Olive's POV

Chapter Two: 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, and honestly? I deserved the headache. 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."

Her voice carried across the office even though she was literally one cubicle over.

I lifted my head just enough to glare at her through the gap between our desks. "You don't get it. I decided to go because I saw some hot guy in a magazine. A magazine, Brenda. That's not—that's insane. That's the kind of shit desperate people do."

"And?" She was still typing, fingers flying across her keyboard like this conversation wasn't even slowing her down. "I find that perfectly reasonable. Not every day someone finds their rebound within like, seconds of a breakup. Honestly, I'm impressed with your efficiency."

"I'm not trying to rebound, I'm trying to—"

"To what? Sit here and overthink until you convince yourself that somehow, magically, Cole cheating on you 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. I was doing that thing.

"What if I wasn't there enough?" The words spilled out before I could stop them, and god, I sounded pathetic. "What if the long distance was too hard and he just—I don't know, needed someone who was actually there and I kept making excuses about work and—"

"Okay, stop. Stop right there." Brenda stood up, walked around to my cubicle, and leaned against my desk. "I'm gonna say this once, and I need you to actually hear me. Are you listening?"

I nodded.

"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, multiple times, wine drunk, don't deny it—and apparently mediocre at being a faithful human being. You spent two years standing in the rain at his practices. You drove three hours to watch him warm benches. You wore his stupid jersey to family dinners even though you hate jerseys. And this is how he repays you? Fuck him. Fuck his apologies. Fuck his—"

"Okay, okay, I get it." But I was smiling now, just a little. Because Brenda's rants always made me feel less alone. "My life is just—it's so fucking complicated right now, and I don't—"

"Complicated? Your life is what? Too complicated to go to a hockey game and look at a hot guy?" She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes locking on something behind me.

"What?" I turned to follow her gaze.

The TV.

The TV mounted across the office that our boss insisted stay on ESPN 24/7 because he was one of those guys who made fantasy football his entire personality.

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

My stomach dropped so fast I thought I might throw up.

He looked good. Of course he looked good. Fucking great blonde hair perfectly styled, gray eyes that looked almost silver under the camera lights, that easy smile that used to make me feel like I was the only person in the room.

Except I wasn't in the room. I was never in the room.

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

And she was stunning.

Not like, pretty. Not cute. Stunning in a way that made you feel like you were looking at a different species of human. Blonde hair cascading in perfect waves past her shoulders, red dress that hugged every curve, legs that went on for days.

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

And that hair. That long, blonde, perfect hair that I could see even from high smart TV quality—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, and I wanted to scream. "Sources say their relationship could bring significant investment opportunities to the Chicago Wolves organization, with Mercer family connections opening doors for—"

White text appeared beneath her face.

‘Sophia Mercer, 23’

Mercer.

My brain stuttered. Stopped. Restarted.

"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.

I didn't want to look. Didn't want to see whatever she'd found.

But I looked anyway.

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

And there was a photo. Not the magazine ad. A different one.

Action shot. Zane on the ice, helmet off, hair dark with sweat, jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle ticking. Eyes shining with something that looked like fury. Full gear, stick in hand, every muscle looked like he was about to destroy someone.

He looked dangerous. Powerful. The kind of man who didn't apologize for anything.

And I'd seen this photo before.

The realization hit me so hard I actually gasped.

"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, digging through old notes and rotten gums, when I found a photo tucked inside his notepad. Folded. Hidden.

This photo.

I'd pulled it out, curious. "Who's this?"

Cole had snatched it from my hands so fast I'd almost dropped it. His face had gone red, jaw tight, and for a second I thought he was going to yell.

"Don't touch that." His voice had been sharp, harder than I'd ever heard it. "Don't ever go through my stuff, Olive."

I'd stepped back, confused. "I was just looking for a pen, I didn't mean to—"

"I don't care what you were looking for." He'd shoved the photo back into the notepad, then the notepad into his bag, like I'd violated something sacred. "Just—don't touch my things."

He'd softened after that. Kissed my forehead, said he was stressed about the upcoming game, that he didn't mean to snap. But he never explained the photo. Never told me who it was.

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." The words were tumbling out now, faster, like I couldn't stop them. "I found it by accident and he freaked out. Like, actually freaked out. Told me not to touch his stuff, got all weird and defensive. I didn't even know who the guy was. I never—I didn't care about hockey beyond Cole and Hunter, you know? Cole never let me care. He'd get jealous if I even looked at other players too long, said I was there to support him, not drool over his teammates."

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

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

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

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

Zane.

"Protective older brother energy," Brenda muttered. "Cole saw that. Used her to get access."

The pieces were falling into place, weird and devastating. "I was never enough because I wasn't connected to the right people."

"Hey." Brenda grabbed my face, forcing me to look at her. "Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare make this about you not being enough. Cole is a social-climbing piece of shit who uses people. You were too good for him. You hear me? Too fucking good."

Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the desk.

We both stared at it all at once.

It was an email. From…Cole.

I didn't want to open it. Didn't want to see what new excuse or manipulation he'd come up with.

But I opened it 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.’

I gasped hard, 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 before it hit the floor, her face shifting from concern to pure fury as she read. "After you caught him cheating—after you saw him fuck another woman on video—he sends you a breakup email? Calling you incapable?"

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think past the ringing in my ears.

"That man is worse than a coward," Brenda was pacing now, phone still in her hand. "He's a user. A manipulator. He—wait. Wait, Olive, there's more."

"More?" My voice cracked.

She was scrolling on her own phone now, fingers moving fast. "I've been looking into him since you called me yesterday. Found his tagged photos on I*******m, the ones he tried to untag but forgot to delete. Olive." She turned her phone toward me. "Look."

It was a photo. Cole. With a woman.

Red hair cascading over her shoulders. Not Sophia. Someone else.

They were at a beach house, arms wrapped around each other, mouths locked in a kiss that looked anything but innocent.

The timestamp said nine months ago.

"Nine months," I whispered.

"There's another one." Brenda swiped. "Two months ago. Different girl. And another one from—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 fucking devastating. Head held high. And if the hottest player in the league—the one Cole's been obsessed with for god knows how long—happens to notice you? Even better."

"I don't want revenge. I just want to forget—"

"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. So what do you say? You going to let Cole win? Or are you going to show everyone—including yourself—what he threw away?"

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. To be there for my family. And to look so fucking good that if Cole sees me, he chokes on his own bullshit."

"Yes. Yes. This is what I'm talking about."

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.

"No Cole," I said.

"Fuck Cole," Brenda agreed.

"No Sophia."

"Fuck Sophia and her perfect hair."

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

"And Zane?" I asked.

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

"Brenda—"

"Look, I'm not saying you should fuck him. I'm just saying that if you happen to be in his general vicinity, looking like an absolute goddess, and he happens to notice you in front of Cole? That's just karma doing her job."