply. “You need to stop being dramatic. It’s not good for you …or the baby.”

She turned away from him, too tired to argue, too hurt to speak. In that moment, something inside her shifted …something that had always trusted him, always believed in the love she thought he had for her.

Now, she wasn’t sure anymore.

Her tears soaked the pillow as she whispered, “You never loved him… did you?”

Victor didn’t answer. The silence was louder than any denial.

⸻

Meanwhile — The Dary Estate

The rain hadn’t stopped since dusk. It fell softly against the wide windows, streaking the glass like tears the house itself couldn’t hold back.

Emilia Dary knelt alone in the grand living room, in front of the enormous portrait of her late husband. Candles flickered faintly around her, casting golden light across her trembling form.

Her black dress was wrinkled and wet, her hair undone. She had been there for hours …unmoving, unhearing, her knees pressed against the cold marble floor. Her hands were clasped tightly, fingers trembling as though they’d forgotten how to let go.

Tears slipped down her face in an endless stream, her breathing uneven, her body shaking with the kind of grief that doesn’t make sound …only silence and shivers.

Her lips moved soundlessly at first, then the words came, cracked and breathless. “I’m sorry…”

Her voice trembled again. “I’m so sorry…”

Each whisper felt torn from somewhere deep, as if she were speaking to the ghost in the painting rather than the memory of her husband. Her eyes lifted, meeting the painted gaze above her …the man who had once been the strength of her world, now reduced to oil and color.

“I didn’t mean for this,” she whispered. “I didn’t want it to end like this.”

Her tears dripped onto the marble floor. “Please… forgive me,” she said again, her words shaking. “Please, wherever you are, forgive me.”

Her body rocked slightly as sobs overtook her. Her grief was not the clean grief of a widow; it was messier, sharper …the grief of someone who carried something more.

Something heavy.

Something secret.

Outside, thunder rumbled faintly in the distance.

Inside, Emilia knelt lower, pressing her forehead to the ground, whispering apologies into the silence until her voice broke entirely.

⸻

Back at the Hospital

Night had deepened.

Victor had dozed off in his chair, the cigarette tray beside him filled with ash and unfinished thoughts. The dim light above cast his shadow across the bed — long, dark, possessive.

Vivian lay still, her hand resting gently on her stomach. Her mind was a storm of pain and fear, grief and guilt. Her father was gone. Her mother hated her. And her husband — the man she thought she loved — had revealed a face she wasn’t sure she could ever unsee.

She blinked slowly, her tears dry now but her heart still aching. The world around her felt cold, mechanical, foreign.

Then she whispered to herself — barely a sound, but strong enough to make her heart listen:

“For my baby… I’ll survive.”

Her eyes lingered on the dark window. Outside, the city lights flickered like distant stars — untouchable, indifferent.

She closed her eyes again.