18. Olivia
OLIVIA
The potential investor’s shoes echo like pistol shots on the hard floor, a strange blend of city and ranch—just like me.
“Your vision is impressive,” he says, the words smooth and practiced, like they’ve slipped from his tongue a thousand times.
But it’s the follow-up that punches hard.
“You need to run this project alone.” He doesn’t have to say the rest—I can hear Ace’s name in the silence.
My hands clench beneath the table, knuckles white and aching.
The converted barn is an unlikely office, yet I’ve grown to like its unpolished beauty.
Everything here feels solid, grounded, unlike the dream I’m trying to balance.
The beams above me create sharp angles of shadow and light, and I wonder if this man across the table is calculating those too.
He carries himself with a confidence that doesn’t flinch.
“I didn’t expect this much progress.” His pen moves quickly, an effortless sketch of letters and numbers that would take me hours to figure out. “You have quite a vision here.”
I nod, but it feels robotic. “Thank you,” I say, trying to match his tone and failing. “We’ve been working around the clock.” He raises an eyebrow at the ‘we,’ and it lands like a lead weight on my chest.
His eyes flicker over the plans, the kind that could pass for art, but all I see are timelines and deadlines pressing in. He clicks his tongue in appreciation at one of the pages.
“You understand why timing is everything, right?” he asks. “An investor like me, well, we look for certain assurances.”
I try to look assured. “I do.”
“There are ways to speed things up. My team’s looked at the numbers. If you want this investment, we’ll need you to take on the full responsibility. Personally, I don’t like to work with Lockwood’s.”
It sounds so official when he puts it like that. It sounds like Ace isn’t even a person, just a liability to be cut. The room goes quiet, and my jaw starts to ache from forcing the kind of smile that’s supposed to look natural. “I’ve got it under control.”
“I don’t doubt that, but think about how much smoother this could go. It’s your call, but you need to consider how stretched you’ll be if you try to bring someone else along.”
There it is, finally. A name without saying it. A condition without stating it.
“I’ll think it over,” I say, and it’s weaker than I want it to be. He’s got me, and we both know it.
He’s quiet for a moment, letting the silence say more than he did. I can feel his gaze steady and unyielding, the kind that waits for answers and gets them. My pulse quickens, a desperate beat against the inside of my skin. I wonder if he can see it.
“I just don’t want you to lose out,” he finally says, standing like he’s sure he’s already won. “You’re on the verge of something huge. Don’t let anything hold you back.”
And then he’s gone, leaving the door slightly ajar, the cold air spilling in.
I leave the barn and head to the house where Ace is waiting for me.
I hesitate at the door, where it’s still safe, where the weight of the afternoon hasn’t pressed all the way down on me.
He’s waiting, leaning against the rail with his arms folded like a question, like a challenge, and I’m not ready to answer either.
“What happened back there?”
I lean against the porch post, my shoulders tense, pretending I can avoid this moment forever.
But we both know better. His eyes don’t leave me, but I look everywhere else—the gravel driveway, the pasture in the distance, the far edge of the sky where the light bleeds into the coming night. I wonder if he can see how torn I am.
Ace waits, patient but with a simmering impatience beneath. I know he won’t speak first, and I don’t know if I can. “Just the usual talk,” I say, forcing a lightness I don’t feel. “You know how those meetings go.”
He doesn’t buy it. I can tell by the way his brow creases, the way his jaw sets. “This one felt different.” He pushes off the rail and steps closer, bridging the distance I’ve put between us. “I could see it on his face when he left. And yours.”
There’s nowhere to run, no more distractions to look at. Just him, and me, and everything I’m too scared to say. “We’ve got a lot riding on this,” I finally admit. It feels like a coward’s way out.
“We?” Ace’s voice is low, but there’s an edge to it now, like he’s picking up on something I haven’t said yet. “Or just you?”
I look away, desperate to keep it together. Desperate not to show how much I’m breaking. “You know how these deals work,” I say, and my voice cracks just enough to betray me. “Nothing’s certain. Not until it is.”
His silence presses against me, heavy and expectant. “What aren’t you telling me, Olivia?” It’s a plea and an accusation all at once, and it hits harder than he knows.
I twist the hem of my shirt between my fingers, anything to keep my hands from shaking. “He wants assurances.”
“Assurances.” Ace repeats it like he’s testing the word for truth. His gaze pierces through every excuse I want to make. “And that means cutting me out?” I don’t answer right away, and in that hesitation, I say more than words ever could. “That’s what he wants?”
The words are a dam inside me, ready to break and drown everything.
Everything we are. I’m desperate to stop it, to hold on, but the truth slips free.
“Maybe we rushed into this!” I shout, and the sound of it feels like an echo that will never stop.
“He doesn’t want anything to do with the Lockwood name. ”
It hangs there between us, each word a wedge pushing deeper. I’m stunned that I said it. Stunned that I meant it.
Ace’s face shifts from shock to something raw and wounded.
The look in his eyes is unbearable, and I can’t take it back.
“So that’s how it is?” he says, and the quiet after feels like it’s suffocating us both.
I try to speak, but he cuts in, his voice sharp with anger and something like desperation. “I thought we were in this together.”
I can’t stand the hurt in his voice. “We are!” I insist, but the words are flimsy and thin, not nearly enough to hold the weight of his disappointment.
Ace runs a hand through his hair, the gesture rough and unsteady. “You’re just gonna toss it all because one guy with a fancy checkbook comes in and rattles you?”
“It’s not that simple!” My own frustration breaks through now, matching his, fighting his.
“It’s not that complicated.” He stands his ground, refusing to look away, refusing to let this go. “Either we’re doing this or we’re not. Which is it?”
“I don’t know,” I say, and it’s barely a sound, but it carries everything.
He steps back, and I can see the struggle in him, the way his whole body tenses like he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart.
“This is a hell of a way to find out where I stand.” The words are bitter and cold, and they hit me like a punch to the gut.
I want to reach out, to say I’m sorry, to say I’m scared and I don’t want to lose him, don’t want to lose us. But I’m frozen, trapped in my own doubt and fear.
“Are you taking the deal?” Ace demands, voice rising.
“I just need time,” I say, almost pleading, and I hate the way it sounds like a goodbye.
He turns away, a fierce anger in his movements, but beneath it I see the ache I’ve caused. “Guess that makes one of us,” he mutters, and the words cut deeper than any we’ve said all night.