Rewrite The Stars 1 Chapter 1: Vivian

She could still hear their judgments. It wasn't proper. It wasn't ladylike for her to be slaving away in the kitchen alongside working cla.s.s citizens. Not when her husband was making more than enough money to support them and possibly ten other families as well.

"You aren't supposed to be in the kitchen, madam." The chef stood in front her her and wrung her hands nervously. "Mr. Liu forbade you from being here."

Vivian reluctantly slid off the bar stool and trudged out of the kitchen. She heard the chef lock the door behind her, but she couldn't even summon the energy to feel indignant of being locked out in her own house.

She walked up the staircase to her room, pa.s.sing by a framed picture of her and Marcus on their wedding day. Glancing at it, she wondered when they stopped smiling like that. Where did they go wrong?

There was nothing for her to do in the house. Nothing that would numb the desolation that she felt of having a kitchen right in front of her and not even be able to use the s.h.i.+ny appliances.

Vivian felt a headache forming. She glanced outside at the sunny weather and decided to go out for a walk. Maybe that would distract her and lessen the pounding in her head.

She changed and grabbed a bag before heading back downstairs. Her hand was on the doork.n.o.b when it was pulled open from the other side.

"Where are you going?" Marcus towered in the doorway.

"For a walk." Vivian replied stiffly.

"Do you need me to go with you?" He stepped aside, making s.p.a.ce for her to leave.

She brushed past. "No. I'm sure you have other things to do."

He opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed, "Suit yourself."

Vivian slipped on her shoes and gripped her bag, the headache was getting worse. Declining the lift offer from the driver, she ambled over to the park nearby. There were many people out, enjoying the sun.

Around a food cart, a small crowd gathered. Vivian walked over, curious at what could possibly hold the attention of so many. A vendor was selling ice cream but instead of just scooping it, the ice cream was made by mixing milk and various ingredients on a cold plate before getting rolled into a cup and garnished with toppings.

The process of rolling it made the ice cream harder, since it wasn't being churned to introduce air into the ice cream, Vivian noted. It would also mean that there was flavor variability with each serving that was made. However, most people were probably hanging around to watch the ice cream be sc.r.a.ped into rolls. This was a performance as much as it was making food.

After watching for a while, Vivian left the crowd of families waiting for their ice cream and headed out of the park. She was momentarily distracted from watching the food vendor but it had just made her miss what had been taken from her.

It was evening now, the sun beginning to sink on the horizon. Vivian crossed the road distractedly, her head still throbbing. She ma.s.saged it, trying to alleviate the pain and wondering if she should get some medication.

The bright lights weren't exactly helping either. Nor were the loud noises. Why was everyone shouting? Vivian turned, irritated.

Blinding headlights.

People shouting.

Flying.

Pain.

Vivian groaned and tried to sit up. A sharp pain in her ribs made her collapse back onto the ground, the burning flare too much for her. She heard people gathering, someone calling for an ambulance. She struggled to breathe, every breath coming out in a gasp. Her vision flickered in and out of focus.

Blinking hard, she concentrated on someone above her, their mouth moving, saying something Vivian couldn't process. The last thing she remembered was seeing the sky darken and rain misting down on her.

Then darkness and silence. Freedom.