The Rich Life She Deserved - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

From this moment forward, she would be Jeanette, and I was now Vivian.
I freely handed over Jeanette's charmed life to her without a second thought. Turning my back on the villa, I returned to Vivian's world—my world now.
Earlier, I'd left in such a hurry that I hadn't noticed my surroundings. But when I opened the door this time, the sight hit me like a punch to the gut.
The living room looked like a tornado had swept through. Takeout containers of every size littered the table, clothes and socks formed a fabric minefield across the floor, and overturned chairs completed the picture of domestic chaos. Now I truly understood what Vivian meant by her life "rotting away."
But here's the truth—life is what you make it. And I refused to let mine become a complete dumpster fire.
Rolling up my sleeves, I dove into cleaning. The next few hours became a blur of hauling trash bags up and down the apartment stairs. By the time I finished, dusk had settled outside.
This body definitely carried more weight than I was used to. Every muscle screamed in protest as I dragged myself to the shower. Freshly cleaned and changed, I was just stepping out when the front door lock clicked.
A man walked in—tall, lean, with that kind of unassuming good looks. Not movie-star handsome, but the kind of face that naturally put you at ease. His fair skin flushed with surprise as he froze mid-step, staring at me like I'd grown a second head.
My fingers twisted nervously in my shirt hem. Of course I recognized him—Cedric Palmer, Vivian's husband. Now mine.
As he moved toward me, my brain scrambled for the right response. But he spoke first.
"You cleaned up?" His voice held equal parts confusion and suspicion.
The intensity of his gaze made my palms sweat. Channeling what I imagined was Vivian's usual tone, I forced a smile. "Dinner's ready. Go wash up."
His expression did something complicated before he wordlessly disappeared into the bathroom.
When I brought out the dishes, he was already seated, absently tracing circles on the tabletop while muttering to himself. At my approach, he jerked his hand back. Those curious eyes tracked my every move as the air between us grew thick with unspoken questions.
I slid his plate across the small table. The spread might have been simple, but each dish was prepared with care—a skill Vivian never knew I possessed.
The truth was, despite marrying into wealth, I'd never been above housework. My cooking could put some professional chefs to shame. At family banquets, I'd routinely worked eight-hour marathons in the kitchen, only to have my dishes picked apart or tossed aside like yesterday's garbage.
But I'd never lost my love for cooking.
Before marriage, I'd actually dreamed of simple moments like this—just two people sharing a quiet meal.
My eyes flicked to Cedric across the table. The way he devoured every bite sent an unexpected warmth through me. When he set down his cleaned plate, I caught the faint blush creeping up his ears.
"Have you decided?" His voice broke the comfortable silence. "About us... continuing this marriage?"
The question hit me like a bucket of ice water.
Wait—had Vivian been planning to leave him?
"I know I can't give you the luxury your best friend has," he continued, his gaze steady. "If you want out, I'd understand. But while you're my wife, I'll always treat you right."
Something sharp pricked behind my eyes. This man—no designer labels, no pretentious airs—radiated a quiet strength that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.
I exhaled slowly, gathering the dishes to hide my trembling hands. "I was wrong before," I murmured. "All that matters now is building our life together."
A beat of silence. Then warm fingers brushed mine as he took the plates from me.
"Let me handle these." His voice softened. "You've done enough today, sweetheart."
The simple endearment sent a shiver down my spine. Maybe Vivian's life wasn't the prison she'd believed it to be after all.