Olivia's POV “You’re always everywhere Lucas is, and now he’s locked up for murder, and where are you? Nowhere to be found!”—echoed in my ears, a searing accusation that left my heart pounding, my hands trembling as I gripped the phone. My chest heaved, a mix of anger and guilt surging through me, the urge to defend myself, to scream that I hadn’t caused Lucas’s arrest, warring with the resolve I’d clung to for over a week—to stay away, to let him go. My throat tightened, tears stinging my eyes as I sat on the bed, Austin’s breakfast tray now cold beside me, the room heavy with the aftermath of his subtle manipulation, his suggestion of a trip to escape the “stress” of Lucas’s chaos. My breath was shallow, my mind reeling from the news of Lucas’s arrest for murder, his cuffed image still burned into my retina, and now Amelia’s call, her rage a fresh wound that threatened to unravel me.I swallowed hard, my voice shaking but firm as I responded, my heart racing with defiance. “Ame
Olivia's POV A week had passed since I’d seen Lucas’s text, its words—“Please visit again. I have something for you”—etched into my heart, a constant ache I fought to ignore. Each day was a battle to keep my resolve, to stay away from him, to honor the promise I’d made to Austin and myself to let Lucas go. The decision to cut personal ties, to limit our interactions to business, was a wound that hadn’t healed, a choice driven by the reality of Amelia’s pregnancy and his mother’s hatred, but it tore at me, a longing for his voice, his touch, that lingered like a ghost. My chest ached with the effort to move forward, my heart torn between love and duty, and I threw myself into distractions to keep the pain at bay. Austin, bless him, was my anchor, filling our days with outings and adventures—hiking trails, art galleries, quiet dinners—that brought a fleeting joy, his laughter a balm to my fractured spirit.That morning, I woke to the scent of coffee and pancakes, my eyes fluttering
Lucas's POV The hospital walls of the hospital room wall a prison, its sterile walls and incessant beeping a constant reminder of my fragility, my confinement. Over a week had passed since I texted Olivia—“Please visit again. I have something for you”—and the silence that followed was a weight crushing my chest. Each day without her reply deepened the ache, a mix of worry, longing, and confusion that gnawed at me. What was going through her mind? Had she given up on us, pushed away by Amelia’s pregnancy, my mother’s venom, or the chaos that seemed to follow me? My heart clung to the memory of our reunion—her tears, her hands steadying me, the warmth of her presence—but the lack of response felt like a door slamming shut, leaving me to wonder if I’d lost her for good. My body was healing, the fractures in my spine and shoulder less agonizing, the concussion’s fog lifting, but my spirit was battered, trapped in this room with the two women who made every moment a trial: my mother
Olivia's POV The kitchen was a quiet haven after Dad’s departure, the clink of dishes was a gentle rhythm as Austin and I stood side by side at the sink. My hands moved mechanically, scrubbing plates, rinsing mugs, but my heart was a storm of emotions—gratitude for Austin’s steady presence, guilt for the unanswered question about our marriage, and the raw ache of letting Lucas go. Dad’s directive to cut ties with Lucas echoed in my mind, a confirmation of my own resolve, but it didn’t ease the pain, the longing for a love now out of reach. Austin’s stunned reaction to Dad’s mention of meeting his father lingered, a puzzle I couldn’t solve, stirring an unease that gnawed at me. My chest tightened, my breath shallow as I focused on the dishes, hoping the task would anchor me against the turmoil threatening to spill over.Austin’s voice broke the silence, soft but piercing, catching me off guard. “Olivia,” he said, his tone cautious, his hands pausing in the soapy water, “why do yo
Olivia's POV The morning light filtered through the kitchen windows, casting a soft glow over the counter where I stood, the scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filling the air. My hands moved with purpose, cracking eggs, flipping pancakes, arranging fruit on a plate, but my heart was a tangle of resolve and lingering pain. Last night’s decision to let go of Lucas weighed heavy, a choice that felt both necessary and devastating, like severing a piece of my soul. His face—his desperate hug, his whispered relief in the hospital—haunted me, but so did the reality of Amelia’s pregnancy, his mother’s hatred, the family he was building without me. I couldn’t be the mistress, the shadow in his child’s story, and that truth had solidified my resolve to step back, to protect my heart, to honor the marriage I’d made with Austin, even if it was born of convenience. My throat tightened, my chest aching as I stirred the eggs, the clatter of the spatula a distraction from the tears threa
Olivia's POV The car was a pressure cooker, the air thick with tension, Austin’s words—“You’ll end up a mistress, a second woman”—still burning in my ears, fueling a rage that pulsed through me like wildfire. My hands shook, my chest heaving with a mix of anger and hurt, my tears streaming down my cheeks as I glared at him, his profile rigid against the city lights blurring past. His accusation had struck a nerve, igniting a fury I hadn’t expected, a defiance against the idea that my love for Lucas could be reduced to something so degrading, so small. But beneath the anger was a gnawing fear, a whisper that he might be right, that my place in Lucas’s life was precarious, shadowed by Amelia’s pregnancy and his mother’s hatred. My throat tightened, my heart aching.The guilt of hurting Austin, and the stubborn love for Lucas that refused to let go.Austin’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, but his voice broke the silence, low and sharp, pushing the tension higher.
Olivia's POV My heart pounded, my breath shallow, my eyes fixed on Amelia, crumpled on the floor, her hands curled around her belly, her sharp cry echoing in the sterile corridor. Lucas was on his knees beside her, his face pale with guilt and panic, his trembling hands reaching to lift her despite his own weakness, the IV line swaying precariously. My chest ached, torn between the love that had surged during our brief, stolen moment—his arms around me, his lips on my forehead—and the crushing guilt of witnessing this fallout, the chaos my presence seemed to ignite. My throat tightened, tears stinging my eyes as I stepped forward, instinct driving me to help Lucas, to steady him as he struggled.“Lucas,” I said, my voice trembling, my hands gripping his arm, supporting his weight as he tried again to lift Amelia, his breath ragged, his eyes wild with fear. But Victoria’s hand shot out, shoving me back with a force that made me stumble, her glare venomous. “Stay away!” she spat,
Lucas's POV “She’s a married woman, she doesn’t belong to you”His statement hung in the air, a cold reminder of the boundaries I’d crossed. My chest tightened, a mix of embarrassment and defiance flooding me as I realized the scene we’d made, my arms around Olivia, my lips on her forehead, all under the hospital’s fluorescent glare. Faces turned our way—nurses, visitors, their eyes curious, judgmental—and I felt heat rise to my cheeks, a flicker of shame for letting my emotions override caution. My body ached, the IV line tugging at my hand, the pain in my spine and shoulder a constant throb, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my heart, the desperate need to hold onto Olivia, to keep her close after nearly losing her.I pulled back, my hands dropping from her face, my voice low, apologetic. “I’m sorry,” I said, my eyes flicking to Austin, then back to Olivia, my throat tight with regret. “I didn’t mean to… I just—I thought you were gone, and I couldn’t—” My words falter
Lucas's POVThe hospital room felt like a cage, its sterile walls closing in, the incessant beep of the heart monitor a mocking reminder of my fragility. My body ached—my spine and shoulder throbbed with every breath, my head pounded with the lingering fog of the concussion—but the real pain was in my chest, a raw, searing ache that came from Amelia’s words: “Olivia’s dead. She died in the explosion.” The memory of her venomous lie, the way it had shattered me before I lost consciousness, haunted me, a wound that refused to heal. I lay propped against the pillows, my hands clenched, my heart a battlefield of grief, doubt, and a stubborn flicker of hope that Olivia was still out there, alive, despite Amelia’s cruelty. The room was a prison, and the two people in it—Amelia and my mother—were the most unbearable company I could imagine, their presence a suffocating weight that made me dread every moment.Amelia sat in a chair by the window, her arms crossed, her face a mask of sullen