Chapter 14: Half a Sentence

Damien's eyes remained fixed on the words printed across the folder.

"HAWTHORNE PROJECT."

Neither of us moved.

His expression hardened almost instantly.

"Where did you get that?"

"It belongs to my brother."

"Answer the question, Vivian."

"I already did."

He stepped closer.

"Open the box."

"No."

"You don't know what you're holding."

"Then tell me."

Silence.

His jaw tightened.

He wasn't refusing because he didn't know.

He was refusing because he knew too much.

"It's company business," he finally said.

"Nathaniel wasn't part of Ashford Holdings."

"He became part of it the moment someone decided he needed to die."

The room fell completely still.

For a brief second...

Damien looked genuinely shaken.

"Watch what you're implying."

"I'm done implying anything."

"Then prove it."

"I will."

"Just not today."

A knock interrupted us.

"Mr. Ashford?"

"The photographers have arrived," one of the assistants announced through the door.

Damien didn't answer immediately.

His eyes never left mine.

"Five minutes," he finally replied.

"Yes, sir."

The footsteps faded.

He looked back at the archive box.

"You're making a mistake."

"So were you when you stopped believing me."

He inhaled slowly.

Then something unexpected happened.

"Vivian..."

It was the first time in months he had spoken my name without anger.

Without sarcasm.

Without accusation.

He opened his mouth again.

"If there's something you don't understand..."

He stopped.

Half a sentence.

Nothing more.

I waited.

He never finished it.

Instead he looked away first.

"Wear the emerald gown tonight," he said quietly.

"It suits you."

"You don't get to decide what suits me anymore."

He gave a humourless smile.

"Maybe not."

"But I still remember."

He walked out.

The bedroom door closed softly behind him.

I stood alone, staring at the unopened archive box.

Half a sentence.

Half a truth.

Half the man I once believed I married.

A few minutes later, Celeste returned carrying another garment bag.

"Mrs. Ashford," she said gently.

"There's one more dress Mr. Ashford personally requested you try."

"I already chose."

"He insisted I show you this one before making a final decision."

She unzipped the cover.

It wasn't emerald.

It wasn't black.

It was ivory.

Simple.

Elegant.

Almost identical to the dress I had worn on our wedding rehearsal.

I stared at it in silence.

"When was this made?"

"About two months ago," Celeste answered.

"Mr. Ashford ordered it before this season's collection even began."

"He said he wanted something timeless."

Two months ago.

Long before the divorce papers.

Long before the separate bedrooms.

Long before he slapped me.

I touched the soft fabric with trembling fingers.

Hidden inside the collar was a tiny stitched label.

Not the designer's name.

Not the boutique's logo.

Just two embroidered initials.

V.A.

Vivian Ashford.

Someone had planned this dress long before everything fell apart.

The question was...

Why?