My relationship with Bob Croft started in college. We were together for eight years, and with our wedding just around the corner, he dropped a bombshell. He wanted his one true love, Monica Bell, to marry him as well. He wanted two wives. I fought back a surge of rage. “Are you telling me you want to make the love of your life your mistress?” Bob just shook his head. “She wouldn’t be the mistress,” he said softly. “You would be.” I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. Had he lost his mind? Did he really think he could make the sole heiress to the Crestwood fortune his mistress? … Seeing my silence, Bob must have thought I was considering it. His voice softened, turning persuasive. “Monica is just so gentle, and her family is… modest. If she were the one on the side, she’d be miserable.” “So you’re suggesting I take that position?” The fury was a jackhammer against my temples, but my voice came out eerily calm. Bob frowned, clearly annoyed by my question. “Vivian, I don’t want it to be this way. But Monica… she doesn’t have anyone. I have to look out for her. Don’t worry, you’ll both be my women. I’ll treat you both equally. Monica is incredibly kind; she’d never make things difficult for you.” When he first pursued me, he swore he would marry no one else, that his heart had room only for me. Now, on the eve of our wedding, he was dreaming of having us both, a perfect little harem. What a joke. A mistress is a secret, a lover hidden in the shadows. I took a step back, my disgust for him a physical thing. “Mr. Croft, please leave. Since you’ve found love elsewhere, our engagement is off. There’s nothing more to discuss.” He sighed, a look of weary frustration on his face, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. “Vivian, the invitations have been sent. The venue is booked. If you call it off now, what will happen to your reputation? Don’t say things you don’t mean.” I trembled with rage. So that was their game. Monica and he had been carrying on for years, but she chose to make her move now, right before the wedding, because she knew I was backed into a corner. “So, by your logic, I should be thanking you for not just bringing her to the wedding as a surprise?” Bob’s face darkened. “It’s just a title! You’re Vivian Vance. Who would dare look down on you? Why are you being so petty?” “Besides,” he continued, his voice dripping with condescension, “what successful man has only one woman? I know you’re better than this. I know you love me. Show me the gentle, understanding woman I know, and don’t act like some bitter shrew.” I closed my eyes, trying to contain the inferno inside me. I couldn’t. I slapped him. Hard. I put all my strength into it, and the imprint of my hand immediately bloomed red on his cheek. Bob clutched his face, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Vivian! Are you insane?” “The invitations are out! Everyone in Crestwood knows you’re marrying me! If you back out now, who do you think will ever want you?” he snarled. “I’m telling you, you’re marrying me whether you like it or not! And if you want any standing in the Croft family, you’ll go home and tell your parents you’re voluntarily giving up the position of wife!” My expression was glacial. So that was it. He’d come today because he knew my parents were out of the country on business. He thought he could force me to submit, keep his own hands clean, and get everything he wanted. A thought struck me. “What’s my name?” I asked suddenly. Bob blinked. “Vivian Vance? Has the anger scrambled your brain?” I waved my hand, and the security team that was always stationed discreetly nearby came jogging over. “When we were dating, I didn’t mind you calling me Vivian,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips as I remembered his outrageous words. “But now, I’d like you to address me with the respect I’m due. Call me Miss Vance.” “Throw him out.” Two towering guards grabbed him by the arms and began dragging him away. Bob stared at me in shock. “You can’t do this! I’m your family’s future son-in-law!” I scoffed. “Can’t I? If I wanted to, the line of eligible bachelors willing to marry me would stretch from here to Paris. Who the hell do you think you are, Bob Croft?” “Today, you’re going to get a very clear lesson on why Vivian Vance does whatever she wants in this city.” I raised an eyebrow at the guards and added, “Throw. Him. Out.” … Bob, seething, arrived home just in time to run into his mother, who had heard the news and rushed over. Seeing the furious look on his face, Mrs. Croft was about to ask what happened when Bob burst out, “This is all your fault! You’re the one who insisted I marry Monica! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been humiliated at the Vance estate today!” After hearing the whole story, Mrs. Croft’s simmering dislike for me boiled over. She secretly vowed to put me in my place once I was married into the family, but for now, she soothed her son. “That Vivian is just spoiled, not at all like our sweet, sensible Monica. Everyone in Crestwood knows what a temper she has. She’s lucky to be marrying into our family.” “She’s just young and foolish. In a few days, I’ll personally invite her over and explain the benefits of having Monica join the family. Once she understands, she’ll come crawling back to you, begging for forgiveness.” … After having Bob thrown out, I immediately had my assistant place an overseas call to my parents in Europe. Still fuming, I then had my driver take me to my grandfather’s estate on the hillside to vent. I assumed that would be the end of my dealings with the Crofts, but a few days later, an invitation to a party at their home arrived. My secretary and assistant both advised me not to go. But I wasn’t having it. “I’m not the one who did something wrong. Why should I be the one to hide?” When I arrived at the Croft manor, I had barely stepped out of my car when a woman in a delicate white dress approached me. It was Monica. She looked the picture of fragile beauty. Her brow was furrowed with concern as she glided towards me. Her voice was soft, but her words were laced with venom. “Miss Vance, everyone who’s anyone in Crestwood is here tonight. Why would you come dressed so… casually?” “Even if you’re upset with me, you shouldn’t embarrass Bob and the Croft family like this.” I gave her a single, dismissive glance and ignored her. In Crestwood, I wear what I want. No one but my own family would ever dare to comment on my attire. With a cold smirk, I pulled my phone from my clutch and made a call. “Manager Wallace? I believe the venue for the Croft’s party tonight is one of my family’s hotels, is it not?” “Clear the room. Immediately. Bill all losses to my personal account.” The color drained from Monica’s face. Bob rushed out from inside just in time to hear me. He shot a pained look at the teary-eyed Monica before turning his glare on me. “Vivian! Monica was just trying to welcome you! How can you treat her kindness like this?” I glanced at the growing crowd of guests, who were now pointing and whispering. I let out a chilling laugh and looked between the two of them. “Welcome me? In what capacity? As the future Mrs. Croft? Anyone who didn't know better would think he's already married her.” A murmur went through the crowd as faces shifted with intrigue. “Isn’t that the Miss Bell who’s always with Mr. Croft? When did things become official?” “Even if she’s his girlfriend, it’s not her place to greet guests. That’s against all protocol…” “His actual fiancée is standing right there, and she’s already playing the lady of the house?” Bob’s expression turned grim. He reached for my hand, but I snatched it away. “That’s enough, Vivian!” he hissed under his breath. “Do you have to be so aggressive? Are you trying to ruin Monica’s reputation?” Just then, Mrs. Croft bustled out, ever the peacemaker. “Goodness, whatever misunderstanding has occurred, can’t we discuss it inside? Must we make a scene at the front door for everyone to gossip about?” She then turned and made a show of scolding Monica. “And you! Vivian can wear whatever she pleases. It’s not your place to comment.” A flicker of resentment crossed Monica’s face, but she maintained her gentle facade and curtsied to me. “It was my mistake, Miss Vance. Please, forgive me. Don’t be angry with Bob.” Her performance of a long-suffering victim made Bob’s heart ache for her, and his anger toward me intensified. He decided then and there that after the wedding, he would give me the cold shoulder to teach me a lesson. Mrs. Croft was trying to frame the entire conflict as a simple lover’s quarrel. Some of the guests started to chime in. “Come now, Miss Vance, let it go. For my sake, let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill.” Another, a woman with a sanctimonious air, clucked her tongue at me. “Miss Vance, one must know when to be merciful. A young lady should be more magnanimous.”
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