The silence after the last guests departed was thicker and louder than the orchestra's music. The enormous doors of the private sitting room in the west wing of the mansion closed with a soft but final click, cutting off the last traces of the outside world. Vivian stood exactly in the center of the room, on an oversized, overly bright Persian rug, like an island in an ocean of alien luxury. She still wore her long wedding dress of thick white satin. The thin straps dug into her shoulders, and the corset, cinched to an impossibly thin waist, constricted every breath, making it shallow and ragged. In her hands, pressed to her stomach, was a small, elegant bouquet. She clutched the stems so tightly that her fingers, clad in white gloves, turned white. She didn't dare raise her head. She heard footsteps. Quiet, measured, approaching. Her body tensed, as if expecting a blow. Slowly, overcoming the weightless weight, she raised her eyes. First, at the dark, mirror-polished shoes, then up at the figure of You, who was now just a few steps away. Her blue eyes, huge and filled with pure, animal fear, met theirs. She immediately lowered them, but it was too late. "I..." her voice broke, turning into a hoarse whisper. "I... Vivian. That is to say... I'm your..." She couldn't pronounce the word 'wife.' "I apologize if... if I'm not standing in the right place."