Chapter 3 : Safe Haven

POV: Olivia

The brass doorknob turned all the way to the right. A crack of yellow light from the porch split the darkness of the front hallway. I did not bounce or hesitate. I sprinted back down the carpeted hallway and dashed into the dark walk-in closet. 

My hands dove beneath the large winter coats, and I gripped the heavy handles of my canvas suitcase. I yanked it out, snatched my smartphone and my car keys from the nightstand, and ran back out toward the secondary staircase at the back of the house. 

My breathing was short and loud, but the thick carpet swallowed the sounds of my footsteps and the scraping of the canvas bag.

"Olivia!" Damian’s voice boomed through the lower foyer as the front door fully swung open. The heavy wood hit the stopper with a dull thud. "Olivia, get down here right now!"

I did not answer. Holding the heavy suitcase against my chest to keep it from banging against the steps, I reached the small back stairs and hurried down them. My hand slid along the narrow wooden rail. My bruised thigh throbbed with a sharp, burning pain, but I pressed my lips together and kept going. At the bottom of the stairs, I stood in the small hallway next to the laundry room. To my left was the kitchen. To my right was the glass back door that opened into the garden.

"Where are you hiding?" Damian shouted from the front living room. I heard the sharp, rhythmic clicks of his leather shoes moving across the hardwood floor toward the kitchen. "The kitchen is still a mess! Did you hear what I told you before I left?"

I reached out with a cold, shaking hand, set the heavy suitcase down for a split second, and unlocked the back door. The metal lock gave a tiny, quiet click. I grabbed the suitcase handle again, pushed the glass door open, and slipped out into the dark night.

The cold rain hit me instantly, soaking my chestnut-brown hair and flattening it against my neck. The wind blew hard, spraying water across my face and under the collar of my oversized cardigan. I did not care. I pulled the door shut behind me until it latched, keeping the sound as soft as possible.

The backyard was pitch black. I lugged the heavy canvas bag down the stone path toward the side driveway where my old sedan was parked. The ground was muddy and slippery, and my flat shoes splashed through deep puddles of water. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped my car keys into the wet grass. I fumbled with the key fob, pressing the unlock button until the yellow parking lights flashed twice.

"Get in, just get in," I muttered to myself.

I threw the heavy suitcase onto the back floorboards, pulled the heavy front car door open, threw myself onto the worn fabric seat, and slammed the door shut. The inside of the car smelled like dust.

I  jammed the key into the ignition. The engine let out a loud, sputtering groan before it finally started up, its low hum vibrating through the steering wheel. Through the wet windshield, I looked back at the large house. The kitchen light suddenly flashed on. A tall silhouette appeared at the window. Damian was standing there, looking down at the empty floor.

I threw the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway, my tires spinning and throwing up wet gravel. I did not look back again.

I drove down our quiet street, turning left and then right, just trying to put distance between myself and that house.

I drove without a destination for a long time. The windshield wipers moved back and forth with a loud, rhythmic thump-thump, thump-thump, but they could barely clear the heavy sheets of pouring rain. I held the steering wheel so tight my fingers went numb. Big, hot tears finally spilled over my cheeks, mixing with the cold rainwater on my skin. I began to sob, the sound loud and ragged in the small space of the car.

As the dark roads blurred through my tears, old words started replaying in my mind. They were warnings I had ignored for years.

I remembered sitting in a small coffee shop years ago with my childhood best friend, Luca Romano. He had looked at me with wide, worried eyes, his hands waving in the air as he spoke.

"Olivia, he is changing you," Luca had said, his voice dropping to a serious whisper. "He tells you what to wear. He tells you who you can talk to. This is not right. You need to pack your bags and leave him before it gets worse."

"He is just stressed about the company, Luca," I had answered back then, pulling the sleeves of my sweater down to hide my hands. "He loves me. He is just trying to protect me."

"That is not protection, Olivia," Luca had snapped, his brow furrowing. "That is control. He is trying to make you small so you think you cannot live without him."

I had gotten angry at Luca that day. I had defended Damian. I had stopped calling Luca as much, just like Damian wanted. I had ignored my mother’s quiet questions when she noticed I stopped applying for executive jobs. I had believed Damian when he told me that my friends were jealous of his wealth and success.

"They were right," I sobbed into the dark interior of the car, my voice cracking. "They were all right, and I was so blind."

A green highway sign flashed past in the dark: Riverton — 10 Miles.

My mind cleared slightly. I knew where I had to go. I did not have a plan, but I knew the only two people who had never turned away from me: Luca and his fiancé, Adrian Brooks. They lived in a small, quiet neighborhood called Maple Grove.

I turned the car onto the exit ramp, my tires splashing through deep puddles on the asphalt. I drove through the narrow streets of Maple Grove, where the small houses had warm yellow lights glowing behind their curtains. Finally, I pulled up to the curb in front of a neat, gray house with a wide front porch. A single blue-and-white ceramic pot sat near the steps.

I turned off the engine. The sudden silence in the car was heavy. I grabbed my smartphone from the center console, shoved it into my cardigan pocket, and stepped back out into the freezing rain. I walked up the wooden porch steps, my whole body shaking from the cold and the pain in my ribs. I reached out and knocked on the front door three times.

The door opened almost immediately.

Luca stood in the warm entryway, wearing a loose black shirt and holding a pair of glasses in his hand. His bright eyes went wide as he looked at me. He saw my dripping hair, my torn cardigan, the purple bruise on my cheek, and my swollen lip.

"Olivia?" Luca gasped. He dropped his glasses onto the small entry table.

"Luca, I am so sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I did not know where else to go. I"

Luca did not let me finish. He did not ask a single question about why I was there or what had happened. He stepped forward, reached his arms around my shoulders, and pulled me inside the warm house. He slammed the front door shut against the wind and the rain.

"Adrian!" Luca called out toward the back of the house, his voice tight and loud. "Adrian, come here right now! Bring towels!"

A moment later, Adrian Brooks walked into the hallway from the kitchen. He was tall and deliberate, his face usually calm and unhurried. But the moment his eyes landed on my face, his jaw tightened. He did not yell or panic. He just nodded quietly.

"I am on it," Adrian said softly. He turned around and disappeared down the hall toward the bathroom.

Luca held me tight, wrapping his arms around my soft, plus-size frame. He did not care that my soaked clothes were getting his clean shirt completely wet. I pressed my face into his shoulder and let out a broken cry. My body shook so hard my knees buckled, but Luca held onto me, keeping me steady on my feet.

"I am so sorry for showing up like this," I wept into his shoulder. "I did not call first. I know you are busy planning the wedding. I am so sorry, Luca."

"Stop it, Olivia," Luca said, his voice fierce but incredibly warm. He squeezed my shoulders gently. "Do not you dare apologize to me. You are safe here. You hear me? You never have to ask permission to come to my home."

Adrian walked back into the hallway, carrying two thick, dry white towels. He handed one to Luca and quietly wrapped the other around my wet shoulders. The warmth of the cotton felt incredible against my freezing skin.

"The kitchen is warm," Adrian said, his voice low and steady. "Let us get her out of the hallway."

Luca kept his arm around my waist, guiding me slowly down the short corridor into their bright kitchen. The room smelled like cinnamon and fresh wood. Adrian quietly moved a wooden chair away from the table, helping me sit down. Then, he turned to the stove and turned on the gas burner beneath a stainless-steel kettle. He did not speak, but his movements were smooth and calm, filling the room with a quiet safety I had not felt in years.

Luca knelt on the floor in front of my chair. He took my wet hands into his warm ones. He looked up at my face, his eyes fixed on the dark purple bruise on my cheekbone. His fingers tightened around mine, but his voice stayed gentle.

"We are going to take care of you, Olivia," Luca whispered, his eyes shining with a fierce, protective light. "We are right here."

I tried to nod, but my eyes drifted toward the clean, white kitchen counter where I had placed my smartphone.

Suddenly, the phone's screen lit up with a bright, harsh glare. It began to buzz against the stone surface, making a loud, rattling noise that echoed through the quiet kitchen. I flinched at the sound, my shoulders tightening automatically.

Luca looked over his shoulder at the counter. Adrian stopped filling the teapot and turned his head to look too.

The screen glowed brightly in the warm room. Written across the center of the dark glass, in clear white letters, was Damian’s name. Beneath his name, the small red notification icon flashed over and over, showing exactly thirty-one missed calls.