Merry Misunderstandings

Prologue “Shhh, everyone, it could be any second now. Get ready,” whispered Vivienne, her pulse racing. She stood in the dimly lit living room of their high-end New York duplex, surrounded by Hayden’s family and closest friends. The adrenaline coursing through her veins made her grip the party popper in her hand a little too tight. Four years together, and she was about to surprise her boyfriend on his milestone birthday. Thirty was special, after all. Usually, she’d still be working late alongside Hayden, but tonight she’d left the office early to plan this surprise. Both of them were focused on their careers—Vivienne climbing the ranks in public relations, Hayden making waves in corporate finance. They’d agreed to hit their professional goals before starting the family they both dreamed of. Her heart pounded as she heard the sound of a key sliding into the lock. The room fell silent, everyone poised for the perfect moment. But instead of the expected click of the door, there was a loud stumble, followed by murmuring voices. Vivienne froze, her stomach twisting into a knot. Something felt off. “f**k, that feels so good,” Hayden’s voice groaned, low and unmistakable. “I’ve been waiting to do this all day. Vi won’t be home for at least two more hours. That way, I can have you at least twice.” Vivienne’s breath hitched as the sound of sloppy kissing filled the room. The tension among the guests was palpable; no one dared move. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. “I’ll give you your birthday surprise now,” a woman purred. Peeking cautiously around the edge of the couch, Vivienne saw a shadowy figure drop to her knees in front of Hayden. The telltale sound of a zipper unfastening pierced the silence. “Surprise!” Hayden’s mother’s horrified voice rang out as she sprang to her feet, flipping the light switch on. “What the f**k, Mom?” Hayden yelped, shoving the woman off him. The scene illuminated before them was painfully clear: Hayden, pants undone, his mistress scrambling to cover herself. One by one, the guests rose awkwardly from their hiding spots. A wave of discomfort and disbelief settled over the room. Some muttered half-hearted goodbyes and slipped out the door; others stood frozen, their phones held up to record the chaos. Vivienne was the last to rise, her face a mask of fury. “How could you?” she spat, her voice trembling with rage. “Vi, baby, it’s not what you think!” Hayden stammered, holding his hands up defensively. “Not what I think?” Her gaze dropped to the incriminating evidence. “Your d**k is hanging out!” “I-I…” Hayden stammered, his eyes darting helplessly to his mother, who was now staring fixedly at the ceiling. Vivienne stalked toward him, her movements deliberate. “Vi, baby, I’m sorry, I—” His apology was cut short by her knee slamming into his groin. He crumpled to the floor with a strangled groan. “Vivienne! That was a bit harsh, don’t you think?” his mother exclaimed, but Vivienne didn’t stop to answer. She was done. A few weeks later. Vivienne drove slowly through New York, taking one last, bittersweet look at the city she’d loved so much. The coffee shop where she’d gotten her morning caffeine fix, the hair salon that always nailed her highlights—it all felt like saying goodbye to pieces of herself. She had no choice but to leave. For weeks, she’d been crashing at her friend’s apartment, dodging Hayden’s increasingly desperate attempts to win her back. From flowers to gifts, each delivery had been sent back with the messenger. She didn’t want anything to do with him. As much as she’d wanted to stay in New York and rebuild her life, the universe seemed to have other plans. The breakup was humiliating enough, but the fallout had been worse. The duplex they shared tied them together like a bad joke, and the viral video of her slapping Hayden’s mistress—a particularly dramatic moment at his birthday party—didn’t help. In the weeks that followed, job interviews turned into nightmares. “So, are you?” one interviewer had asked, leaning forward with poorly veiled curiosity. “Am I...?” Vivienne had replied, forcing a polite smile. “The girl from the video?” It turned out the internet had found her little moment of vengeance highly entertaining. Unfortunately, the CEO of her company—also known as the mistress’s father—hadn’t been as amused. Suddenly, doors that were once wide open slammed shut. Her career in New York was over before she could even try to start fresh. So, when her grandfather called—again—offering her a job back home, she finally caved. Vivienne sighed as she merged onto the highway, the towering skyline of New York shrinking in her rearview mirror. She’d spent the better part of the last week dealing with Hayden’s tantrums about their shared duplex. Technically, they owned it together, but he didn’t have the money to buy her out—and refused to sell because he wasn’t ready to let go. What a baby, she thought bitterly. Still, that wasn’t her problem anymore. Not for now, at least. She was done with New York. It was time to start a new life. Vivienne jabbed her finger on the car’s touchscreen, connecting it to her phone. Before scrolling to her carefully hand-picked “angry woman songs” playlist. The opening chords of You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette poured through the speakers, and she turned the volume up, her lips tugging into a wry smile. “I. Want. You. To . Know!” She sneered, as thoughts of Hayden and her flashed through her mind. "Did you forget about me?" she belted along with Alanis, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. It felt so liberating, singing along to every venomous word. By the second chorus, her voice was raw, and she was pounding the wheel with every syllable. For the first time in weeks, she felt... lighter. But her triumph was short-lived. The GPS dinged, snapping her out of her reverie. “Turn left onto Mill Road in 300 feet,” it instructed. Vivienne frowned. “Mill Road?” she muttered, glancing at the unfamiliar name on the display. The turnoff led her onto a narrow, bumpy lane that snaked through the woods. The further she drove, the more the road seemed like it hadn’t been maintained since the last century. “Recalculating,” the GPS announced cheerfully. Vivienne groaned. “Great. This better not lead to—” The car jolted violently, her tires spinning uselessly as the vehicle sank into what felt like quicksand. “Mud. Perfect.”