Chapter 7
Vivian showed up at Meridian Pharmaceuticals the next day.
I was in a meeting when my assistant knocked.
"Dr. Voss, there's a woman in reception claiming to be your sister. She's... insistent."
I knew this would come. I just didn't expect it so soon.
"Give me five minutes."
I finished my meeting and walked to the lobby.
Vivian was pacing in front of the reception desk, her Hermès bag clutched like a weapon. The moment she saw me, her face cycled through three expressions—shock, rage, and something almost like fear.
"You—" She stopped. Looked around at the gleaming lobby, the staff who greeted me with deference, the nameplate on the wall that read VOSS.
"How?"
I led her to a private conference room. I didn't offer her coffee.
"Vivian. What do you want?"
She dropped into a chair and stared at me like I'd grown a second head.
"What do I—Elena, what the hell is going on? Dom is losing his mind. He called Dad last night screaming about patents and fraud and—"
"Your father stole my mother's research. You know that."
Her mouth opened. Closed.
"I was sixteen, Elena. I didn't—"
"You were twenty. I was seventeen. And I remember exactly what you said when your family took me in."
Her face went pale.
I leaned forward.
"You said: 'Don't worry, we'll take care of everything your mom left behind.' And you did. You took the trust documents. The research files. Everything."
"That was Dad, not me—"
"And three years ago, when Dominic needed a contract wife for the merger? You volunteered me. You knew exactly what you were doing."
Her jaw tightened. The mask was cracking.
"You should be grateful. I gave you a good life—"
"You gave me a cage." My voice was quiet. Steady. "You kept me isolated. You made sure I had no friends, no connections, no memory of who I was. You fed Dominic lies about me so he'd never respect me enough to actually look."
Vivian's eyes were darting—calculating, the way they always did when she was cornered.
"What do you want, Elena? Money? A settlement? I can talk to Dom—"
"I want nothing from either of you." I stood. "I want what was already mine. And I'm taking it."
She stood too, and for the first time in my life, she looked small.
"If you destroy Ashford Industries, you destroy Dom. Is that what you want? To ruin the man you loved?"
I looked at her.
"He was never mine to ruin. You made sure of that."
Her eyes went glassy—real tears or performance, I couldn't tell. With Vivian, it was always impossible to know.
"Elena, please—"
"Goodbye, Vivian."
I had security escort her out.
That evening, I received a formal legal notice. Dominic was contesting the divorce.
The grounds: "Irreconcilable disputes regarding marital assets and joint intellectual property."
I read it twice, then called Marcus directly.
"He's stalling," Marcus admitted. "He thinks if the divorce goes through before the acquisition resolves, you'll have more legal leverage."
"I will."
"I know. That's why he's blocking it."
I smiled to myself.
"Let him block it. It won't change the timeline."
"Elena..." Marcus hesitated. "Off the record? He's not sleeping. He's not eating. He sits in his office staring at your old photos."
"That's not my problem anymore."
"I know. I just thought you should know."
I hung up.
No. I wouldn't feel guilty. Not for him. Not ever again.
The man who handed me to a surgeon's table doesn't get my sympathy in this life.
---
I was in a meeting when my assistant knocked.
"Dr. Voss, there's a woman in reception claiming to be your sister. She's... insistent."
I knew this would come. I just didn't expect it so soon.
"Give me five minutes."
I finished my meeting and walked to the lobby.
Vivian was pacing in front of the reception desk, her Hermès bag clutched like a weapon. The moment she saw me, her face cycled through three expressions—shock, rage, and something almost like fear.
"You—" She stopped. Looked around at the gleaming lobby, the staff who greeted me with deference, the nameplate on the wall that read VOSS.
"How?"
I led her to a private conference room. I didn't offer her coffee.
"Vivian. What do you want?"
She dropped into a chair and stared at me like I'd grown a second head.
"What do I—Elena, what the hell is going on? Dom is losing his mind. He called Dad last night screaming about patents and fraud and—"
"Your father stole my mother's research. You know that."
Her mouth opened. Closed.
"I was sixteen, Elena. I didn't—"
"You were twenty. I was seventeen. And I remember exactly what you said when your family took me in."
Her face went pale.
I leaned forward.
"You said: 'Don't worry, we'll take care of everything your mom left behind.' And you did. You took the trust documents. The research files. Everything."
"That was Dad, not me—"
"And three years ago, when Dominic needed a contract wife for the merger? You volunteered me. You knew exactly what you were doing."
Her jaw tightened. The mask was cracking.
"You should be grateful. I gave you a good life—"
"You gave me a cage." My voice was quiet. Steady. "You kept me isolated. You made sure I had no friends, no connections, no memory of who I was. You fed Dominic lies about me so he'd never respect me enough to actually look."
Vivian's eyes were darting—calculating, the way they always did when she was cornered.
"What do you want, Elena? Money? A settlement? I can talk to Dom—"
"I want nothing from either of you." I stood. "I want what was already mine. And I'm taking it."
She stood too, and for the first time in my life, she looked small.
"If you destroy Ashford Industries, you destroy Dom. Is that what you want? To ruin the man you loved?"
I looked at her.
"He was never mine to ruin. You made sure of that."
Her eyes went glassy—real tears or performance, I couldn't tell. With Vivian, it was always impossible to know.
"Elena, please—"
"Goodbye, Vivian."
I had security escort her out.
That evening, I received a formal legal notice. Dominic was contesting the divorce.
The grounds: "Irreconcilable disputes regarding marital assets and joint intellectual property."
I read it twice, then called Marcus directly.
"He's stalling," Marcus admitted. "He thinks if the divorce goes through before the acquisition resolves, you'll have more legal leverage."
"I will."
"I know. That's why he's blocking it."
I smiled to myself.
"Let him block it. It won't change the timeline."
"Elena..." Marcus hesitated. "Off the record? He's not sleeping. He's not eating. He sits in his office staring at your old photos."
"That's not my problem anymore."
"I know. I just thought you should know."
I hung up.
No. I wouldn't feel guilty. Not for him. Not ever again.
The man who handed me to a surgeon's table doesn't get my sympathy in this life.
---