CHAPTER 6 - FINDING OLIVIA

ABEL

The transformation took three hours. Abel spent them in his study, pacing a trench into the rug.

Stylists, makeup artists, and hairdressers had descended on the East Wing like a swarm of locusts. He had given them one instruction: to make her look like a billionaire's wife without making her look like Helen.

But it was an impossible request. The stylists had no idea Olivia was Helen’s mirror image. And any attempt to beautify her would only sharpen the resemblance.

At 6:30 PM, the swarm had departed, and the house went quiet again. Abel stood at the bottom of the grand staircase, letting his mind rail with thoughts. The gala started in thirty minutes. Maria would be there, waiting for him to somehow slip up. The Board would be there too, waiting to see the rumored new bride of Abel Lamb.

"Olivia!" he called out, his patience thinning. "We are leaving in five minutes."

"I'm coming," a voice floated down from the top of the stairs.

He looked up. And for the second time in twenty-four hours, the world stopped.

She was descending the stairs, wearing a midnight blue, silk gown that clung to her frame like a second skin, with a slit high up her thigh. Blue was a color Helen never wore. She always preferred green and gold. But the change did nothing to help.

If anything, it made it worse. The color made her skin pop more. Her hair was swept up in a long twist, exposing the long, elegant line of her neck. She moved down with a terrified grace, one hand gripping the railing hard.

Abel felt a surge of something hot and ugly in his chest. It wasn't just attraction, though God help him, he wanted her. It was guilt. Looking at her, desiring her, felt like cheating on the woman whose ashes were in an urn upstairs.

Olivia reached the bottom step and stopped, her gaze fixed on the floor beneath her feet.

"Is this okay?" she asked, smoothing her dress.

"It's adequate," Abel said, his voice was rough and scraping against his throat. Olivia flinched at his words and he felt a hot spike hit his chest from her reaction.

"It’ll do." He said and turned away, unable to look at her for another second. "Let's go."

"Wait," she said, and Abel paused, one hand already on the door. "I forgot something."

She held out a small glass box. A jewelry box that contained a choker of white diamonds he had selected for the stylist.

"I can't put the clasp on myself," she muttered, looking at the floor.

Abel stared at the box. Then back at her.

This is a business arrangement, he thought to himself. Professional distance.

"Fine," he breathed and walked back to her, taking the necklace. "Turn around."

Olivia turned slowly and presented her back to him. Her scent hit him the second he brought the necklace around her throat. Vanilla and rain. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck and he felt her skin. Fever-hot.

His hands were settled on her shoulders, the clasp still dangling between his fingers. He should have finished it. Should have stepped back. But he suddenly couldn't move.

For a heartbeat, everything fell away to him. No contract. No five million dollars. Just a man and a woman standing in the foyer of a lonely house, the air between them charged with enough electricity to start a fire.

“Abel?” she whispered and pressed her back into him a little.

The sound of his name snapped the moment and dragged him back. He locked the clasp shut with a harsh click and pulled his hands away as if she were suddenly radioactive.

"Remember," he said, his voice dropping low and dangerous. "You must put on a performance tonight. But don't confuse this role for reality. You are my employee playing a part. Don't forget that."

He wasn't sure if he was reminding her or himself.

Olivia spun around to face him, her brows furrowing. Her vulnerability vanished, replaced by a flash of hurt that looked agonizingly real.

"I know who I am," she said, her voice coming out hard in a way that pinched Abel’s chest.

"Good," he said, twisting his cuffs and rebuilding the wall between them.

He reached for the door handle before his phone buzzed in his inside pocket, but he ignored it.

Then it buzzed again. And again. He pulled it out, annoyed. "What?"

He looked at the screen and hesitated at the name. Vance wouldn't call more than once unless there was a building burning down

"Go to the car," he said to Olivia. "I have to take this."

She looked at him a bit confused, but she nodded and slipped out into the night, her blue dress trailing behind her.

He watched the door click shut before he raised the phone to his ear. "Talk to me, Vance. And make it quick."

"You're not going to like this, Abel,” Vance said.

"I already don't like it," he said, walking back into the house. "Did you find out about the dead doctor?"

"Yeah. Dr. Aris. Died of a heart attack three years ago. But his signature is all over Olivia’s admission paperwork . Someone is forging those. High quality forgery, too. Not something a wedding planner from Chicago could pull off."

Abel stopped in the middle of the hallway. "So someone forged a few signatures in the hospital. That still doesn't solve my problem."

"It's not just the doctor," Vance said. "I dug into her location data and was able to pull traffic cams and the credit card pings from the past eight months."

"And?"

"One of them wasn't in Chicago."

Abel gripped his phone tighter. "Where was it?"

"California," Vance said. "at a gas station near Silver Lake."

Abel’s heart skipped a hard beat and the whole room started spinning. Silver Lake was the small town where his lake house once stood before it burnt to the ground.

"That's impossible," he whispered. "This is supposed to be her first time in California.

"That's not all," Vance said flatly. "Here's the kicker. I checked the date and time."

Abel closed his eyes. He knew what Vance was going to say before he said it. He could feel it in his bones.

"Say it.”

"October 14th," Vance said. "9:42 PM."

October 14th. The night of the fire.

"That’s all I could get my hands on," Vance added, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"But… what's she doing at a gas station miles away from Chicago?" Abel struggled to make the pieces fit. "Do you think maybe–” He broke off, trying to force words through the lump that had formed in his throat.

"I don't know," Vance said. “I really can't tell for sure.”

Abel’s mind was a storm of questions he didn't have the answers to. What was Olivia doing in California? Was Olivia actually Helen? If she was, then why didn't she have burns? Why didn't she remember him?

Or was it all a lie?

His chest tightened and his heart pounded so hard it felt like it would explode. "Keep digging," he said, pacing about. “I want every stone turned. No exceptions. I want to know why she was in California that night. I want to know everything.

Vance sighed. “Mr. Lamb, I don't have the resources necessary to pull something that—”

“I’ll double your payment,” he cut in. If the problem was money, then there wasn't a problem.

“Mr. Lamb, I already burned through the last payments, even double won't cut it—”

“Five times then,” he cut in once more, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And a one million bonus for every lead you get.”

Vance went silent over the phone for an agonizing minute. “Very well, sir.”

Abel hung up.

He walked back to the foyer and stared at his shaking hands in the mirror on the wall. . He stared at it and tightened them into fists until his knuckles went numb. And when the shaking finally stopped, he straightened his tie and walked out the front door.

He walked up to his Phantom in the driveway, opened the driver's door and slid in. He glanced at Olivia as she sat in the passenger's seat, staring out the window.

If she was a puzzle then he was going to take her apart, piece by piece until he found the truth.

"Is everything okay?" she asked softly, turning to him.

Abel started the engines and put the car in gear. "Everything is fine," he lied, his voice smooth as glass. "Ready for the gala, Mrs. Lamb?"

Olivia nodded and swallowed hard. "I think so."

"Good." He reached over and placed a possessive hand on her knee. Olivia flinched slightly at his touch, her eyes darting from his hand to his face.

"Because afterwards," he continued, staring at the road ahead, "we are going to have a very interesting conversation about the past."