The Spectacle of Damien’s Devotion
Elara’s POV
The video started playing on my phone screen as rain pelted against the car windows. The title read: “Heiress Accuses Fiance of Cheating with Vivienne Dubols–Damien Thorne Steps In!”
I turned up the volume slightly. The scene unfolded at what appeared to be a high–end restaurant. A woman in a designer dress was standing, pointing accusingly at Vivienne Dubois, who remained seated at a table with several others.
“I have proof!” the woman shouted, her voice shrill with emotion. “Text messages, hotel receipts–everything! You’ve been sleeping with my fiancé for months!”
Vivienne’s expression remained calm, almost bored. She sipped her champagne without acknowledging the accuser.
The camera shook as the person filming moved closer. More people gathered around, whispering and recording with their phones.
An older couple–likely the accuser’s parents–stepped forward. The father, a portly man in an expensive suit, puffed out his chest.
“Do you know who we are?” he demanded, glaring at Vivienne and then at Alistair Dubois, who sat beside her. “The Sullivan name carries weight in this city! You can’t just-
The restaurant door opened. A hush fell over the crowd.
Damien Thorne walked in, commanding attention without saying a word. His tailored suit accentuated his tall frame. His face was a mask of cold composure.
The Sullivan man faltered mid–sentence.
Damien surveyed the scene briefly before moving directly to Vivienne’s side. He placed a protective hand on her shoulder.
“Is there a problem?” His voice was quiet but carried throughout the now–silent
restaurant.
Vivienne looked up at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “Nothing worth your
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attention, darling
The accusation had stained the front of Vivienne’s cream blouse with red wine. Without hesitation, Damien removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. The gesture was both protective and possessive.
The Sullivan woman’s face paled as recognition dawned. “You’re… Damien Thorne.”
“And you’re creating a scene in a respectable establishment,” he replied coolly. “Whatever personal grievances you have should be addressed privately.”
He turned to Vivienne. “Are you ready to leave?”
She nodded, standing gracefully despite the commotion. Damien’s hand found its place at the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit.
As they passed the Sullivan parents, Damien paused. “I suggest you help your daughter find her composure. And perhaps speak with your future son–in–law about honesty in relationships.”
The couple didn’t respond, suddenly deferential in the presence of someone whose influence clearly outweighed their own.
The video followed Damien and Vivienne as they exited. Through the restaurant windows, I could see him helping her into his sleek black car before driving away.
The video ended, but comments kept scrolling beneath it:
“Damien Thorne is the definition of POWER!”
“The way he put his jacket around her… swoon!”
“Sullivan family tried to flex but shut down QUICK when they realized who they were dealing with!”
“Vivienne and Damien are GOALS. She’s a PhD, races cars professionally, AND looks.
like that??”
“They’re the perfect power couple!”
I clicked on another suggested video titled “Everything About Damien Thorne & Vivienne Dubois: The Perfect Match.”
A montage played–Damien and Vivienne at galas, business events, charity functions.
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His hand always on her waist or lower back. Her leaning into him, laughing at
something he said. Both of them looking like they belonged in a high–fashion magazine spread.
The narrator gushed: “Damien Thorne, billionaire CEO and most eligible bachelor despite his marital status, has been linked to the brilliant and beautiful Vivienne Dubois for years. Vivienne, who holds a doctorate in international relations and comes from the prestigious Dubois family, seems perfectly matched with Thorne. Sources close to the couple say Thorne’s marriage has been over for years, existing only on paper…
I closed the video, unable to watch anymore. My phone showed several missed calls from Eleanor Thorne. I swiped away the notifications.
A memory surfaced–Eleanor mentioning earlier in the week that Damien would pick me up from the hot springs retreat today. She’d been so certain, insisting he’d promised to make time.
Yet here was the evidence of where his priorities lay.
The car pulled up to my house–not the Thorne family estate where Damien and Coco. were, but the smaller home I’d purchased after moving out. The driver helped with my bag, concern evident in his eyes when he noticed my distracted state.
“Will you be alright, Mrs. Thorne?”
I nodded, tipping him generously. “Thank you for getting me home safely.”
Inside, I moved through my evening routine on autopilot. Unpacking my weekend bag. Showering. Preparing for the week ahead.
My phone rang again. Eleanor.
“Elara? Is everything alright? I expected to hear from you hours ago.”
“I’m home,” I said simply.
“Did Damien not pick you up?” Her voice held confusion.
“No, Eleanor. He didn’t.”
A pause. “Well, I’m sure something important came up.”
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“Something did,” I agreed, my voice unnaturally calm. “You might want to check the trending videos online.”
“What? What videos?”
“Goodnight, Eleanor.”
1 ended the call before she could protest further. My home felt quiet, peaceful. No pretenses to maintain. No marriage to salvage. No husband to wait for.
Moving to my bedroom, I set my alarm for tomorrow’s early meeting with Julian at YodaVision. Work would be a welcome distraction from the spectacle of Damien’s devotion to another woman.
As I slipped between cool sheets, I expected tears, anger, or jealousy to overwhelm me. Instead, a curious emptiness settled in my chest–not quite pain, not quite relief. Something between exhaustion and acceptance.
Seven years of marriage to Damien Thorne had taught me what to expect. The public adoration of his relationship with Vivienne was nothing new. The world had been watching their love story unfold for years, oblivious or indifferent to my existence in the background.
What surprised me was my own reaction. Where was the heartbreak? The burning jealousy? The desperate need to compete for his attention?
Gone, along with the naive young woman who’d once believed love could be earned through patience and sacrifice.
In its place was someone I barely recognized–a woman who could watch her husband publicly adore another woman and feel… nothing.
Was this healing or numbness? Growth or surrender?
My eyelids grew heavy as rain continued to drum against my windows. Tomorrow would bring new challenges at YodaVision, decisions about Coco’s upcoming school break, and inevitably, another encounter with the Thornes.
But tonight, in this moment of strange calm, I closed my eyes and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep–the kind that rarely came in all my years as Damien’s wife.
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