Chapter 2: Olive's POV

 Chapter 2: OLIVE's POV

"I'm not going to the game. What the fuck was I thinking?"

I slammed my forehead against my desk hard enough that my monitor shook. Making life decisions based on a magazine photo? That was a new low, even for me.

Brenda didn't even look up from her computer. "You can't back out now. You already agreed."

"I got so motivated to go because I saw some hot guy in a magazine. A magazine, Brenda. That's insane."

"And?" She was still typing. "I find that perfectly reasonable. Not every day someone finds their rebound within seconds of a breakup."

"I'm not trying to rebound—"

"To what? Sit here and overthink until you convince yourself Cole cheating was your fault?" She stopped typing. Turned to look at me. "Because I can already see it happening. You're doing that thing where you spiral."

She was right.

"What if I wasn't there enough?" The words spilled out. "What if the long distance was too hard—"

"Okay, stop. Stop right there." Brenda stood up and leaned against my desk. "I'm gonna say this once. Stop being a little bitch crying over mediocre dick."

My mouth snapped closed.

"I'm serious, Olive. Cole Maddox is mediocre at hockey, mediocre in bed—yes, you told me, wine drunk, don't deny it—and apparently mediocre at being faithful. You spent two years standing in the rain at his practices. You drove three hours to watch him warm benches. And this is how he repays you? Fuck him."

"I know, but—"

"But nothing. You're going to Chicago. You promised Hunter months ago you'd be there for his first NHL game. That promise had nothing to do with Cole and everything to do with your brother who's always had your back."

She was right about that too. Hunter had been asking me to come to games since he signed with the farm team. Back then, the idea of him making the NHL seemed like a sweet fantasy. Now it was real, and I'd promised to be there.

"Okay, I get it." But I was smiling now, just a little.

"Good. Now stop spiraling and—" She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes locking on something behind me. "Oh shit."

I turned to follow her gaze.

The TV.

And right there, filling the entire screen, was Cole's face.

My stomach dropped.

He looked good. Of course he looked good. Blonde hair perfectly styled, gray eyes that looked almost silver under the camera lights.

But that wasn't what made my breath catch.

Because tucked under his arm, pressed against his side like she belonged there, was a woman.

Stunning. Blonde hair cascading in perfect waves, red dress that hugged every curve.

She was laughing. Head thrown back, hand resting on Cole's chest, fingers spread like she owned him.

And that hair—it looked exactly like the hair I'd seen spilling down her back on that video call.

"Cole Maddox was spotted last night with his alleged new girlfriend, Sophia Mercer, aboard a private cruise ship," the reporter's voice filled the office.

White text appeared beneath her face.

Sophia Mercer, 23

Mercer.

"She's related to him," I whispered.

Brenda's fingers were already flying across her keyboard. "Let me check—oh. Oh fuck. Olive."

She turned her monitor toward me.

Zane Mercer - Top NHL player for the Chicago Wolves. One sister: Sophia Mercer, 23.

And there was a photo. Action shot. Zane on the ice, helmet off, hair dark with sweat, jaw clenched. Eyes shining with fury.

He looked dangerous. Powerful.

And I'd seen this photo before.

The realization hit me hard.

"Olive?" Brenda's voice sounded far away.

Six months after Cole and I started dating. I'd been looking for a pen in his practice bag when I found a photo tucked inside his notepad. Folded. Hidden.

This photo.

"Who's this?" I'd asked.

Cole had snatched it from my hands. His face had gone red, jaw tight.

"Don't touch that." His voice had been sharp. "Don't ever go through my stuff, Olive."

He'd softened after. Kissed my forehead, said he was stressed. But he never explained the photo.

And I'd forgotten about it.

Until now.

"I've seen him before," I whispered.

"What?"

"Zane. This photo. Cole had it. Hidden in his practice bag. A year and a half ago. I found it by accident and he freaked out. Got all weird and defensive."

Brenda's eyes had gone wide. "So Cole's been obsessed with Zane for your entire relationship?"

My stomach turned. "Do you think he's with Sophia to get close to Zane?"

"Oh my god. That makes sense." Brenda was already pulling up Sophia's I*******m. "Look at this."

Photo after photo. Sophia at games, in VIP boxes, surrounded by players. And in several of them, standing slightly out of focus in the background—

Zane.

"Cole saw that. Used her to get access."

"I was never enough because I wasn't connected to the right people."

"Hey." Brenda grabbed my face. "Don't you dare. Cole is a social-climbing piece of shit who uses people. You were too good for him."

My phone buzzed on the desk.

An email. From…Cole.

I didn't want to open it.

But I did anyway.

'I'm sorry, Olive. I never meant for things to end this way. But I've reached a new level in my career, and I need someone who can match that. Someone capable of helping me grow. You were great for where I was, but I need more now. I hope you understand.'

The phone slipped from my fingers.

Someone capable.

He'd just told me I wasn't capable enough. After two years. After everything.

Brenda snatched my phone, her face shifting from concern to pure fury. "After you caught him cheating—he sends you a breakup email? Calling you incapable?"

I couldn't breathe.

"Wait. There's more." She was scrolling on her own phone now. "I've been looking into him since yesterday. Found his tagged photos on I*******m, the ones he tried to untag. Olive. Look."

A photo. Cole. With a woman.

Red hair. Not Sophia. Someone else.

Beach house, arms wrapped around each other, mouths locked.

The timestamp said nine months ago.

"Nine months," I whispered.

"There's another one. Two months ago. Different girl. Fuck, Olive, there are at least five different women in the past year."

I stared at the screen. At the proof. At the pattern.

"You're going to that game." Her eyes were fierce. "You're going to walk in looking absolutely devastating. Head held high."

"I don't want revenge—"

"This isn't about revenge. This is about you remembering who the fuck you are." She squeezed my arm. "You're Olive Monroe. You're smart, you're beautiful, you don't take shit from anyone when you're not being manipulated by mediocre men."

I looked at that email again. Someone capable.

Fuck him.

"I'm going," I said.

Brenda grinned. "That's my girl."

"I'm going to support Hunter. My stepbrother has been nothing but good to me, and I promised him I'd be there." My voice got stronger. "And I'm going to look so fucking good that if Cole sees me, he chokes on his own bullshit."

I took a breath. For the first time since that video call, it didn't feel like my chest was caving in.

It felt like anger.

I paused, looking back at Zane's photo on Brenda's computer. Those cold blue eyes. That dangerous energy.

The man whose sister Cole was using. The man my stepfather hated. The man who'd somehow become tangled up in all of this without even knowing I existed.

"And Zane?" I asked quietly.

Brenda raised an eyebrow. "I think Zane is exactly who you should be thinking about."