THE STERLING INHERITANCE

**POV: Vivienne**

His question hung in the air, sharp and accusatory. *Why are you here, Vivienne?*

I stared at the legal pad in front of me, at my careful handwriting listing questions I'd prepared over the weekend. None of them seemed relevant anymore.

"I'm here because it's my job," I said finally, forcing my voice steady. "You requested counsel. My firm assigned me the case."

"Your firm didn't assign you anything." Dominic leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "I specifically asked for you. By name."

My head snapped up. "What?"

"When I contacted Hartwell and Associates, I requested Vivienne Ashford. Senior partner. Corporate law specialist. The best they had." His eyes were unreadable. "I knew exactly who I was calling."

The room tilted slightly. "You... you knew? This whole time?"

"I knew Vivienne Ashford worked at the firm. I didn't know if you'd remember Dominic Santos. Clearly, you didn't." Something bitter crossed his face. "Or you would have declined."

"I would have-" I stopped. Would I have? "Why would you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Request me. After everything. After I-" Left you. Broke your heart. Chose my career over us.

"After ten years?" He stood, moving to the windows with his hands in his pockets. "Maybe I wanted to see what became of Vivienne Monroe. Or maybe I needed the best lawyer in Seattle, and personal history doesn't change professional competence."

The formal words felt like armor between us, professional distance reimposed after those loaded questions.

"We should discuss your case," I managed.

"We should."

But neither of us moved to continue. The silence stretched, heavy with everything unsaid.

A knock at the door broke the tension. Katherine entered with a tablet. "Mr. Cross, I'm sorry to interrupt, but you have the Morrison call in ten minutes."

"Postpone it."

"It's the fourth reschedule-"

"Then make it a fifth." His tone allowed no argument. "Ms. Ashford and I need more time."

Katherine's gaze flickered between us, curiosity barely concealed, before she nodded and left.

"You've built something impressive," I said, gesturing vaguely at the office, the view, everything he'd become. "Harrison Sterling's protégé. Forbes 400. This entire building."

"Yes. I did." He turned from the window. "After you left."

The accusation was quiet but devastating.

"Dominic-"

"Let's keep this professional, Ms. Ashford. You wanted to discuss my case." He moved back to the table, pulled out a leather folder. "My mentor died six months ago. Left his entire estate-three billion dollars-with a marriage condition. Six months to find a wife or lose everything."

The abrupt shift to business left me reeling, but I grabbed onto it like a lifeline. This I could handle. Legal problems. Corporate structures. Not the mess of our history.

"That's highly unusual," I said, pulling out my pen. "Testamentary conditions regarding marriage are rarely-"

"I'm not interested in challenging it."

"Then what do you need?"

"I need to understand my options. Can I satisfy the terms? What constitutes a valid marriage under the will? What happens if I choose to walk away?" He slid the folder toward me. "The full will is there. I need answers by Thursday."

"Thursday? That's three days-"

"Three days. Yes." His jaw tightened. "I don't have time for your usual billable hour padding, Vivienne. I need real counsel, quickly. If you can't provide that, tell me now."

The challenge was clear. Prove you're the lawyer I hired, not the woman I used to know.

I opened the folder, scanning the first page of the will. The language was dense, specific, clearly drafted by someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

"This is complex," I said. "I'll need time to review thoroughly, research precedents, consult with estate specialists-"

"You have seventy-two hours."

"That's not reasonable-"

"Neither is being forced to marry within six months." His voice was sharp now, control slipping. "Nothing about this situation is reasonable, Vivienne. But it's what I'm dealing with. So can you help me or not?"

I met his eyes, saw the frustration there, the genuine need beneath the anger. This wasn't about us. This was about a man trapped by his mentor's final manipulation, looking for a way out.

"I can help you," I said quietly. "I'll have a preliminary analysis by Thursday morning."

"Good." He stood, signaling the meeting was over. "Katherine will give you access to all relevant documents. If you have questions, email her. She'll coordinate."

Not him. He was making that clear. This would be handled through intermediaries, professional distance maintained.

I gathered my materials, shoving papers into my briefcase with hands that still trembled slightly. I needed to leave, needed air, needed to process that the universe had just thrown my biggest regret directly into my path.

At the door, I paused. Turned back.

He was at the windows again, that seemed to be his default position. Looking out at the city he'd conquered, the empire he'd built from nothing.

The empire he'd built after I left.

"Everyone else has left," I said softly. "Katherine is gone. The door is closed. It's just us."

His shoulders tensed but he didn't turn around.

"Do you hate me?" The question came out smaller than I intended. Vulnerable. Nothing like the senior partner I'd spent ten years becoming.

The silence stretched so long I thought he wouldn't answer.

Then, quietly: "I did."

The words hit like a physical blow.

"For years," he continued, still not facing me. "I hated you for leaving. Hated you for choosing a job over us. Hated you for making it look so easy."

"It wasn't easy."

"It looked easy from where I stood." Finally, he turned. His face was carefully neutral, but his eyes betrayed something raw underneath. "You walked away and never looked back. Changed your name back to Ashford like Vivienne Monroe had been a costume you tried on and discarded. I was erased. We were erased."

"That's not-" I stopped. Because it was true, wasn't it? I'd chosen the clean break. The practical solution. Just like I always did.

"I rebuilt myself," Dominic said. "Became someone new. Someone who wouldn't make the mistake of loving someone more than they loved me. Someone who understood that success was the only thing that didn't leave."

The pain in his voice was so familiar it made my chest ache. Because I'd done the same thing. Built armor. Chosen achievement over vulnerability. Convinced myself that being alone was better than being left.

"So yes, Vivienne. I hated you." He moved closer, and I could see the decade between us written in the lines around his eyes, the hardness in his jaw. "I hated you with everything I had."

"And now?"

The question hung between us, dangerous and necessary.

"Now?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I don't know what I feel."

The honesty of it-the admission that he was as lost as I was-somehow hurt more than the hatred.

"I made a choice ten years ago," I said slowly. "I chose my career. My future. Security over risk. And I've spent every day since wondering if I chose wrong."

His eyes searched my face. "Did you?"

"I don't know." The admission cost me. "I became exactly what I planned to become. Successful. Respected. Everything I thought I wanted." I swallowed hard. "But I'm not happy, Dominic. I haven't been happy in a very long time."

"That's not my problem to fix."

"I know." I blinked back tears that I had no right to shed. "I know it's not. I just... I needed you to know that walking away from you wasn't easy. It wasn't painless. And I've regretted it every single day."

"Don't." The word was harsh. "Don't tell me that. Don't make me the villain for moving on when you're the one who left."

"I'm not trying to make you anything. I'm just being honest."

"Ten years too late."

The words landed with finality. Case closed. Discussion over.

I nodded, gripping my briefcase so tightly my knuckles went white. "I'll have your analysis by Thursday."

"Thank you."

So formal. So distant. Like we were strangers who'd never shared that cramped apartment, never built dreams together at three in the morning, never promised forever.

I walked to the door, hand on the handle, before his voice stopped me one more time.

"Vivienne."

I looked back.

His expression was carefully blank, but something flickered in his eyes. Something that might have been regret or longing or just exhaustion.

"I don't hate you anymore," he said quietly. "But I don't know if that's better or worse."

Then he turned back to the windows, dismissing me.