My CEO Ex: Let Me Go.-Chapter 51

I made the payment through PayPal, then opened my call log. There were dozens of missed calls from Alexander and several WhatsApp messages from Vivienne.

The first message read:

Vivienne, where are you? I’ll come pick you up.

The second:

I can explain the news.

The third:

I’m sorry.

Seeing those three words, Vivienne couldn’t help but smile.

Sorry.

Again, sorry.

It was always the same with him.

He would hurt me, yet somehow, he’d still manage to make me say, “I’m sorry.”

The fourth message, sent some time after the first three, read:

Vivienne, the interview at the hospital entrance was edited maliciously. I’ve already had it suppressed. Where are you? I’ll come pick you up. Call me when you see this message.

I opened Twitter and searched for topics about me. Sure enough, I found news related to me, posted just recently by a few clickbait accounts.

The media had titled it: CEO Alexander Hawthorne’s affair partner Vivienne Sinclair responds to latest scandal.

What had I responded to?

Nothing.

The clickbait accounts and media outlets had twisted my silence into something it wasn’t—portraying it as guilt, as if I was too scared to confront the situation directly. The comments were full of criticisms, tearing apart not only my character but my appearance too.

"Just a random passerby. Doesn’t understand what men are thinking these days. Isabella is so beautiful, but he still went for a mistress. This woman isn’t even close to Isabella’s level."

"It’s not about looks when men cheat; it’s all about how ‘fresh’ the new woman is."

"Money is great when it’s yours, but a wife? Better if she’s someone else’s."

At the same time, a series of beauty-focused montage videos of Vivienne started popping up on major video platforms.

The most viewed one had the title: CEO Alexander Hawthorne’s Affair Partner vs. CEO Alexander Hawthorne’s Wife.

There were countless similar videos flooding the internet, all riding the wave of attention.

But let’s put that aside for now.

There was another trending topic: a post from Vanguard Global Enterprises’ official Twitter.

I clicked on it and saw a picture. On Vanguard Global Enterprises’ official page, someone had shared a post from a clickbait account accusing me of being the mistress.

But now, when I checked Vanguard Global Enterprises’ Twitter again, the post had been deleted.

Yet, the speculation remained.

Netizens were discussing how this must have been a confirmation—perhaps even Vanguard’s own staff couldn’t stand it and secretly defended Isabella.

I knew that the operation of the official Twitter and other media accounts for Vanguard Global Enterprises was handled by their PR department.

I skimmed through the rest of the news and was about to power off my phone when Alexander’s call came in.

Without hesitation, I rejected the call and turned off my phone in one smooth motion.

I put the phone in my bag and headed to a café to order an iced coffee. I sat at a high stool, eating a burger and sipping my iced coffee.

At some point, a young guy sat next to me. He was holding a cup of cola, biting on the straw, and glancing at me a few times before gathering the courage to ask,

“Excuse me, would you like to follow each other on Twitter?”

I blinked in surprise, then smiled faintly and shook my head.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The boy’s ears turned pink as he hurriedly added.

I finished my burger and coffee, sat for a while longer in the café, then got up and left.

I walked slowly down the sidewalk, unsure how much time had passed. When I saw an advertisement across the street, an impulse struck me. I crossed over and walked inside, heading straight for the basement floor.

The basement floor was a bar.

It wasn’t crowded, and the lighting was bright.

A smoky-voiced woman was singing R&B on stage.

I sat at the bar, and the bartender came over.

“Hi, miss. What can I get you?”

Just as I was about to speak, I suddenly remembered I was pregnant and couldn’t drink. I hesitated for a moment and said,

“A cola, please.”

The bartender gave me a look as if to say, Are you joking? but still handed me the cola.

“Here you go, miss. Enjoy.”

“Thank you.”

I took the drink and found a booth in the corner, sitting down and looking at the singer on stage. My thoughts drifted elsewhere.

“You accompanied me into the cicada-summer, crossing over the noise of the city. The song still lingers, as do your eyes, like pomegranate flowers. I can no longer see your tenderness, nor hear the laughter among the flowers. Time cannot be paused, and I wait like drifting clouds. I really miss you, during every rainy season. What you chose to forget is what I can’t bear to lose. The paper is too short, the feelings too long, too many ripples left unsaid. My story has always been about you. How could I fall for him, and decide to go home with him? Giving up everything, my everything, without a second thought. The paper is too short, the feelings too long, to recount the youth we once had. My story... still about you...”

The singer’s voice wasn’t extraordinary, and her pitch was only average. Perhaps because there weren’t many guests, her singing sounded a little lazy.

Yet, it still made my eyes sting and my heart ache.

After holding my emotions in all day, they suddenly exploded in this moment.

For ten years, I’ve been a bystander, watching as Alexander went from an innocent college student to the CEO of Vanguard Global Enterprises.

He was my goal, a light in the darkness, the only story of my ten years.

I crawled out from the darkness, covered in mud, giving everything I had to rush toward him.

For three years of marriage, I dedicated myself wholeheartedly, exhausting all my passion.

He too tried his best to be a good husband.

But the fake can never be real.

Time cannot stand still, and he had already gone in search of the one he truly loved. Only I, foolishly, remained in the same spot, hoping he’d look back.

In his heart, I was never his wife—just a mistress, a secret existence.

For three years, he met with Isabella every year, but never once told her he was married.

As Isabella once said, in a relationship, the one who is unloved is the mistress.

I was the mistress standing between Alexander and Isabella.

How sweet everything seemed just a few days ago, and now, how much it hurts in my heart.

All the kindness he showed me... it was just an act, all for his own purpose.

Now I finally understand.

I will never trust him again.

“Vivienne? Is it really you? I can’t believe I ran into you here!”

A familiar voice called out beside me, and I turned to see a man with only his eyes visible, sitting across from me.

I immediately recognized him. It was Julian. I tucked away my emotions and smiled faintly. “Julian, what’s going on? How is it that I keep running into you wherever I go lately?”

Julian pulled his mask down slightly. “I had lunch today with the folks from the production company at a nearby restaurant.”

He gestured toward the clubhouse upstairs, tilting his head as he looked at me. “I thought you might be in a bad mood and come to the bar, so I decided to take a chance. I can’t believe I actually found you here. I sent you a WhatsApp message, but you didn’t reply.”

“Sorry, my phone was off.”

“Here to get some peace and quiet?”

Though it was a question, his tone was certain.

I bit my lip, not denying it, and took a sip of my cola.

“You don’t need to let those online rumors get to you. I can’t stand those unscrupulous reporters and media outlets. They love to stir up trouble for clicks, making up any nonsense just to get attention.”

Julian had seen the news from today and assumed I might be upset about it, so he tried to comfort me.

“When I first entered the entertainment industry, I also cared a lot about what people said online. But over time, I realized they’re just a tiny part of my life. They’re strangers I’ve never met, who’ll never truly understand me. Instead, they judge me based on a few words from the media. Why should I care about them? My life is way more interesting than theirs. Once the hype dies down, how many of them will even remember this?”

I nodded and smiled. “You’re right.”

But the truth is, what I cared about was never what was being said online. It was always Alexander’s actions that mattered to me.