I sucked in a sharp breath. The man who had unknowingly kept me safe, the only leverage I had over Marco… was now unconscious. My last hope, slipping through my fingers.

My throat felt tight. “Is he going to wake up?”

A beat of silence. Then, Marco’s voice, low and strained. “The doctors don’t know. And Olivia? No one can help you now.” He turned off the call.

A bitter taste filled my mouth. Fate wasn’t just pulling me down—it was burying me alive.

—

I sat in my car outside the hospital, staring blankly at the glass doors. People came and went, their lives moving forward, untouched by the wreckage of mine.

I wanted to go inside. I wanted to see Marco’s grandfather, to tell him how sorry I was that he had to suffer because of all this. Because of Marco. Because of me. But it wouldn’t change anything.

I was alone now. Truly alone.

No. Not alone.

My fingers tightened aroud my phone as I pulled up a number. A number I swore I’d never call again.

My chest ached as I hit dial. One ring. Two. Then, a deep, familiar voice.

“Olivia?”

Tears burned my eyes at the warmth in Damian’s tone, at the way he still said my name like it meant something.

“…I need your help.”

—

Damian met me at a quiet café the next morning. The sight of him made my chest tighten.

Years had passed, but he hadn’t changed. The same calm presence, the same quiet strength. He looked like he belonged in a world far above mine—dressed in a tailored black suit, powerful, confident, untouchable. But when he looked at me, his dark eyes softened.

“Tell me everything,” he said, his voice gentle.

And so I did. I told him about Marco’s betrayal. About Selena. About Celeste. I told him how I felt like I was suffocating, drowning in a marriage that had long stopped being real. By the time I finished, my hands were trembling.

Damian leaned back, studying me carefully. “You should have come to me sooner.”

I let out a hollow laugh. “I thought I could handle it.”

His jaw tightened, frustration flickering across his face. “You don’t have to anymore.”

My breath hitched. “You’d really help me disappear?”

His gaze softened. “Olivia, I would do anything for you.”

Something inside me cracked. There was a time when I could have loved him. Maybe I still did.

—

The days blurred together as I carefully put my plan into motion. A fake name. A one-way ticket. A life waiting for me on the other side of the world.

I avoided Marco as much as possible, but he noticed. The flowers. The gifts. The sudden tenderness in his voice. Desperation disguised as affection.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” he said one evening, standing in my mother’s doorway, watching me carefully. “Come home.”

I met his gaze, unwavering. “I am home.”

His jaw ticked. “With your mother?”

“Yes.”

A flash of irritation crossed his face. “You’re my wife, Olivia.”

I smiled bitterly. “Am I?”

For the first time, uncertainty flickered in his eyes. He was losing control. And he knew it.

—

Everything was ready. Tomorrow, I’d be gone.

I stared at my flight confirmation, my heart hammering. This was real. This was happening. I was finally leaving.

But when I got home that night, the air felt… wrong. The house was dark, unnervingly silent. And then, I saw him.

Marco. Sitting in the living room, legs crossed, fingers tapping idly against a stack of papers. My papers. My fake passport. My flight ticket. My entire escape plan, laid bare in his hands.

Slowly, he looked up. And then… he smirked.

“You really thought you could leave me?”

My stomach lurched. I forced myself to stand my ground. “Give those back, Marco.”

His gaze darkened with something unreadable. “Oh, I will.”

He stood, moving toward me with a slow, predatory grace. “But first,” he murmured, his voice like silk-wrapped steel, “I have a little surprise for you.”

A sick feeling settled deep in my gut.

I didn’t sleep that night.

And the next morning, my world crumbled after I reached my office.

My name was everywhere.

“Billionaire Marco Rivera Files for Divorce—Publicly Rejects Wife!”

The air felt like it had been knocked from my lungs. My hands shook as I scrolled through the headlines.

“Faithful Husband Betrayed! Olivia Rivera Caught Having an Affair After Daughter’s Death!”

“Shocking Scandal: Marco Rivera’s Grief-Stricken Wife Found in Secret Meetings with Another Man!”

And then I saw them. The pictures. Of me and Damian's back at the café. Twisted. Manipulated. A weapon aimed at my heart.

My body went cold. Marco did this. He wasn’t just leaving me. He was destroying me.

I called Marco. Once. Twice. No answer.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palm. Coward.

The news was spreading like wildfire. My name was everywhere, dragged through the mud. Marco had set me up to be the villain—the heartless wife who cheated after losing her daughter. The world believed him.

I needed to face him. I needed to see for myself the monster he had become.

—

When I arrived home—our pathtic home—I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Something was wrong.

The moment I stepped inside, I felt it. The air was heavy. The house, too quiet. Then I heard a soft, mocking laugh from upstairs.

My chest tightened. I followed the sound, my heart pounding. The bedroom door was open.

And there she was. Selena. In my bed. Wearing my wedding ring.

She smirked as she lazily stretched, the silk sheets barely covering her body. “Took you long enough.”

I froze in the doorway. And then… Marco walked out of the bathroom, buttoning his shirt.

My breath caught. He wasn’t even surprised to see me. If anything, he looked amused.

“Like what you see?” he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “You bastard.”

Selena laughed. “Oh, Olivia, don’t look so heartbroken. Did you really think you were his one and only?”

I ignored her and glared at Marco. “You humiliated me. You accused me of having an affair while you were screwing your mistress in our bed?”

His lips curled into a smirk. “I just sped up the inevitable.”

I shook my head, voice trembling. “How could you do this? After everything we—”

Marco cut me off, his expression turning cold. “You were never meant to be my wife in the first place.”

The words sliced through me like a blade. I felt my body sway.

Selena giggled and held out her hand, admiring my wedding ring on her finger. “I think it suits me better, don’t you?”

I clenched my fists. I wanted to slap that smug look off her face. I wanted to scream, to break something—to break him.

But instead, I took a slow, shaky breath. Then, I walked to the desk, grabbed the divorce papers, and signed my name without hesitation.

I gave them one last look before turning on my heel. I wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of them.

-

For the next three days, I kept a low profile. No one knew where I was, not even my mother. I needed time—to think, to grieve, to gather my strength.

The cemetery was quiet. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the marble tombstones. I knelt in front of Celeste’s grave, my fingers tracing her name on the cold stone.

"Hey, baby," I whispered. "Mommy’s here."

The wind blew gently, rustling the leaves around me. I closed my eyes, feeling the ache in my chest grow.

"I miss you so much," I choked out. "I still wake up expecting to hear your little footsteps running down the hall. I still think I’ll turn around and see your smile."

Tears spilled down my cheeks, dripping onto the ground. "I should have protected you," I whispered. "I should have been there. But I promise, Celeste... I won’t let them get away with this."

I wiped my tears, my voice firm. "I’ll find the truth. No matter what it takes. But for now, I need to leave you for a while. But promise, I'll be back…”

For a long time, I sat there in silence, letting my grief wash over me when my phone rang.

Damian.

I exhaled and answered. "Yeah?"

"You still wanna leave the city?" His voice was steady, no nonsense. He wasn’t asking because he doubted me—he was asking because he was making it happen.

I clenched my jaw. "Yes."

"Good," he said. "I booked another flight. Marco thinks he’s got you cornered, but he’s wrong. This isn’t running. This is you taking your life back."

Damn right.

The airport was alive with noise—announcements echoing, people moving, the hum of conversations blending into one. But I didn’t hear any of it. I walked with my head high, using my real name, my real passport. No more fake IDs, no more disguises. Marco had taken those, thinking he could control me.

Let him think that. Because the truth was, I wasn’t sneaking away like some shameful secret. I was leaving as Olivia Carter—wronged, betrayed, but undefeated.

And just as I settled into my seat, just as the final boarding call rang through the speakers, my phone vibrated. Marco.

I stared at the screen for a second before answering. "What do you want?"

"Where the fuck are you?" His voice was sharp, demanding.

I smirked. "We’re divorced, Marco. Why do you care?"

"Olivia, don’t play games with me."

I chuckled. "Games? That’s rich, coming from you." I leaned back in my seat, crossing my legs. "If you must know, I’m with my man, Damian. Isn’t that nice?"

Silence. Then, a low, dangerous growl. "You think this is funny?"

"I think it’s hilarious," I shot back. "The great Marco DeLuca, losing control. Must be a first for you, huh?"

"Get off that fucking plane."

"Make me."

"Grandfather is awake," he snapped. "He’s asking for you."

I scoffed. "And that’s supposed to make me care?"

"He stood by you," Marco pushed, his voice tight. "You owe him that much."

I let out a slow breath. "I don’t owe you a goddamn thing, Marco." Then, after a pause, I added, "And for the record?" My voice dropped to a whisper, sharp as a blade.

"I know." Silence. I smiled, slow and cold. "I know your mistress killed my daughter that day." I could hear his breath hitch. "And I know you covered it up."

"Olivia—"

I hung up.

The phone buzzed again. And again. Desperate. Panicked. I turned it off. And as the plane took off, I closed my eyes and exhaled.

Let him panic. Let him drown in his own lies. Because this? This was just the beginning.