Chapter 3

[Olivia's POV]

When I woke up, it was already the morning of the third day.

My phone was on the nightstand. I struggled to reach over and unlock it.

After I had been out cold for so long, my phone had nothing but a few app notifications. There were no missed calls or messages from Jordan. Our chat history stopped at the transfer record, like a silent mocking reminder.

I opened Jordan's Instagram. Ten minutes earlier, he had uploaded nine new photos.

He was still at Camille's apartment. In the photos, soft yellow light filled the room, and colorful fuse beads covered the floor. He sat on the carpet with tweezers in his hand, his profile looking unusually gentle and focused in the light.

The caption read, "Someone's obsessive tendencies took over, and she insisted on finishing this overnight. I'm keeping her company."

Below it were endless likes and teasing comments from our mutual friends.

"Wow, this PDA is too much."

"Jordan, since when did you become so patient? Camille really knows how to train you."

"You two should just hurry up and get married already. When are we getting the wedding announcement?"

"This is what love is supposed to look like."

Camille had only mentioned once that fuse beads looked fun. But Jordan remembered it and bought every tool they needed, spending night after night keeping her company as she worked.

When Camille said in the middle of the night that she wanted soup from a diner on the west side of the city, he drove across town to get it for her. When Camille caught a fever, he put aside a contract worth hundreds of millions of dollars and stayed by her bedside all night.

As I scrolled through Camille's Instagram, it felt like I was flipping through a diary of love, except that this thick diary used to belong to me.

The 20-year-old Jordan had once thrown everything away for 19-year-old me. After he called off his arranged engagement and got kicked out of his house, he worked three jobs just to buy me a diamond ring.

But as I swiped through the photos one by one, I realized the wedding ring on Jordan's finger had disappeared at some point. I couldn't keep looking anymore and just stared blankly ahead, drained of energy.

The medicine was wearing off. My throat felt dry, and I wanted some water, but the pain had gotten so bad that I couldn't get out of bed.

When Jordan's call came in, the painkillers had just pushed down another wave of sharp pain. His tone was as cold as always. "Come back to the Parker residence for dinner tonight."

I stayed quiet for a moment before replying, "I'm not feeling well."

He let out a quiet laugh. "Last time you said your leg hurt, so where does it hurt this time? How much money do you want now? Olivia, if your leg isn't broken, get your ass over here. Don't forget your place."

After saying that, he hung up.

I suddenly wanted to laugh. I should have gone through with the amputation. If my leg were actually broken, at least I wouldn't have to go there and make myself unwelcome.

I pushed myself up using the edge of the bed for support and noticed dark red bloodstains on the sheets. I froze for a few seconds, quietly swallowed a double dose of pills, and got dressed to attend the gathering.

…

The living room at the Parker residence was as lively as ever, filled with laughter and conversation.

Camille wore a Chanel suit and sat beside Jordan's grandmother, Helena Vaughn, in the seat reserved for the lady of the house. When I walked through the door, Camille was feeding Helena slices of orange and making her grin with delight as she joked with her. Meanwhile, Jordan sat on an armchair on the other side, looking down at his phone.

My arrival made the lively chatter pause for a moment.

A housekeeper pulled out a chair at the far end of the long table. I lowered my head and sat down. That seat was a long way from the head of the table.

The women returned to discussing jewelry and handbags, and no one at the table looked at me again. I had only been sitting for a little while when the dull ache deep in the bone of my leg started up again.

By the time cold sweat broke out on my forehead, Helena finally seemed to remember that I was there at the end of the table. She frowned and asked, "Olivia, are there still no signs of a pregnancy? It's been three years. The Parker family doesn't keep women who can't get pregnant around."