Chapter 14
Olivia
The cold hit me the moment I opened the truck door. The wind whipped across the clearing, carrying the distant scent of pine and frozen mud.
I stepped down onto the gravel. I heard Ben get out on the driver's side, the heavy slam of his door echoing off the trees, but I kept my eyes forward.
On her.
Lucia Vance stood twenty feet away, leaning against the hood of a white Range Rover that looked like it had never seen a speck of dirt.
She was tall—taller than I'd expected. Maybe five-nine in her flat leather boots.
Her camel coat was expensive wool, tailored sharp at the shoulders, and she wore it open despite the freezing wind.
Her hair was exactly like the photos: glossy, dark, pulled back in a low ponytail that the wind kept catching.
She was beautiful. Really beautiful. I had known that from the screen, but seeing it in three dimensions was different.
The photos were curated; this was raw. She had the kind of face that held your attention without trying—high cheekbones, a full mouth, dark eyes that watched me approach with a mix of defiance and terror.
She looked like she belonged here. Standing in front of a half-finished dream, unbothered by the mess.
Behind her, the house rose up like a skeleton against the gray sky.
It was massive. A timber frame structure of raw yellow pine and black iron brackets. The beams soared upward, framing a cathedral ceiling that had no roof yet. It was open to the elements, exposed, violent in its unfinished state.
I stopped ten feet from her.
She pushed off the Range Rover and took a step forward. Her hands stayed buried in the deep pockets of her coat.
"Olivia," she said.
My name in her mouth felt like a violation.
I didn't respond. I just stood there, arms rigid at my sides, letting the wind bite through my sweater. I'd expected someone who sounded like she did on the phone, raw and breaking. But the woman in front of me had pulled the armor back on.
She swallowed, her throat working. "Thank you for coming. I know this is..." She trailed off, looking down at the gravel. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"For what?" My voice was steady, colder than the air. "For sleeping with my husband? For being the reason he was on this road when he died? Pick one, Lucia."
She flinched, her eyes squeezing shut for a second.
"All of it," she whispered.
I heard Ben shift behind me, his boots scraping on the stone. He was close enough that I could feel his presence, a solid wall at my back, but he didn't speak.
"How long?" I asked.
Lucia’s jaw tightened. "Does it matter now?"
"Yes."
She looked at the house behind her, then back at me. "We met a year and a half ago. But... the rest of it? The affair? That was later. Maybe… fourteen months."
"Fourteen months," I repeated.
"We met professionally," she said quickly, as if the distinction mattered. "I bought this land. I needed an architect who understood timber framing, and someone recommended Ryan."
I frowned. Ryan did timber framing, but usually for porches or great rooms. Not a beast like this.
"So he was your architect," I said.
"He was my partner," she corrected.
The word hung in the air.
"We formed an LLC," she said. "Fifty-fifty. I found the land, he designed it. We hired a general contractor, but Ryan oversaw everything. He wanted to make sure it was built right. We were going to flip it. It was a spec house."
I looked up at the massive beams, at this monster of a house.
"He never told me," I said. "Why wouldn't he tell me?"
Lucia wrapped her coat tighter around herself. "Because he was scared you’d talk him out of it."
I felt a flash of anger hot enough to melt the ice under my boots. "Excuse me?"
"He felt stuck, Olivia." Her voice wasn't cruel, just factual.
"He felt like he was spinning his wheels at his firm.
Doing bathrooms and kitchen bump-outs. He wanted a win.
A big one." She gestured to the house. "He wanted to prove he could execute something like this.
He wanted to come to you when it was done, with the check in his hand, and say, 'Look what I did. '"
I stared at her.
Ryan, the optimist. Ryan, who hummed while he made coffee.
He hadn't just been cheating on me with a woman; he’d been cheating on me with a career. He’d been moonlighting as a developer, chasing some desperate need for validation that I apparently didn't give him.
"And the affair?" I asked. "Where did that fit into the business plan?"
She looked away. "It just... happened. We were spending hours together.
Late nights reviewing plans. Site visits.
He was so passionate about this place. It was contagious.
" She looked back at me. "He wasn't unhappy with you, Olivia.
He was unhappy with himself. And when he was with me, here.
.. I suppose he felt like the man he wanted to be. "
I felt sick. It was almost worse than if he’d just fallen out of love. He had used her to feel important.
I'd convinced myself that "this ends tonight" meant the affair. That Ryan was driving out here to do the right thing, but standing here, looking at this house—their house—I couldn't make myself believe it anymore.
"Was he going to leave me?" I asked. "Is that what Friday was about?"
"I don't know." Her voice cracked. "He texted me after lunch. Said we needed to talk. That it was important." She took a shaky breath, then gestured at the house, the movement sharp and frustrated. "I thought... I hoped it meant he was finally ready to choose. Me. The project. All of it."
"But he died before he got here."
"Yes."
I looked at the house again. The sheer scale of it was dizzying.
"This isn't a cheap build," I said.
"No."
I looked at Ben. He was staring at the structure, his eyes narrowing as he did the math. When he looked back at me, I saw the calculation in his face. Expensive.
"How much?" I asked Lucia.
She hesitated.
"Lucia. How much is in this hole?"
"The land was two hundred. Materials and labor... another three-fifty so far. And we're not even dried in."
Five hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
"Where did he get that kind of money?" My voice trembled. "Ryan didn't have half a million dollars. We have savings, but nothing like that."
Lucia looked at me, and for the first time, I saw the panic underneath her grief. She wasn't just mourning a lover. This woman was terrified.
"Where did the money come from, Lucia?"
"A construction loan," she said quietly. "Private equity. High interest, short term. We were supposed to refinance once the frame was up."
"A loan requires collateral," I said. "If he didn't use cash, what did he leverage?"
She closed her eyes. She looked small suddenly.
"He put up his equity," she said.
"What equity?"
"His house," she whispered. "Your house."
The wind seemed to stop. The world went dead silent.
"He couldn't," I said, the words thick in my throat "That's impossible. My name is on the deed. He couldn't use our home without my signature."
Lucia opened her eyes. They were wet.
"He handled the financing, Olivia. He said he took care of it."
"He couldn't have," I insisted. "I never signed anything. I never saw a loan officer."
"He brought the papers to the lender already signed," she said. "He said you did it at home because you couldn't get off work."
Ben's hand closed around my arm, the only thing keeping me upright.
The realization washed over me like ice water.
Ryan hadn't just lied. He hadn't just cheated.
"He forged it," I whispered.
Lucia didn't argue. She just looked at me with helpless, terrified eyes.
"He forged my signature," I said, the volume rising. "He leveraged the roof over my head for this... this ego trip."
"He was sure it would work," Lucia pleaded, as if his optimism mattered. "He was sure we’d sell it for more than a million, pay off the loan, and no one would ever know."
"But he didn't sell it," I said. "He died."
"Yes."
I looked at the skeleton house. At this… this tombstone.
"What happens now?" I asked. "If you can't finish this..."
"The loan comes due," Lucia half-whispered. "The full amount. And if we can't pay—" She looked at me. "They take your house. And my land. Everything we both put in."
I looked at Ben. His face was pale, his jaw set in a line of pure fury.
Ryan was gone.
And he had left me with a mistress, a half-finished house on Route 9, and a bank that was about to come for everything I owned.