Chapter 2: The Replacement
Vivienne
The first week is the hardest.
Not because of the job. Jobs are replaceable. Skills transfer. I know what I'm worth on paper.
It's the silence that gets me.
Three months of whispered conversations, locked office doors, late-night texts that made me feel like I mattered to someone who doesn't let people in. Then nothing. A wall. Like I imagined the whole thing.
I keep checking my phone. Force of habit. Looking for a message that says this was a mistake, or at least one that acknowledges what happened between us.
Nothing comes.
On day four, I see the first photo.
Not on his page. He doesn't post. But she does.
The blonde. Her name is Audra, I learn, scrolling through her profile at 2 AM with my knees pulled to my chest and nausea clawing at my stomach.
She's at his apartment. His kitchen. His couch. Wearing something expensive and tagging everything like she's staking a claim.
The caption: *New beginnings.*
Posted the same day I was fired.
The same day.
Which means she was already there before I left.
Which means the whole time he was touching me—
I close the app.
I don't open it again.
By week two, the morning sickness gets worse. I lose four pounds I can't afford to lose. I sleep in three-hour stretches. I eat crackers standing over the sink like a ghost of a person.
I don't call him.
I won't.
My best friend, Nina, shows up on day ten with grocery bags and no patience.
"You look like death," she says.
"Thanks."
She pushes past me, starts stacking things in the fridge. "You need to eat."
"I'm trying."
She turns and looks at me. Really looks.
"Viv," she says slowly. "Are you pregnant?"
I don't answer fast enough.
"Oh my god," she whispers.
"Don't," I say.
"Is it his?"
"Don't."
"Vivienne—"
"It doesn't matter," I snap. "He's gone. He replaced me before the door even closed. He doesn't get to know."
She stares at me for a long moment.
"That man destroyed your career and then moved someone into his bed within the same breath," she says. "If you keep this from him, I won't judge you."
"Good," I say.
"But you need a plan."
I laugh once, dry and mirthless. "I have one."
"Which is?"
I sit down on the kitchen floor because my legs are tired and my body is tired and my heart is tired.
"I disappear," I say.
Nina kneels beside me. "And then what?"
I think about it. About his company. About the files I managed. The deals I built. The relationships I maintained while he took credit and moved pieces around like it was all his genius.
"Then I come back," I say. "Better."
Nina studies me. "How long?"
"However long it takes."
"To do what?"
I look at her.
"To take everything he thinks is his."
She doesn't argue.
The first week is the hardest.
Not because of the job. Jobs are replaceable. Skills transfer. I know what I'm worth on paper.
It's the silence that gets me.
Three months of whispered conversations, locked office doors, late-night texts that made me feel like I mattered to someone who doesn't let people in. Then nothing. A wall. Like I imagined the whole thing.
I keep checking my phone. Force of habit. Looking for a message that says this was a mistake, or at least one that acknowledges what happened between us.
Nothing comes.
On day four, I see the first photo.
Not on his page. He doesn't post. But she does.
The blonde. Her name is Audra, I learn, scrolling through her profile at 2 AM with my knees pulled to my chest and nausea clawing at my stomach.
She's at his apartment. His kitchen. His couch. Wearing something expensive and tagging everything like she's staking a claim.
The caption: *New beginnings.*
Posted the same day I was fired.
The same day.
Which means she was already there before I left.
Which means the whole time he was touching me—
I close the app.
I don't open it again.
By week two, the morning sickness gets worse. I lose four pounds I can't afford to lose. I sleep in three-hour stretches. I eat crackers standing over the sink like a ghost of a person.
I don't call him.
I won't.
My best friend, Nina, shows up on day ten with grocery bags and no patience.
"You look like death," she says.
"Thanks."
She pushes past me, starts stacking things in the fridge. "You need to eat."
"I'm trying."
She turns and looks at me. Really looks.
"Viv," she says slowly. "Are you pregnant?"
I don't answer fast enough.
"Oh my god," she whispers.
"Don't," I say.
"Is it his?"
"Don't."
"Vivienne—"
"It doesn't matter," I snap. "He's gone. He replaced me before the door even closed. He doesn't get to know."
She stares at me for a long moment.
"That man destroyed your career and then moved someone into his bed within the same breath," she says. "If you keep this from him, I won't judge you."
"Good," I say.
"But you need a plan."
I laugh once, dry and mirthless. "I have one."
"Which is?"
I sit down on the kitchen floor because my legs are tired and my body is tired and my heart is tired.
"I disappear," I say.
Nina kneels beside me. "And then what?"
I think about it. About his company. About the files I managed. The deals I built. The relationships I maintained while he took credit and moved pieces around like it was all his genius.
"Then I come back," I say. "Better."
Nina studies me. "How long?"
"However long it takes."
"To do what?"
I look at her.
"To take everything he thinks is his."
She doesn't argue.