Chapter 3

 The Forbidden Glance

The days in the mansion blurred into one another.

Lavish rooms. Silent halls. The sound of Nuel’s footsteps echoing like thunder whenever he appeared.

Olivia felt like a bird trapped in a gilded cage, her wings clipped before she ever learned to fly.

And yet, in the stillness, there was one presence that made her chest loosen.

Ethan.

⸻

She first saw him again near the garage.

He was bent over the hood of the car, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the faint sheen of sweat on his arms.

For a moment, Olivia forgot to breathe.

He looked up when he felt her gaze. His dark eyes softened, and for the first time in weeks, she saw genuine kindness directed at her.

“Mrs. Wilson,” he said, straightening. His voice was deep, steady, warm. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. I was just… walking.”

“Careful,” Ethan said with a faint smile. “You look like someone who hasn’t been outside much. The air might feel too fresh.”

The joke was small, light. But it tugged at her lips before she could stop herself.

It felt dangerous, that smile. Like a secret blooming in the dark.

⸻

The days that followed gave her brief, stolen moments.

A greeting in the hall. A polite bow when he opened the car door. The brush of his fingers against hers when he handed her something she had dropped.

None of it was intentional.

And yet every glance lingered. Every touch burned.

Olivia found herself looking for him without meaning to. Listening for his voice. Waiting for his presence.

It terrified her.

Because she knew Nuel noticed everything.

⸻

Her fears proved right one evening.

She was returning from the garden when she saw Ethan by the fountain again. He caught her eye, and for a second, the world went still.

Something unspoken passed between them.

A question. A promise. A dangerous possibility.

Olivia’s breath caught in her throat. She turned away quickly, her pulse racing.

But as she stepped inside the mansion, a shadow waited in the hall.

Nuel.

He leaned against the wall, his gray eyes colder than ice.

“Enjoying the gardens again?” he asked softly. Too softly.

Olivia’s stomach twisted.

“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s peaceful.”

Nuel pushed off the wall, stepping closer.

“Peaceful,” he echoed, his tone sharp as a blade. His gaze flicked toward the door she had just entered through. “Especially when you have company.”

Her heart stopped.

He knew.

The silence in the mansion stretched for days.

Nuel’s suspicion hung heavy in the air, like a storm waiting to break. His gray eyes followed Olivia everywhere—sharp, calculating, unrelenting.

She kept her head down. She obeyed.

But in the shadows, the sparks she tried so desperately to ignore refused to die.

⸻

Ethan was always there.

Opening doors. Driving the car. Standing tall and steady, like a shield she wasn’t allowed to touch.

Their words were always simple, professional.

“Good morning, Mrs. Wilson.”

“Would you like me to adjust the seat?”

“Do you need me to wait outside?”

And yet, beneath the surface of every exchange, something unspoken hummed between them.

A pull.

A question.

A danger neither dared to name.

Olivia found herself glancing at him longer than she should. And when his eyes flicked to hers, the weight of it left her breathless.

It was madness.

And still, it grew.

⸻

That evening, Nuel took her to a charity gala.

The ballroom glittered with chandeliers and sequined gowns. Laughter and champagne filled the air.

Olivia walked at Nuel’s side, her arm resting stiffly on his. To the world, she looked like the perfect bride.

Inside, she was breaking.

“Smile,” Nuel murmured without looking at her. His lips curved faintly, but his voice was steel. “Everyone’s watching.”

She forced her lips upward, though it felt more like a grimace than joy.

⸻

It wasn’t long before Veronica Steele found her.

The woman glided across the floor in a crimson gown, her beauty sharp as a blade. Her red lips curled as she leaned close to Olivia.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bride,” Veronica purred. “Enjoying the show?”

Olivia stiffened. “Veronica.”

“Careful,” Veronica whispered. “Say my name like that and people will think you hate me.”

Her smile never faltered as she plucked a glass of champagne from a passing tray.

“Tell me,” she continued smoothly, “how does it feel to be chosen? To stand beside a man who doesn’t love you? To know every eye in this room is laughing at you behind your back?”

Olivia’s stomach twisted. “You’re wrong.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Veronica’s laugh was soft and cruel. “If you think Nuel Wilson married you for love, you’re the joke of the century.”

⸻

The words cut deep, but what followed burned worse.

As they passed through the crowd, Olivia stumbled—her heel catching on the hem of her gown.

In an instant, champagne splashed across the silk, soaking her dress.

Gasps echoed around the ballroom. Whispered laughter followed.

And at the center of it all stood Veronica, her smile sharp, her glass untouched.

“Oops,” she said lightly. “Clumsy thing, aren’t you?”

Heat flooded Olivia’s cheeks. Her chest tightened with humiliation as dozens of eyes bore into her.

She wanted to vanish. To sink into the floor and never rise again.

Nuel appeared at her side, his expression unreadable.

He placed a hand on her arm, steadying her.

But instead of comfort, his grip felt like iron.

“Enough,” he murmured, his tone clipped. His eyes flicked to Veronica, cold and unyielding.

The woman only smirked, unbothered.

⸻

Back in the car, Olivia sat in silence, her ruined gown sticking to her skin.

Ethan’s eyes met hers briefly in the rearview mirror. His gaze was steady, calm, filled with something that looked dangerously like reassurance.

Her chest tightened.

It was only a glance. A fleeting look.

But it felt like the only thing holding her together.

And Nuel saw it.

He leaned back in his seat, his hand tightening around Olivia’s as his voice dropped low.

“Careful, wife,” he whispered. “You’re forgetting who’s really watching you.”