4

[Olivia Jude Velcro]

Three months later.

After the disaster that was Carter Velcro—and the string of humiliations he left behind—I changed my workplace.

I didn’t run. I retreated.

At Doctor Homer’s insistence, I transferred to his hospital. He claimed it was for professional reasons, but I knew the truth—Homer wanted me where he could see me, where he could make sure I was still standing. He had always treated me like a sister, watching over me quietly, fiercely.

By the time my shift finally ended, I had been on my feet for more than eighteen hours.

My body ached. My mind was numb. Exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.

I was halfway to the changing room when the sharp beep of my pager sliced through the silence.

I stopped.

“That’s… unusual,” I murmured to myself.

The message was from the ER. Not just a request—but a personal note.

A sigh escaped me as I turned back, my feet heavy as I retraced my steps. The nurse met me halfway down the corridor, worry etched deep into her face.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor Jude,” she said immediately, falling into step beside me. “I truly didn’t know who else to call.”

She spoke quickly, guilt thick in her voice. “You’re listed as the only emergency contact for the patient. I know your shift ended hours ago, and I’m deeply apologetic for pulling you back in.”

“That’s alright,” I replied, forcing a faint smile. It wasn’t her fault.

But my mind was already racing.

Only listed contact?

For whom?

I had no family left. No close ties. Since the rupture with the Velcro family, even Elara and Sahl had stepped back—not out of anger, but to give me space. Silence had replaced everything.

So who—

Camilla? Impossible. She’d choke on pride before ever asking me for help.

Carter?

No.

The bitterness coated my tongue instantly. Carter Velcro had people—resources, power, influence. He had parents, allies, an entire world that bent around him.

And yet… he hadn’t visited me once.

Not after the hospital.

Not after the abortion.

Not after the end of everything.

He hadn’t argued. Hadn’t begged. Hadn’t even tried to explain.

He had simply vanished.

Shoving the thoughts aside, I pushed open the ER door.

And froze.

Carter lay on the gurney.

My eyes caught the bruises first—angry purple blooms across his knuckles. Then the cold metal cuffs secured one wrist to the bed.

I stared.

For a long moment, I didn’t move.

A middle-aged police officer stood beside him, clipboard in hand. “Are you the attending physician?” he asked, glancing at me.

So Carter Velcro was under arrest.

Before I could answer, Carter lifted his free hand weakly.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

I scoffed quietly, the sound bitter and hollow. Was this another performance? Another attempt to pull me back into his chaos?

The officer stepped closer. “Are you his wife, Doctor—” He paused, reading my badge. “Doctor Jude.”

Why was he asking me?

I studied Carter more closely then. His face was wrecked—blue-black bruising on his forehead, his lower lip split and bleeding. His left eye was swollen and nearly shut.

What had he done?

Or rather… what had finally caught up to him?

Even if he was in trouble, Carter Velcro had always landed on his feet. His name alone opened doors, silenced consequences.

I straightened, my expression hardening.

I would not give him leverage.

Not now.

Not ever again.

Whatever mess he had dragged himself into—this time, he would face it without me.

“Ex-wife, yes.”

The word left my mouth cold and deliberate as I turned my hardened gaze on Carter. I wanted it carved into him—etched deep enough that even his arrogance couldn’t erase it.

“Not yet,” he interrupted smoothly.

The officer’s eyes flicked between us, suspicion knitting his brows.

“Not yet legally, Olivia Velcro,” Carter added, his voice low, possessive.

My jaw clenched so hard it ached.

How dare he still claim my name.

Three months. Three endless months and the divorce still wasn’t finalized. And yet—he hadn’t shown up once. Not a call. Not an apology. Not even the decency of presence. Now, suddenly, he stood here insisting on a title he had shattered himself.

I said nothing.

Correcting him would only betray that I still cared. And I refused to give him that satisfaction.

I turned toward the door, ready to leave him behind where he belonged, when a junior nurse burst in, breathless. “Doctor Jude—are you attending this patient? We’re critically short-staffed. An emergency just came in.”

I froze.

Even with resentment burning in my chest, I couldn’t leave him bleeding.

With a silent curse, I returned to his side. My movements were professional, detached—or at least I pretended they were. I cleaned the blood from his skin, checked his vitals, and explained the tests with clinical precision.

The officer remained in the room, watching us like a hawk.

Carter, on the other hand, watched me.

The way his eyes lingered made my hands tremble as I wiped the blood from his forehead. “How are you doing, Olivia?” he asked softly.

I stilled.

His face was too close—far too close. Our breaths mingled, and for a moment the room felt unbearably small. There was something different about him tonight. Something raw. Unsettling.

“Watch your mouth!” the officer snapped, shattering the moment. “Is this why you got yourself into trouble? Trying to impress her?”

Shock rippled through me.

Carter’s jaw tightened. He looked away, clearly embarrassed.

“To impress me?” I echoed silently. Why would he—? We were divorcing. He had Camilla. Candice. A whole other life.

The officer groaned. “Bar fight over domestic drama. All to impress your ex-wife. Honestly, I don’t understand your generation.”

My hands stilled mid-bandage.

“You should forgive him,” the officer continued. “Your ex-husband’s got a temper. He threw the first punch at a man who was forcing his girlfriend to abort.”

My breath caught.

Carter… protected someone?

Not the violence—that didn’t surprise me. It was the reason that unsettled me.

“Ironic,” I muttered bitterly, not sparing Carter a glance.

His expression darkened. Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist.

“I would have stayed, Olivia,” he said hoarsely. “If you hadn’t killed our child.”

Rage detonated in my chest.

Had he truly forgotten his betrayal? The lies? The other woman? All he remembered was the unborn child—never the vows he shattered.

I yanked my hand free.

“I don’t want you to stay, Carter.” I straightened, voice sharp as glass. “Call Camilla. Let her pick you up.”

The words burned, even as they left me.

“She and Candice are your family,” I continued, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “She is the mother of your living child.”

I emphasized the word deliberately.

Because if there was one thing Carter Velcro needed to remember—it was that he had already chosen his world.

And it no longer included me.