C13 On her blind side

Vivian stepped out of the bathroom, a soft white towel wrapped snugly around her glistening skin, the scent of lavender shampoo lingering in the air like a delicate whisper. Her wet hair clung to her shoulders in gentle waves, giving her the ethereal, almost innocent look of someone just stirred from a dream.

Yet that innocence was fleeting. The moment her eyes landed on Victor…fully dressed, groomed, and reaching for his wristwatch…her expression shifted. Her brows knitted slightly, lips parting with a subtle tension she couldn’t quite suppress.

“What’s up with you this morning?” she asked, tilting her head, eyes narrowing as they scanned him from head to toe.

Victor looked up, momentarily startled, as if caught in an unguarded moment. He quickly masked it with his usual calm, charming composure.

Vivian’s voice was measured, calm, yet her mind raced. She hadn’t noticed when he’d left the bed. She had woken up, stretched, and reached for him, only to find the sheets cold and empty.

And now, there he was, dressed in a designer outfit from one of the most exclusive brands in the country. She recognized the fabrics, the stitching, the subtle elegance…it wasn’t something he usually wore casually.

She recalled window-shopping similar clothes for him once, years ago, never buying them. And now he was wearing them. Her stomach tightened.

“Where are you going this early? It’s not even seven yet,” she said, folding her arms. “And dressed like this?”

She tried to sound casual, but suspicion laced her words. Her pulse quickened. Her mind flitted to her bank accounts, to the money he had access to…something she hadn’t checked in a while. A sudden chill passed over her. Was he spending her money without telling her?

Her lips parted, ready to ask the question outright, but she stopped. No, that would spark an argument. Victor had a way of turning things around, making her feel paranoid for merely seeking clarity. She exhaled slowly, shaking her head as if to clear the intrusive thoughts.

“Where are you going?” she repeated, softer this time. “You didn’t even tell me you had plans today.”

Victor flashed a grin…the practiced, disarming smile he often wore when trying to quell any unease she might feel.

“Owwwww, baby,” he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead and cupping her cheeks. “I know you care about me, and I love that. But I’m a grown man, remember?”

His voice was smooth, deliberate, reassuring. He met her gaze with an intensity meant to convey honesty. He searched for any flicker of doubt. All he saw was love, blind and loyal, and it made him both relieved and wary.

“I’m just going out with Elvis,” he added, casual, yet precise. “Might not be back tonight… we got…”

“Wait,” Vivian interrupted sharply, eyes narrowing. “But you told me yesterday that Elvis left for Italy. Something about his grandfather’s birthday, remember?”

Victor froze, the lie catching in his throat.

His smile faltered, just for a heartbeat, but she noticed.

His feet felt suddenly heavy, like he’d stepped into cement. Think fast, his mind screamed.

“Oh, come on, babe. I don’t have only one Elvis in my life,” he said with a forced laugh. “This is another Elvis… my childhood friend. You’ve never met him.”

He pulled her into a hug, hoping that physical closeness would suppress her rising doubts. Vivian nodded slowly, but her mind was restless, uneasy. Her gut churned. She wanted to trust him.

She needed to. But the signs were all there: secretive calls, unexplained absences, unfamiliar colognes, the supposed “allergic reactions” responsible for suspicious marks on his neck… all pieces of a puzzle that refused to form a coherent picture.

Still, she inhaled deeply, holding onto the thread of trust she had woven over years.

“I have something to tell you,” she said suddenly, attempting to anchor the conversation. “It’s important. I won’t take much of your time.”

Victor glanced at his watch, the slightest impatience flickering across his face. “Okay, babe,” he replied smoothly. “Please be quick.”

At that moment, his phone lit up with a message. Bianca. Vivian didn’t notice. Her focus was entirely on her words.

“I think this apartment is too expensive. Three thousand dollars a month is insane. I mean, it’s beautiful here, sure, but… it’s not worth it. I think we should start looking for a place we can call our own. Maybe buy a house… somewhere cozy and peaceful.”

Victor nodded, his movements fluid, his agreement effortless. “Baby, I really understand you. I’ve been thinking the same. Trust me… I’m working on it already.”

He hugged her again, lingering slightly, letting the warmth of the moment disarm her fully. She smiled, relieved, allowing herself a fraction of peace.

“Okay, baby,” she said, softening further.

Victor grabbed his keys. “Now I really have to go.”

She followed him to the window, watching him descend the building with that effortless elegance he always exuded. He slid into the Range Rover she had gifted him back in university, exuding an air of confidence that was simultaneously captivating and disturbing. He drove off, leaving her alone in the quiet of the apartment.

Vivian sighed. Her hair had dried completely, yet she hadn’t moved from her spot. Time had slipped through her fingers. Shaking her head, she finally turned and walked toward the walk-in closet, thoughts swirling with unease.

⸻

Meanwhile, across the city, Cecilia stood in her office, surrounded by the soft scent of vanilla candles and freshly pressed fabrics. She carefully packaged clothes, cosmetics, and a few custom accessories from her brand into a sleek gift box, fingers trembling slightly with emotion.

This was supposed to be a celebration. Her dream had finally taken flight…her fashion and beauty line officially launched. Vivian, her best friend, had been her unwavering cheerleader, standing by her through every late night and every setback. But now… silence. Distance. All because of Victor.

The weight of it pressed down on her chest, heavy and unrelenting.

She tucked the final item into the box: a small audio recorder. She had recorded a personal message for Vivian earlier that morning, hoping it would reach her, hoping it could penetrate the wall of isolation Victor had built around her friend.

Sealing the box, she added the shipping label to Victor’s apartment…the only address she had… and handed it to the delivery man. As he walked away, a tear slipped down her cheek. Her chest ached at the thought of all Vivian had lost: her voice, her independence, the bond with her parents, and most painfully, the unshakable friendship between them. Everything slowly poisoned, subtly and methodically, by a man who only took and never gave.

⸻

Victor arrived at Bianca’s apartment nearly an hour late. Yet the moment he stepped inside, his mood shifted.

Soft jazz floated through the dimly lit hallway. Rose petals were scattered subtly along the floor, and delicate lighting cast warm glows across the room. A trail of note cards had been laid out in a deliberate path.

He smirked. “Bianca, where are you? What’s with all the theatrics?”

The first card read: A.

The second: NEW.

The third: LIFE.

He chuckled, slightly confused, slightly amused. “A new life? Bianca, what is this? Are you proposing we start over or something?”

As he approached the bedroom, another card greeted him at the door: DADDY.

His smirk widened into a grin. “Oh, hell no. Bianca, are we being freaky tonight? Yes… call me Daddy.”

He pushed open the door, and there she was—Bianca, glowing like a goddess bathed in soft lighting, holding a small, delicately wrapped gift. Her skin shimmered, her eyes sparkled with excitement, nerves, and something deeper that made his grin falter.

“Bianca, my love,” he said, pulling her in for a quick kiss before taking the gift. He plopped onto the edge of the bed and began unwrapping.

The first item: tiny baby shoes.

He blinked, uncertain.

The second: a delicate baby dress.

He forced a laugh, uneasy. “Bianca, you’re really doing too much. What am I supposed to do with baby stuff?”

She said nothing, only smiled, a subtle curl of lips that was at once knowing and terrifying.

He reached for the last item, wrapped in delicate pink paper. He thought: Ah, here comes her game…

He peeled it open slowly.

Inside: a pregnancy test kit. Positive.

Alongside it, an ultrasound photo.

His hand trembled. He looked up at her, the smile wiped clean from his face, replaced by a sudden, cold panic.

In the quietest voice he could manage, he asked, barely above a whisper: “Are you… pregnant?”