Chapter 2
847 Words
Vivienne didn't know how she made it out of that room.
She stumbled back to her bedroom and started throwing things into a bag. On her way out, she nearly walked straight into Julian.
"Where are you going?"
He was already in the driver's seat, one brow slightly furrowed. In the passenger seat, Eleanor was touching up her lipstick, a deep, vivid red. The same shade that was smudged across Julian's neck.
Something in Vivienne's chest twisted sharply.
She kept her voice even. "I'm covering a story with some colleagues over the next few days. I'll be staying at a coworker's place."
She didn't wait for him to respond. She walked.
It was fully dark by the time she reached the apartment. Madison Brennan was sprawled on the couch with a sheet face mask on, and she sat up the moment the door opened.
"Vivi? What are you doing here?" She stared, taking her in. "Are you… are you okay?"
The story was everywhere. People were talking about it on every corner of the internet. Someone had even generated AI-generated videos about her. It had spread through every corner of WNBX Channel 7.
Vivienne looked at Madison's worried face and managed a small, hollow smile. "Not really."
Her phone buzzed then, a message from Station Chief Harlan. She headed over immediately.
He studied her for a moment before sliding a document across the desk.
"Vivi," he said carefully, "It wasn't easy for you to get to where you are today. Have you really thought this resignation through?"
Resignation? She hadn't resigned.
She looked down at the paper. It was a resignation letter, and the handwriting was Julian's.
The cold settled into her bones.
She didn't understand. She had already been publicly destroyed. Her reputation was in ruins, her photos were all over the internet. What more did he want? Why did he have to take the job she loved?
At least Station Chief Harlan hadn't signed off on it yet.
"Vivi." He let out a slow breath. "You have a strong news sense. You're a born journalist. Think carefully about the career path you want to take. But your reputation has taken a hit. The station won't fire you. I can make sure of that. But from here on out, you're on your own."
Vivienne's eyes burned. She bowed her head. "I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you."
He pinched the bridge of his nose and waved her off. "Go home and work on tomorrow's copy. I still need to go over the volunteer journalist list for Korvath rotation."
On his desk, half-visible beneath a stack of papers, was another form, a war correspondent application.
Vivienne paused.
Something took root in the back of her mind, quiet and a little reckless.
She thought about the flash drive Julian had handed to Eleanor. She thought about how he had helped Eleanor's family bury the truth about her father's death. She thought about what he had said, that if she left him, she had nowhere else to go.
She drew a slow breath.
"Station Chief Harlan," she said, her voice steady. "I want to apply for the Korvath posting."
He blinked, then reached across the desk and laid the application form in front of her.
"Vivi, this isn't a field trip. War correspondents face real danger, food shortages, no clean water, death around every corner. You'd be living with it every single day. You're not hurting for money. Why would you want to do this?"
She looked at the form and said nothing.
It was true that she had never gone without, all those years in the Ashford family. Julian had been generous. Whatever she wanted, no matter the price tag, he never hesitated.
Station Chief Harlan sighed. "If this is about the photos, the internet has a short memory. Lay low for a while and it'll blow over…"
"I want to leave Nexis City." Her voice was quiet, but there was no waver in it. "I want to start over somewhere else."
He looked at her for a long moment. "Does Mr. Ashford know about this?"
"No. This is my decision. Please don't tell him."
He didn't push further. He only asked her to go home and think it over carefully before doing anything.
In the early hours of the morning, Vivienne sat alone with the application form in front of her.
She looked out the window at the stars and let herself drift back, to some late night tangled up with Julian, warm and half-asleep, tucked against his chest. She had asked him, in that soft space between waking and sleep, if he would ever marry her.
Sure, he had said.
Eight years. After eight years, Julian was finally getting married.
Just not to her.
Her phone screen lit up on the table, a notification, his name on it. She looked at it for a moment, then swiped it away without opening it. She picked up her pen, and wrote her name on the application form, slowly, deliberately, like a promise she was making to herself.
- Writer
