6

“Because you’re clearly not listening when I talk to you and tell you that it's not about you… you come in here, acting like—”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Olivia turned away, pacing once across the immaculate living room. Her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood. “Not about me? Seriously? All I want is for you to just show up,” she said, spinning back toward him. “That’s it. Not promises. Not five-year plans. Just… show up. Why is that so hard for you to do?”

“I do show up.”

“When it suits you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Stop saying that!” Her voice rose, cracking slightly at the edges. “This is how I feel, Jack and I'm trying to communicate it to you. You don’t get to decide what feels fair to me.”

He stared at her like she was someone he didn’t quite recognise.

“You know we've had a lot of talks, but you’ve never complained…Sounded like this before.”

He was kinda right. In the past they'd had several talks, but she'd always tried to make it more of a conversation than a full blown argument like this one. She figured he'd listen if she talked slower, calmer, just like him, but putting all her emotions in check and trying to keep it all in was clearly getting her nowhere.

“Maybe I should have.” she replied.

That silenced him. The air shifted. Something raw had surfaced. He spoke more carefully now. “Is this just about last night?”

Just? Was he fucking playing with her? “Yes. And the night before. And the week before that.”

He shook his head slowly. “You’re overreacting.”

And there it was. Something inside her snapped. “Am I?” she demanded. “Because I’m starting to wonder if I’m the only one actually in this relationship.”

His face hardened. “That’s ridiculous. What has gotten into you?”

“Screw you for asking me that,” Her voice wavered now, anger bleeding into hurt. “When was the last time you did something for me that I didn't ask for? When was the last time you cleared out time for me… No work or interference? Just me. Bet you can't remember.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

He didn’t respond. Because it was. The silence thickened, and finally, he said quietly, “What do you want from me, Liv?”

The question shouldn’t have sounded so exhausting, but it did and Olivia swallowed. “I want to feel wanted.”

The admission hung fragile between them. Jack’s expression flickered — guilt? frustration? — then settled back into composure. “You are wanted.” He said.

“Then stop making me feel optional.”

Another beat. He looked at his watch. He actually looked at his watch, and her stomach dropped.

“You have somewhere to be,” she said flatly.

“I told you, I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Of course you do.”

She grabbed her bag from the console table.

“Olivia—”

“No.” She held up a hand. “Don’t smooth this over with another promise. I don’t need reassurance. I need action, and until you can do that, stay the hell away from me.”

She moved toward the door.

“Liv, don’t storm out.”

“I’m not storming out. I’m leaving.”

She opened the door.

“Wait?” he said, tension finally creeping into his voice. “Are we going to be okay?”

She paused. Were they? “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I can’t keep feeling like this.”

And then she stepped out into the hallway, the door closing behind her with a quiet, final click.

__________

Olivia didn’t check her phone when she walked into her apartment the following day.

She dropped her handbag onto the narrow console table by the door, kicked off her heels with less grace than usual, and stood there for a moment in the dim quiet.

Silence greeted her. No missed calls. No apology text. No ‘how was work today?’ No ‘are you home safe?’

Her chest tightened. It had been almost twenty-four hours since she’d walked out of Jack’s apartment. Twenty-four hours since she’d said she couldn’t keep feeling like this. And he hadn’t called. Not once.

She swallowed against the thick ache rising in her throat and finally pulled her phone from her coat pocket. The screen lit up, hopeful and accusing all at once.

Nothing. Her stomach dipped.

Two years. Two years they'd spent together…. But It hadn’t always felt like this. Once, in the beginning, he’d surprised her with flowers at the office. Once, he’d cancelled meetings to take her away for a spontaneous weekend. Once, he’d looked at her like she was the only thing in the room. But for the past year… she couldn’t pinpoint when it shifted. Just that it had. Slowly. Quietly. Like something precious eroding without her noticing until it was too late.

She sank onto the edge of her sofa, rubbing a hand over her face. Maybe she’d overreacted. Maybe she should call him. Maybe—

No.

She’d done enough reaching out and understanding. The heaviness in her chest pressed harder. Thinking about it wasn’t helping. If anything, it was making her feel small. Disposable… And she was tired.

The kind of tired that seeped into your bones after a long day of smiling at clients and pretending your personal life wasn’t unraveling thread by thread. She needed noise. Laughter. Distraction. Before she could talk herself out of it, she scrolled to Isabella’s name and pressed call.

It rang once. “Liv!” Isabella answered, bright and immediate. “I was literally just about to call you.”

Olivia blinked, caught off guard. “Really?”

“Yes! I just hung up with Tess. I was dialing you next.”

A smile tugged at Olivia’s mouth. “That’s slightly terrifying. Are you both psychic now?”

“Please. If I were psychic, I’d have bought Bitcoin in 2012,” Isabella shot back. “Are you okay?”

Olivia hesitated. The simple question nearly undid her, “I’m… fine,” she lied, staring at the blank television screen opposite her. “Just tired.”

Isabella hummed thoughtfully — the kind of hum that said she didn’t believe that for a second. “Good. Then this is perfect timing.”

“For what?”

“For drinks. Obviously.”

Olivia’s lips twitched despite herself. “Obviously.”

“There’s this new place Tess found —” Isabella paused dramatically, “— don’t react, I know, I know — but apparently it’s actually decent. It’s called The Velvet Hour. Low lighting, strong cocktails, questionable life choices encouraged.”

That pulled a real laugh out of her. “Questionable life choices?” Olivia echoed.

“Exactly what we need. Tess is in. You in?”

Olivia leaned back into the cushions and stared at the ceiling. A bar. Music. Her girls. No thoughts. No Jack. No almost-kisses in pink bathrooms or kitchens. Just noise.