Chapter 24
Olivia
I ’ve always been good under pressure. The higher the stakes, the clearer my mind becomes.
Tonight is no different.
At a glittering, expensive downtown hotel, Alexander and I step through ornate double doors, and despite the flutter in my chest, I feel that familiar calm settling in. His hand finds the small of my back as we navigate through the crowd of Empire Heights’ elite.
“Ready to charm them all?” he murmurs close to my ear.
“Born ready.”
And I mean it. Hand in hand, we approach a cluster of impeccably dressed strangers whose laughter cuts through the classical music. I straighten my spine, chin lifting slightly. Scrutiny I can handle. It’s the deception weighing on me that’s new.
“Alexander! There you are,” calls a distinguished gentleman with silver temples, raising his crystal flute in our direction.
“Mark, good to see you,” Alexander says. “I’d like you to meet someone very special.” His gaze softens as it lands on me. “This is Olivia Jackson, my fiancée.”
Fiancée. The word rings in my ears as I extend my hand.
Mark’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “Fiancée? Now that’s unexpected!” He shakes my hand with surprising vigor. “My congratulations. Our Alex has kept the city’s most eligible women hoping for quite some time.”
I produce a laugh that sounds almost genuine despite the tightness in my throat. “Thank you, Mark. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
As Alexander presents me to a parade of associates, I can’t help wondering how many smiles hide calculations about what the Carter-Hawthorne merger means for their portfolios. The Carter name carries weight, after all.
“And here’s Jennifer from our marketing division,” Alexander gestures toward a willowy blonde. “Jen, meet Olivia.”
Jennifer’s gaze drops immediately to my left hand, zeroing in on the ring. “Oh my, what a stunning piece! Alex, you’ve outdone yourself.”
I angle my hand so the diamond catches the light. “It is beautiful, isn’t it? He certainly knows what suits me.”
His arm encircles my waist, drawing me against him. “I’m just lucky she said yes.”
For the next two hours, I float through conversations with Alexander’s colleagues, laughing at jokes and somehow finding the perfect question for each stranger. Alex’s palm remains warm against my back, guiding me through the room like we’ve rehearsed this a thousand times.
At midnight, my clutch buzzes. Tiffany’s name illuminates my screen alongside a message that makes my stomach drop:
Tiffany
Olivia, are you ENGAGED? What’s going on???
“Darling,” I murmur to Alex, forcing my lips into a smile. “I need to step away. It’s Tiffany.”
His forehead creases, but he squeezes my fingers. “Take all the time you need.”
I brush my lips against his cheek, cologne filling my lungs. “Back in a moment,” I promise, already backing away.
My heels click against the polished floor as I make my way toward a deserted hallway. In a shadowed alcove, I dial with unsteady hands.
She answers immediately. “Olivia? What’s happening?”
I press my forehead against cool wallpaper. “Tiff, I’ve been meaning to call—”
“Have you?” Ice coats her words. “Because I just learned my sister is engaged from the headline ‘Hawthorne Heir Engaged to Unknown Carter Sister.’”
“I wanted to tell you myself, face to face—”
The silence on the other end is deafening. I can picture her expression: brows knitted, lips pressed tight, hurt etched across her features.
“But what? When did this even happen? Why am I the last to know?” Her voice shrinks. She pauses, letting each word land. “We tell each other everything, Liv. Everything.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” My free hand twists the beading on my dress. “It’s been chaotic. The Hawthorns move at their own pace, and Alex insisted on announcing it at tonight’s gala. I planned to call you tomorrow and explain everything properly.”
“Tomorrow,” she repeats with a hollow laugh. “After everyone else already knows.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Fair? What’s not fair is finding out my sister’s marrying into one of the most powerful families in the country through some headline. What’s unfair is realizing I don’t know who you are anymore.”
Her words cut deep, and I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “I was overwhelmed. I never expected to meet someone like Alex, and I wanted to keep it private for a while. I didn’t want to complicate things.”
“It sounds like you two really care about each other,” Tiffany says softly. “I get it. I’m just taken aback. I needed to hear it from you first.”
I nod, voice tight. “I know.”
“Is this why you’ve been ignoring my calls?”
I swallow. “Yes… partly. I didn’t know how to tell you, Tiff. I have no good excuse.”
“I see.” Another pause, and I hold my breath. “Look, I’m happy for you, Liv. Truly. But I need time to process this.”
Her kindness twists like a knife in my chest. I lean against the wall’s cool surface. “I promise I’ll explain everything in person. There’s more to it than I can say over the phone.”
“Okay,” she says, voice gentle. “Just give me some time, alright?”
“Of course. I love you, Tiffany.”
She hesitates. “I love you too, Olivia.”
The call ends abruptly. I stare at the dark screen, willing it to light up again, but it stays blank in my hand. A single tear slides down my cheek, and I quickly brush it away, afraid of ruining my makeup.
I need to pull myself together before I return to the party. The last thing I want is the photographers catching Alexander Hawthorne’s new fiancée with mascara tracks down her cheeks.
I push off the wall and inhale deeply, scanning the corridor for the nearest powder room. When I spot a door bearing an ornate gold plaque, I slip inside.
The room is empty, thank god.
I lean against the cool marble counter and let my shoulders finally drop as I meet my reflection in the gilded mirror.
The powder room is ludicrously opulent: cream marble everywhere, gleaming gold fixtures, crystal vases filled with fresh orchids, and hand-embroidered towels stacked in perfect pyramids.
Even the soap dispenser looks museum-worthy.
This is the world Alex was raised in, and the one I stumbled into by sheer luck at twelve, where extravagance is the norm and nothing less will do.
But my reflection tells a different story. My eyes are rimmed with red; my carefully applied eyeshadow has smeared at the corners. A stray lock has escaped my updo, and my red lipstick is half-gone from nervous lip-biting. I look exactly what I am: an outsider desperate to belong.
I reach into my clutch, pull out a compact, and dust translucent powder over my blotchy cheeks.
Have I traded my sister for this gilded life? The thought makes my hand tremble as I reach for my red lipstick.
The door swings open with a soft swish, and I straighten, forcing my features into a neutral mask.
In the mirror, I watch a statuesque woman enter—dark hair cascading in perfect waves, an emerald gown catching the light with every step.
There’s something achingly familiar about her, though I’m certain we’ve never met.
She takes the sink beside mine without a glance, flips open a small gold compact, and I become painfully aware of my hurried touch-ups, my anxiety laid bare. At last, her eyes flick to mine in the mirror, appraising, then her red lips curve into a polished smile.
“Oh, that lipstick is divine. It complements your complexion beautifully.”
I blink, surprised. “Thank you. It’s a new shade I’m trying.”
“Absolutely stunning.” She reaches for the tube. “May I?” I hand it over wordlessly.
“You must be Olivia,” she says as she reapplies the color. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”
“That’s me.” I smile. “And you are...?”
She laughs, poised and confident. “I’m Elena Crawford. Congratulations on your engagement.” She finishes my lip line with a practiced flick. “Two weeks in and already wearing the Hawthorne diamond—you must be very special.”
Her tone is sharp. I focus on fixing my hair.
“Thank you,” I say evenly.
“I’ve known the Hawthorns forever,” Elena continues.
“Richard—Senator Hawthorne—and my father were Yale roommates. Our families have been intertwined for generations.” She lifts her wrist, drawing attention to a diamond bracelet.
“A gift from Richard on my twenty-fifth birthday. The Hawthorns are always generous with their own.”
The message is clear: she belongs here; I do not. I swallow, capping my lipstick with more force than necessary. “How wonderful that you’ve stayed close.”
“Don’t misunderstand me,” Elena’s voice softens with what might be mistaken for kindness.
“I wish you both every happiness. But the Hawthorns have… expectations, traditions older than I can count. Richard has very precise ideas about the kind of woman who bears his name.” She smooths a perfect curl behind her ear.
“Did Alex mention that when he proposed? Or was it all moonlight and roses?”
“Alex and I understand each other perfectly.”
“I’m sure you do.” Elena’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Just remember, darling, knowing the man isn’t the same as understanding the legacy he carries. And you’re marrying that name as much as you’re marrying him.”
She turns back to the mirror. “I ought to return. Alex’s father is waiting for our dance. Old traditions die hard.” With a snap, her compact closes, and she tucks it into her clutch. “It was lovely to meet you, Olivia. I’m sure we’ll be seeing much more of each other.”
I murmur something polite, snatch up my purse, and flee the suffocating presence of the woman who knows Alex in ways I suddenly fear I never will.
I step out of the powder room with Elena’s words clinging to me like strong perfume, inescapable and overwhelming.
I need to find Alex, see his face, hear his voice, banish the doubts she’s planted.
The main ballroom’s lights and music swell ahead. I lift my chin, paint a perfect smile on my lips, and step back into the performance.