Chapter 1 Broken Promise

Viviane Bernardi Müller was a teacher who loved her job. Despite spending her days surrounded by children, she always put off having her own. Her husband insisted that they needed financial stability first.

By the time she was 27, they had bought a house and finally furnished its spacious rooms.

Her husband, Pietro, was a renowned lawyer. He rarely arrived home in time for dinner. Most nights, Viviane ate alone and went straight to bed.

On the rare nights when he arrived home early, however, she was always delighted to serve him. She was just happy to have him home. However, those nights almost always ended in arguments.

"Why can't we have children, Pietro?" she asked.

He frowned and replied rudely, "We're not ready to have children yet."

'We have savings, and we both work,' Viviane replied persistently.

"You know I want to change my car," he snapped, letting his silverware clatter against the plate. "Besides, I dipped into our savings for new suits. My boss can't stand it when his employees look shabby."

"You touched our money without asking me?"

"It's my money!" His fist slammed against the table. "I'm done. This food is disgusting!" Pietro hurled the plate to the floor.

Resigned, Viviane reached for the dustpan and broom, sweeping the mess from the kitchen tiles. She gripped the white island counter as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

The self-centered man she had married never cared to ask about her day, never gave her gifts, and never took her out to dinner.

He hadn't always been this way. In their early years, Pietro had done everything he could to please her. Sitting alone at the table, she realized she had been happier back when they lived in a small apartment, with nothing more than a fridge, a bed, and a stove.

The warmth of their relationship had cooled as Pietro climbed the corporate ladder. From a mere intern, he had risen to take part in board meetings with one of the most powerful hotel CEOs. Pietro loved to boast, always telling everyone he was the right hand of the Welsch Corporation's chief executive.

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Just before reaching the bedroom, Vivian climbed the stairs slowly, afraid another dizzy spell might send her tumbling down. She thought that sharing her news would make her husband happy, but her excitement crumbled as she peeked through the half-open door.

"Of course I will, sweetheart," he said into the phone. "I bought that piece of jewelry you wanted."

He paused, sitting on the bed, unaware his wife was listening just outside.

"Have you packed your bags yet?" His voice dropped to a murmur. "We'll spend a week in Los Angeles," he said, a spark of excitement in his tone. "Now send me those pictures of your breasts. I want you so much!"

Pain filled Vivian's emerald eyes. That was the real reason her marriage had grown so cold. She placed a hand over her belly, and just then the door swung open.

"What are you doing here?" He shouted.

"N-nothing," she stammered, struggling to steady her trembling legs. "Who were you talking to on the phone?"

"My boss," he said with a sidelong glance. "I'll be in the States next Monday. Business meeting."

"I thought you were talking to a woman."

He rose from the bed, towering over her, blocking her way. Gathering her courage, she asked,

"Was it your lover?"

"Don't change the subject! Were you eavesdropping at the door?"

Slap! His palm struck across her face. Pietro had lost control twice before but had sworn it would never happen again.

"You broke your promise!"

"You filthy whore," he snarled, yanking her by the hair.

He shoved her onto the bed, pulled the belt from his waist, and folded the leather in half.

"Please, don't!" She lifted her hands in defense. "I'm pregnant!"

"What?" The belt slipped from his grasp.

Vivian searched his impassive face, hoping for some trace of change at her revelation.

"Get rid of it!" He pointed to her belly.

"You can't do this to me. I'm carrying your child..."

"I told you a thousand times. I don't want it!"

Pietro grabbed a black blazer from the wardrobe, pulled it on, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Vivian clutched the pillow as tightly as she could and let her tears soak the flowered pillowcase.

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In the middle of the night, she felt the mattress dip. He reeked faintly of liquor. Pietro's straight black hair, falling across his forehead, was damp.

He crushed his mouth against hers, biting and sucking at her lips. Staring up at the ceiling, Viviane barely had the strength to resist the muscular man pressing her down into the bed. She kicked and pushed against his back, but her head spun when Pietro struck her jaw. Her vision blurred until all she could register was the weight of him moving roughly over her, thrusting without even undressing. His hips drove harder, deeper.

"Please, stop!" Vivian's frail voice broke. "You're hurting me!" She gripped his arms.

"Shut up, you frigid bitch!"

He clamped his palm over her mouth, stifling her sobs. Planting his feet against the mattress, he forced his hips faster, harder.

She thrashed beneath him, gasping for air as his hands closed around her throat. Vivian clawed at his arms; he only grunted, driving deeper before pulling back. Tears streamed down her temples. She was in pain when he finally groaned and let go of her neck.

Viviane coughed, too weak to move.

"Did you like that, baby?" Pietro panted, still hovering over her.

"Get off me," she whispered, struggling for breath.

"One of these days, I'll snap that little neck of yours." He rolled to her side with a huff. "You'd better get rid of that baby." Turning his back, he pulled the sheet over himself.

Viviane pressed her hand against her belly. She waited until Pietro's breathing grew heavy before deciding to escape. She was fifteen weeks pregnant the night her husband raped her.

In the bathroom, she saw the faintest trace of blood. She didn't think twice. She packed a bag, called a taxi, and went straight to the hospital where she had her prenatal care.

By some luck, she made it in time. After being treated, she lay stretched out on the hospital bed, stroking her stomach. She watched the IV drip, drop by drop, sliding through the tube into her vein, until her eyelids grew heavy.

"Daughter," a gentle voice whispered. "Wake up."

"What are you doing here, Mom?" she asked sleepily.

"Your husband's away on business. He asked me to look after you."

Relieved, Vivian opened her eyes, blinking against the halogen light. Without Pietro around, she could finally breathe.

A few days later, discharged from the hospital, she returned to the house in Alphaville. As she stepped out of the car, her mother's voice followed her, calm but insistent, urging her to wait until Pietro came back before making any rash decisions.

"I can't, Mom!"

She climbed the stairs and went straight to the bedroom upstairs. "He has a mistress."

"Oh, darling, that's not the end of the world," her mother said gently.

The older woman, with gray streaks in her hair and lines etched deep into her face, followed her daughter, trying to soothe her.

"Your father had mistresses too. It didn't destroy our marriage."

"I can't live with that!"

Resolute, Vivian opened the black suitcase already waiting on the bed. She was determined to start over. Life would be easier if Pietro didn't know where to find her.

Otávia insisted she was making a terrible mistake. Vivian promised that once she was settled, she would let her mother know. With a knot in her throat, she left behind everything she had built over the last few years.

After nearly six hours of driving, she checked into a hotel and ordered dinner at the restaurant downstairs. On the road, she had already tossed her old phone and bought a new one.

Viviane stared down at her plate of chicken, rice, and vegetables, her hand resting protectively over her belly. She scanned the restaurant, quietly observing.

Her gaze stopped on a well-dressed man arguing with the waiter. His accent was heavy, his voice sharp.

"Why are you staring at me?" His hard eyes pinned her, startling her. "Why are you looking at me?" he repeated in Portuguese, harsher still.

Vivian shook her head quickly and lowered her eyes back to her plate. She had enough trouble and wasn't about to invite more.

"My apologies for the mistake, Mr. Welsch," the manager said softly. "The waiter is new and mixed up the orders."

"Then you should hire competent staff."

"Yes, sir."

Half an hour later, as she finished her dessert, the waiter cleared his throat and set a single red flower on the table, along with a card that read, 'Forgive me!' On the back was a phone number and the name, Gabe.

She knew the type all too well. Pietro always did the same after treating her badly. Her heart had no room left for rough men who didn't know how to love.

Viviane paid with her credit card, then tossed the flower and the stranger's card into the trash before leaving the restaurant.