My broken love

CHAPTER3

Chapter 3: Invitation to Chaos

Vivian POV

My eyes were seared by the words on my phone: "You have 24 hours. Pay up now, or you'll lose everything.” I almost dropped the phone because my hands were shaking so violently. Lose everything? Even so, what did it mean?

My home? My cars? My last little bit of hope?

It seemed as if there was cotton within my mind. John left me first. My business was dying at the time. Someone was in need of money, and they needed it quickly.

Who was this? What were they seeking? There was no money for me to "pay up." I had nothing except a pile of depressing red numbers on my computer screen and a wounded heart.

I closed my eyes tightly, hoping it would all go away. Like a dreadful dream. However, the phone was still there, silently buzzing, reminding me of the frightening message when I opened them.

I had no idea what to do. I wanted to give my best friend Evelyn a call. No matter what, she knew what to do. However, I had yet to inform her about John. How could I share all of this negative information with her at once? It seemed excessive. I would weep even more when she would gaze at me with sorrowful eyes.

I inhaled deeply and trembled. No. Sitting here and letting the beasts triumph was not an option. I needed to be powerful. For me. Even if they were small and fading like a frail candle, for the dreams I still had.

My legs felt like jello as I slowly got to my feet. I proceeded to the kitchen, where the divorce papers were still sprawled on the floor. I stared at them, then at the half-made pancake batter. It now had an aged, lumpy appearance.

Despite my rumbling tummy, I wasn't hungry. My thoughts were racing with all the terrifying possibilities. Who was the sender of the message?

Was it a member of my staff who was upset about not being paid? Or was there another reason? Something more sinister?

I need a strategy. However, my mind was too exhausted to create one.

I made my way back to the living room window. It felt chilly, even though the sun was still attempting to shine. Outside, a vehicle passed on the street, its noises muted. Everything seemed so far.

I saw something in the mailbox all of a sudden. A little white envelope. The postman must have simply placed it there. Normally, I like receiving mail, particularly magazines or pleasant cards. But now, I am afraid of everything in a different way.

I approached the front door slowly and opened it. My face was brushed by the chilly air. I extracted the envelope by reaching inside the mailbox. It was heavier and thicker than an ordinary letter. It was upscale.

On the front, in swirling, glittering letters, was my name: Vivian Knight.

Knight. John's last name was that. My last name. Or, I suppose, my former last name. My stomach turned over. John recently delivered me divorce papers, so why would he send me anything like this, in a nice envelope?

I opened the seal with shaking fingers. There was a card inside. It felt like velvet, was lustrous, and was black. And additional golden lettering on it. My heart was racing.

You have been invited to a unique gala.

Gala? What's the gala? John never mentioned a lavish celebration, as I recall. He was aware of my dislike for large, cacophonous groups. Usually, we liked to have supper alone, in silence.

I glanced at the card's date. It was scheduled on Saturday of next week. Only a few days remained till then.

Then I saw the card's name at the bottom. It occupied almost the whole bottom since it was so large and magnificent.

The Annual Charity Gala of Knight Industries.

Knight Enterprises. John's family owned that business. The big, strong firm that possessed a lot of buildings and produced a lot of items. the business that Mr. Charles Knight, his father, owned. It was a frightening guy, Mr. Knight. When John was with his father, he always seemed little.

The name of the host, displayed underneath the firm name, caught my attention.

John Knight is the host.

John. It was hosted by him. I was invited. Me on our anniversary, the lady he just divorced.

I felt a chill go down my back. How come he would do this? Was this a ruse again? One more technique to make me feel insignificant and unworthy?

I thought back to the last Knight Industries gala I attended, which was a year ago. There were hundreds of individuals who seemed important, and it was really large and brilliant. John had made sure I was comfortable by holding my hand the whole time.

He had told everyone about my fashion firm and shown his pride in it. I felt like the most unique person in the room because of him.

He was asking me this now? As what? His former spouse? His shattered, bewildered ex-wife whose business was about to die?

I felt a new rush of rage come over me, hot and biting. This seemed like a trap in addition to being nasty. What was it he desired? He wants me there, but why?

Did he want to demonstrate to everyone how simple it was for him to get rid of me? Or was it his desire to flaunt his new life without me?

The gold letters on the black card suddenly looked cruel and ugly as I stared at it. It was like being slapped across the face. On the one hand, he was removing me from his life by signing documents stating that we were unimportant.

However, he was extending an invitation to me for his most significant occasion. There was no meaning to it.

My thoughts returned to the text: "You have twenty-four hours. You risk losing everything if you don't pay.

How may this gala be related to it? Was this some odd tactic to lure me there, to make me pay? It sounded insane, but at the moment, everything seemed strange.

With the invitation in my hand, I made my way back to the couch. I traced the golden letters with my fingertips. "John Knight." The name that had once meant affection and shelter now seemed poisonous.

Shall I leave? My first reaction was a loud, forceful "NO!" Why would I subject myself to such suffering? Why would I attend a party where everyone would be staring and whispering, thrown by the guy who just destroyed my heart?

Then, however, another notion began to slink in, little and silent at first, then stronger. Could this be my only opportunity?

Was this my sole opportunity to speak with John and learn what was going on? Is this my last opportunity to question him about the ominous text message? Or perhaps to inquire about the business?

He was well-versed in my business. He was aware of the figures. He was aware of the funds. Perhaps he was also aware of this "pay up" message. He was the one who left me with this mess.

My stomach rumbled. It would be like entering a lion's lair to attend the event. His family, close friends, and influential business associates would all be present.

Soon, or already, they would all be aware of the divorce. They'd see me, lonely and broken.

However, I'm not going. Refusing to go meant remaining at home, feeling lost and afraid, without any answers, and without any hope for my companionship. It meant allowing him to prevail. allowing him to disregard me and simply throw me away.

The text message, too. "Lose everything." I was more afraid of it than anything else. What if it has anything to do with this gala? What if I really lost everything if I didn't go?

My heart pounded rapidly. I examined the elegant black card. It was elegant and intended for high-ranking individuals. I didn't feel significant at the moment. I felt little and invisible.

A weird concept, like a small light, flashed up in my gloomy head. Maybe… maybe this was an opportunity to show him. To show everyone.

That I wasn't utterly broken. That I could still stand on my own two feet. Even if it seemed like my legs were going to give out.

What would I wear, though?

He had either chosen or seen all of my elegant gowns. They would now feel depressed because they had too many nice memories. I also lacked the funds to get a new one. My business was failing.

My palms were sweating at the prospect of seeing John again after he had just handed me divorce papers with a frigid demeanor. How would I respond? How would he respond? Would he become icy once more?

Or would he look at me with that glint of something I couldn't quite identify in his eyes?

The clock on the wall ticked loudly. It seemed like the "24 hours" from the text message were being counted down with each tick. I had to take action. I couldn't wait for horrible things to happen as I sat here.

I took another look at the invitation. I felt like I was being mocked by the gorgeous gold lettering. "Knight Industries Annual Charity Gala." A gala for charity. It was hosted by John. It would be crowded with wealthy and influential individuals. those who may be knowledgeable. Those who may know the answers.

A rush of chill swept over me. Could this be the last trap? What if he wanted to confirm that I was completely depleted? What if his goal was to see me fall apart in front of everyone?

What if, however, it was my sole opportunity to defend myself? Was this my sole opportunity to comprehend the true state of my life, my business, and myself?

I shut my eyes. My imagination was flooded with the picture of John's lifeless, icy face. Then came the frightening, red figures. Next came the SMS message. "You have 24 hours."

My jaw hardened with a fresh resolution as I opened my eyes. I had no idea who was sending that frightening SMS or what type of game John was playing. I wasn't going to hide, however. I refused to let them prevail.

I'd attend the gala. I'd go up against John. And I'd find answers somehow. However, a terrifying question lingered in the back of my mind as I looked at the invitation.

Imagine if the questions were worse than the answers.