CHAPTER 3 - SIGNED

OLIVIA

Cold.

That was the first thing Olivia felt as her eyes slowly peeled open. It seeped through her thin pajamas and bit into her skin. She looked up, expecting to see the cracked ceiling of her cheap motel room. Instead, they met a gray sky and the heavy branches of a tree swaying in the wind.

She sat up with a gasp, her heart pounding, and pressed her palms to the surface beneath her.

"What?" she breathed, her eyes going wide and digging her nails into the wood beneath her.

The last thing she remembered was crawling into the stiff sheets of her bed after the disastrous interview with Abel Lamb. She had cried herself to sleep, clutching the contract she hadn't signed. And now she was lying on a bench three blocks away from her motel with no memory of how she got there.

She was sleepwalking again. She was quite relieved she hadn't wandered too far.

Olivia stood up on shaky legs. She kept her head down, ignoring the stares of strangers walking their dogs as she hurried back toward the motel with tears blurring her vision. She burst into her small, musty room and slammed the door shut, leaning against it to catch her breath.

Then she lunged for her purse on the night stand, her fingers digging frantically through the contents until they closed around a small plastic bottle. She had missed her night dose. Her interview with Abel had shaken her so badly she had completely forgotten to take it.

She tried to twist the cap off, but her hands were trembling so hard she couldn't get a good grip, and the bottle slipped from her fingers.

Olivia tried to snatch it in midair, but only managed to bat it further away till it finally hit the floor and popped the cap off. Tiny white pills scattered across the dirty carpet like marbles, rolling in every direction.

"No, no, no, no," she gasped, dropping to her knees and scrambled after them.

She reached deep into the dust bunnies under the bed, her fingers patting the floor blindly to retrieve every pill she could. 

After she had gathered the last pill and sealed the bottle with shaking hands, she sat back on her heels, exhausted. She looked around the grim room, her eyes falling on the wooden desk where the thick envelope sat.

“Five million dollars.”

There were things in Chicago that five million dollars could fix. Loans. Debts. It could give her a new start at life. Plus, she could barely afford a good meal here. She couldn't even afford to renew her motel booking for another night.

Then her mind drifted to something else. The words her grandmother had whispered to her before she left for this trip.

“You have to go, Olivia. It’s not just about the money. There is something there that you must do.”

“Something I must do,” Olivia muttered to herself.

She didn't fully understand what Nana meant. But she knew she couldn't go back to Chicago empty handed.

So she took a deep breath and walked to the desk, picked up a pen and pulled the contents from the envelope. She didn't bother to read the contract. If she read it, she might find a reason not to sign it. So she simply turned to the signature page and signed.

Olivia Delaney.

She let out a long breath that did little to calm her racing heart before she pulled out her phone and dialed the number on the back of the envelope.

It rang once.

"Lamb," Abel’s voice came through the line, deep and cold like the bottom of a well.

“I signed the papers," Olivia whispered. "I'll do it,"

There was a long silence on the other end. It stretched on for so long she thought the line had gone dead.

"Very well," Abel finally said. "Send me your location. I will have someone pick you up immediately." The line clicked off.

And sure enough, less than thirty minutes later, a sleek black Phantom pulled up to the curb of the rundown motel, the luxury car a stark contrast against the peeling paint of the building.

Olivia settled into the back seat with her only luggage being her purse. The drive to the estate was silent as she said nothing the whole way, leaning her head against the cool window and watching the city blur by. After a couple minutes of driving they pulled up to a huge estate, the iron gates groaning open with a sound that felt like a warning.

"We’re here," Abel said, pulling up to the front of the manor and killing the engine.

An old looking lady who Olivia assumed was the housekeeper stood in the doorway, the warm light from the foyer framing her stout silhouette.

"Mr. Abel!" she called out with a mix of relief and worry in her tone. "We didn't expect you back so—" She stopped.

Olivia had stepped out of the car and was standing in the pool of light, the wind whipping her brown hair across her face as she reached up to brush it away.

The housekeeper dropped the ring of keys she was holding and they hit the stone floor with a metallic crash. Behind her, a young footman turned pale. He took a sharp step back, gasping for air as if he had been punched.

"Sweet mother of God," the housekeeper's hand flew to her mouth. "Madam?"

The word hung heavy in the air.

Olivia froze. She looked from the housekeeper to the footman, shrinking under their gazes and hugging herself.

Abel stepped out of the vehicle and slammed the car door. The sound cracked like a gunshot, breaking the tight atmosphere.

"Pull yourselves together," he barked. He stormed up the steps and placed himself between Olivia and the staff, shielding her from their eyes.

"Mrs. Gable," Abel said, facing the housekeeper, his voice leaving no room for argument. "This is Olivia Delaney. Not your madam. She is my guest, and she will be staying with us for the foreseeable future."

Mrs. Gable’s lips trembled. She glanced back and forth between Abel and Olivia with wide, watery eyes.

"I know you all have your doubts, but let me assure you," Abel continued, his voice hard. "She is in no way or form Helen."

"Mr. Abel," Mrs. Gable stepped closer, her voice shaking. "Sir, surely you can see it. It's like looking at a ghost."

"She is not a ghost," Abel snapped, though the vein in his temple throbbed. "She is Olivia Delaney and that is who she is. Prepare the Blue Room in the East Wing."

"The Blue Room?" Mrs. Gable whispered under her breath, horrified. "But that's right next to the library. Madam hated that room..."

"Olivia is not Madam!" Abel said, leaning down, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "And if I see anyone looking at her like she’s a specter again, they will be terminated immediately. Do I make myself clear?"

Mrs. Gable flinched and nodded, wiping her eyes with her apron. "Yes, sir. Of course. I'll go turn down the bed."

She fled into the house with the footman scrambling after her, neither of them daring to look back at the woman standing on the driveway.

"They are all superstitious," Abel turned to Olivia, twisting his cufflinks. "Come inside."

*****

ABEL

The Lamb Estate was designed to intimidate. Black and white marble floors, a crystal chandelier that cost more than most people earned in a lifetime, and a grand double staircase that swept upward like wings.

Olivia stepped inside and Abel paid close attention to her. Usually, guests would stop to take in the opulence for a moment. They gasped. They looked up at the ceiling or spun around.

Olivia did too.

Her head lifted, eyes tracing the vaulted ceiling and the lights, taking all of it in. Wonder flickered across her face before she seemed to remember herself and looked down. But somehow, that was all the reassurance Abel needed.

“See?” he told himself. “This woman couldn't possibly be my late wife. Helen grew up in this world. She wouldn't stare at a chandelier.”

Abel watched Olivia take two steps forward then pause. And without looking down, she sidestepped the antique rug in the center of the hall, walking around it on the bare marble.

Abel’s breath caught in his throat.

"Why did you do that?" he asked.

She stopped and looked at him, then down at her feet. "Do what?"

The marble underneath that rug was cracked from Christmas three years ago. Helen had dropped a hammer by accident while decorating. They had covered it with the rug because they couldn't get the marble replaced in time for the holiday party. Helen always walked around the rug, joking that she could feel the marble judging her for what she did.

Olivia had just walked around that same rug.

"You walked around the rug," Abel said, his voice tight. “Why did you do that?”

She frowned, looking confused. "I don't know. I just didn't want to step on it. It looked expensive."

"It's a rug. It's meant to be stepped on."

All of a sudden, Olivia’s face went pale. The color suddenly drained from her cheeks, and she looked like she was going to faint. She furrowed her brows, swaying slightly as if the floor had shifted beneath her.

Abel wasn't supposed to care. The contract said no emotional entanglements. But the instinct to protect her— to protect the face he once loved— was a reflex he couldn't cut out.

He crossed the space between them in two strides and caught her before she could fall. Her weight came down hard against his chest, her head dipping forward as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"You must be exhausted," he said firmly, calling for the footman.

She shook her head against his chest. "It’s nothing. Just a migraine."

Abel nodded and loosened his grip, even though every part of him resisted it. And the relief he felt when she stood on her own made his stomach turn.

The footman finally appeared from the hallway, still looking like he’d seen a demon.

"Thomas, take Miss Delaney to her room," Abel ordered. "And get her some water and aspirin."

"Yes, sir," Thomas said. He grabbed her purse and practically ran up the stairs, eager to get away.

Abel turned back to Olivia. "Go to bed. We will discuss your schedule in the morning."

She nodded weakly. "Thank you."

She paused for a moment. "And I'm sorry… about the staff," she added softly, her back facing him. "I didn't mean to upset them. I don't intend to be a ghost in your house, or to anyone."

Abel simply nodded his head, but mostly because his brain refused to form a reply.

He stood there frozen as Olivia turned and walked toward the stairs, watching her ascend until she disappeared into the shadows of the East Wing. He stayed in the foyer until the sound of her footsteps faded completely. Only then did he let the mask drop.

His hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists, nails digging into his palms until the pain grounded him.

Coincidence? he thought. The rug. It had to be a coincidence. It had to be.

He hurried into his study and slammed the door behind him. The room smelled of old paper and tobacco. He went straight to the wine bar, poured three fingers of scotch, drinking it in one swallow. The scotch burned his throat, but it failed to numb the beating of his heart.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the time. It was late, past midnight. But the man he needed to call didn't sleep.

He dialed the line, and it only rang once.

"Mr. Lamb," a gravelly voice answered. Vance was his head of security, a retired detective from the force.

"You ran the background check?" Abel said, skipping the pleasantries.

"I did," Vance replied. "All clean. Olivia Delaney. Born in Chicago. Parents deceased. Went to a public college, dropped out. It all checks out."

"Something is wrong, Vance," Abel said, pacing the length of the room. "She... she moves like her."

"Grief does strange things to the mind, boss."

"I am not hallucinating!" Abel shouted, his control finally snapping. He took in a deep breath, forcing his voice down. "I know this doesn't sound like much but… tonight in the foyer, she stepped over my rug. It’s the same rug Helen placed over the broken floors three years ago."

The line went static for a long time.

“Mr lamb, I know there is a resemblance, but everything checks out–”

“Look, Vance. I know how stupid I sound right now.” He stopped and let out a heavy breath. “But I just need you to–”

"You want me to dig deeper?"

Abel went quiet for a moment. "I want you to tear her life apart. I want to know everything about her. Where she was eight months ago, down to the second.  Witnesses. Receipts…”

“Yes s–”

“And Vance, check her medical records,” he cut in, snapping his fingers in the air. “She said something about appointments or something."

"On it."

Abel ended the call and tossed his phone onto the leather surface of his desk. He sat in the suffocating silence of his study, staring at the empty glass in his hand.

He couldn't sit still. The walls felt like they were closing in on him. So he left the study and ascended the grand staircase. He was supposed to be heading for his bedroom, but his legs were pulling him toward the guest room.

He stopped outside the Blue Room, the door standing like a physical barricade between his logic and his madness. He raised his hand, his knuckles hovering mere inches from the wood.

Then a sound froze the blood in his veins. A sound so faint he had to lean his ear near the door to hear it.

She was humming a lullaby. A French lullaby.

A song Helen used to hum when she couldn't sleep. A song she said her grandmother sang to her in Paris when she was a child. The scotch in Abel's stomach turned to acid as he stared at the door with wide eyes and took a wobbling step back.

Olivia Delaney from Chicago shouldn't know French lullabies.

"Just who are you?" he whispered to the door.