She smirked as she lazily stretched, the silk sheets barely covering her body. “Took you long enough.”
I froze in the doorway. And then… Marco walked out of the bathroom, buttoning his shirt.
My breath caught. He wasn’t even surprised to see me. If anything, he looked amused.
“Like what you see?” he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “You bastard.”
Selena laughed. “Oh, Olivia, don’t look so heartbroken. Did you really think you were his one and only?”
I ignored her and glared at Marco. “You humiliated me. You accused me of having an affair while you were screwing your mistress in our bed?”
His lips curled into a smirk. “I just sped up the inevitable.”
I shook my head, voice trembling. “How could you do this? After everything we—”
Marco cut me off, his expression turning cold. “You were never meant to be my wife in the first place.”
The words sliced through me like a blade. I felt my body sway.
Selena giggled and held out her hand, admiring my wedding ring on her finger. “I think it suits me better, don’t you?”
I clenched my fists. I wanted to slap that smug look off her face. I wanted to scream, to break something—to break him.
But instead, I took a slow, shaky breath. Then, I walked to the desk, grabbed the divorce papers, and signed my name without hesitation.
I gave them one last look before turning on my heel. I wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
-
For the next three days, I kept a low profile. No one knew where I was, not even my mother. I needed time—to think, to grieve, to gather my strength.
The cemetery was quiet. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the marble tombstones. I knelt in front of Celeste’s grave, my fingers tracing her name on the cold stone.
"Hey, baby," I whispered. "Mommy’s here."
The wind blew gently, rustling the leaves around me. I closed my eyes, feeling the ache in my chest grow.
"I miss you so much," I choked out. "I still wake up expecting to hear your little footsteps running down the hall. I still think I’ll turn around and see your smile."
Tears spilled down my cheeks, dripping onto the ground. "I should have protected you," I whispered. "I should have been there. But I promise, Celeste... I won’t let them get away with this."
I wiped my tears, my voice firm. "I’ll find the truth. No matter what it takes. But for now, I need to leave you for a while. But promise, I'll be back…”
For a long time, I sat there in silence, letting my grief wash over me when my phone rang.
Damian.
I exhaled and answered. "Yeah?"
"You still wanna leave the city?" His voice was steady, no nonsense. He wasn’t asking because he doubted me—he was asking because he was making it happen.
I clenched my jaw. "Yes."
"Good," he said. "I booked another flight. Marco thinks he’s got you cornered, but he’s wrong. This isn’t running. This is you taking your life back."
Damn right.
The airport was alive with noise—announcements echoing, people moving, the hum of conversations blending into one. But I didn’t hear any of it. I walked with my head high, using my real name, my real passport. No more fake IDs, no more disguises. Marco had taken those, thinking he could control me.
Let him think that. Because the truth was, I wasn’t sneaking away like some shameful secret. I was leaving as Olivia Carter—wronged, betrayed, but undefeated.
And just as I settled into my seat, just as the final boarding call rang through the speakers, my phone vibrated. Marco.
I stared at the screen for a second before answering. "What do you want?"
"Where the fuck are you?" His voice was sharp, demanding.
I smirked. "We’re divorced, Marco. Why do you care?"
"Olivia, don’t play games with me."
I chuckled. "Games? That’s rich, coming from you." I leaned back in my seat, crossing my legs. "If you must know, I’m with my man, Damian. Isn’t that nice?"
Silence. Then, a low, dangerous growl. "You think this is funny?"
"I think it’s hilarious," I shot back. "The great Marco DeLuca, losing control. Must be a first for you, huh?"
"Get off that fucking plane."
"Make me."
"Grandfather is awake," he snapped. "He’s asking for you."
I scoffed. "And that’s supposed to make me care?"
"He stood by you," Marco pushed, his voice tight. "You owe him that much."
I let out a slow breath. "I don’t owe you a goddamn thing, Marco." Then, after a pause, I added, "And for the record?" My voice dropped to a whisper, sharp as a blade.
"I know." Silence. I smiled, slow and cold. "I know your mistress killed my daughter that day." I could hear his breath hitch. "And I know you covered it up."
"Olivia—"
I hung up.
The phone buzzed again. And again. Desperate. Panicked. I turned it off. And as the plane took off, I closed my eyes and exhaled.
Let him panic. Let him drown in his own lies. Because this? This was just the beginning.
