Chapter 10
He froze, wounded by my words. His eyes were full of pain and regret as he tried to comfort himself.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “We’re still young. We’ll have more kids in the future. I’ll prove it to you I’ll show you I’ve changed.”
I gave a sharp, bitter laugh.
“Oh, I get it now,” I sneered. “You’re here to beg me to go easy on Tiffany, aren’t you? Feeling sorry for her now that she’s supposedly pregnant—and about to go to prison?”
Our lawyers–some of the best in the country–told me that based on her crimes, Tiffany would likely serve seven to ten years.
Every single person involved that day would face legal consequences. Not a single one would walk free.
Nathan hesitated–clearly caught.
I had nailed it.
He stumbled over his words. “Vivian… please believe me. Sending her to prison won’t solve anything. She’s pregnant–she’ll get a lighter sentence anyway. I just… I just want to make things right. Let me handle this my way. Let me make it up to you. To both of us.” Later, I learned what his idea of “making it up” was.
He dragged Tiffany to Bailey Creek Chapel and made her praying on knees.
Both of them chanted apologies the entire way. He had his assistant livestream the whole thing to me.
In the sweltering heat, their skin burned and reddened.
Sweat poured.
Their voices grew hoarse.
Tiffany kept saying: “I was wrong. Please forgive me, Miss Sterling.”
Nathan said it with a cracked voice.
“Vivian, I was wrong. Please forgive me.
From morning until night.
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And all the while, hanging from Tiffany’s neck, was the blessed pendant my mother had nearly died praying for.
It glittered in the sun–mocking me.
By the second day, Tiffany’s body had started to give out. She barely able to support her weight.
She whimpered through tears, clinging to Nathan’s arm.
“Nate… I can’t do this anymore. If we keep going, I’ll lose the baby.”
Nathan didn’t flinch.
“If you want to marry into the Carter family,” he said coldly, “then you better keep praying.”
That was all the motivation she needed.
She gritted her teeth and kept going.
By the third day, her body had nothing left to give. She collapsed in the dirt, her voice barely a whisper.
“I can’t… please, help me… save the baby…”
Nathan’s face darkened.
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His expression twisted into something cruel as he bent down beside her and said with a sneer,
“Baby? You think I didn’t know? You were never pregnant.”
Then, with a sharp tug, he yanked the pendant off her neck and placed it back around his own.
Turning to the camera, he forced a charming smile and said, “Vivian, I got it back. The pendant. I’ll do everything I can to win your forgiveness.”
Tiffany, humiliated and desperate, clawed her way back to her feet and lunged for the pendant.
“That’s mine! You gave it to me! It belongs to me!”
Nathan shoved her away in disgust.
She hit the ground like a crumpled piece of paper–and didn’t move.
Eyes open.
No breath.
No life.
Just frozen rage.
Nathan stood there, stunned.
Then suddenly collapsed.
He couldn’t move.
His legs refused to respond.
I heard later that after his coma years ago, the doctors had warned him–one more physical trauma could leave him permanently paralyzed.
Well.
That day had finally come.
While he lay in a hospital bed, unable to walk, I opened twenty more branches of my family restaurant across Astor Heights.
Ever since the “refill scandal,” the entire city knew the name Vivian Sterling.
Our diners were packed every single day.
Nathan tried to reach out.
Sent word.
Asked if I’d visit him.
I texted back exactly once: [I’ll come see you–on my wedding day. With my
**W husband, Just to laugh in your stupid face.]
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