CHAPTER 6:THE LAST THING HE ASKED OF HER

Morning light filtered softly into Richard’s hospital room. The blinds were half-drawn, casting pale stripes across the bed and the chair where Olivia had spent the entire night.

She had not slept.

Her phone battery was nearly dead. She had not eaten. Her clothes were the same ones she had worn the day before, wrinkled and slightly damp from the long hours of quiet worry. A nurse paused at the doorway, voice gentle.

“You should get some rest.”

Olivia offered a polite, tired smile. “I’ll rest when my dad gets better.”

The nurse nodded and left without pressing further. Olivia returned her attention to her father’s face, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest as if the rhythm alone could keep him anchored to the world.

Richard’s eyes opened slowly.

He watched her in silence for a moment her swollen eyes, the faint tremor in her hands, the bare finger where her wedding ring used to sit. He did not ask about the divorce. He already understood.

“Did you cry all night?” he asked quietly.

Olivia forced a small smile. “No.”

Richard’s voice was soft, almost tender. “You always lie when you’re hurting.”

The simple observation cracked something inside her. Her composure slipped. Tears welled up before she could stop them.

“I couldn’t make him love me,” she whispered.

Richard reached for her hand. His grip was weak, but the warmth in it was steady and familiar. He held on as if he could absorb some of the pain she carried.

When he spoke again, his voice carried a weight of old regret.

“When you told me you wanted to marry Lucien… something didn’t feel right. But you looked so happy. I chose your happiness over my fear.”

Olivia shook her head quickly. “None of this is your fault.”

Richard closed his eyes. Almost to himself, he murmured, “No… this is my fault.”

Olivia frowned, not understanding. The words settled between them like a quiet warning she could not yet decipher.

Across the city, Lucien sat through an executive meeting at Ashford Group.

Reports were presented. Shareholders asked questions. He answered automatically, his voice steady and precise. But his mind was elsewhere.

He kept seeing Olivia’s face as she signed the divorce papers. Hearing the quiet desperation in her voice when she asked if he had ever loved her. The memory of her tears in the hospital hallway refused to leave him.

He grew irritated with himself.

“This is what you wanted.”

Yet the thought brought no satisfaction. Only a hollow, restless weight he could not name.

Richard eventually convinced Olivia to go home and change.

She returned to the Ashford mansion with reluctance. Everything was exactly as she had left it. The anniversary decorations she had carefully arranged still sat on the dining table, candles melted down to stubs. The food had already been cleared away.

She walked upstairs without lingering and packed only what belonged to her family photographs, her sketchbook, her mother’s necklace, a few simple clothes.

She left behind the designer handbags, the expensive jewelry, the luxury gifts. None of them had ever felt like love.

The housekeeper hesitated in the doorway. “Mrs. Ashford…”

Olivia gently interrupted. “Just Olivia.”

The title no longer belonged to her.

She was carrying a single suitcase down the front steps when Lucien walked through the main doors.

They both froze.

Silence stretched between them. He noticed how little she was taking. She noticed that his expression had not softened.

“You’re leaving everything?” he asked.

“Everything important left before I did.”

Lucien had no answer. She walked toward the door. His hand lifted slightly almost enough to stop her then fell. He stepped aside.

She left.

For the first time, the mansion felt painfully empty behind him.

That evening Olivia returned to the hospital.

Richard was awake. He asked the nurses and her mother to give them a moment alone. When the door closed, he reached beneath his pillow and drew out a small silver key. He placed it carefully in her hand.

“If anything happens to me…” His voice was low and urgent. “Promise me you’ll open the envelope.”

Olivia looked at him, confused.

“Everything you need to understand is inside,” he continued. He hesitated, then added, “But the truth comes with a price.”

Olivia shook her head. “You’re going to tell me yourself. Don’t talk like that.”

Richard smiled sadly. He did not argue. Instead he asked again, quieter this time, “Promise me.”

After a long pause, Olivia whispered, “I promise.”

As she slipped the key into her handbag beside the still-sealed envelope, a shadow paused outside the hospital room.

Someone stood just beyond the small glass window, face hidden by the angle and the dim corridor light. The figure made a brief phone call.

Only one sentence was clearly audible.

“He’s trying to tell her the truth.”

A short pause followed.

Then the voice continued, cold and controlled:

“Make sure he doesn’t get the chance.”