Chapter 19 OLIVE
OLIVE
Suspended
When I round the corner and see the cluster of people outside the kindergarten gates, my first thought is that someone called a fire drill. Then I see the cameras.
Dozens of them. Flashes go off like fireworks, and before I can fully register what’s happening, I’m surrounded.
“Olive! Olive Hart!”
“Olive, how did you meet Ash Ryder?”
“Did you seduce him into marrying you?”
My tote bag slips from my shoulder as I raise both hands in front of my face. The sidewalk vanishes under swarming feet. A microphone jabs toward my mouth like it’s a weapon.
I can’t breathe.
“I—excuse me—please—”
A small hand grabs my elbow.
“Nina?” I breathe, stunned.
She nods once, her glare sharp enough to melt a camera lens. “Let’s go. I swear, if one of them tries to touch you again, I’ll shove that mic somewhere creative.”
She tugs me toward the gate with zero patience for the chaos around us. “Give the poor girl space!” she snaps at the crowd. “This is a kindergarten, not a fucking press junket!”
“Thanks,” I whisper, ducking my head.
“Keep walking. Don’t give them anything.”
A parent—not so sympathetic—glares at me from the other side of the gate. She pulls her daughter closer, like I’m radioactive. “They’re hounding the children now. This is unacceptable,” she mutters to another parent, loud enough for me to hear.
I try to ignore the sting.
“Olive!” Another voice, closer this time. “Is it true you were homeless before moving in with Ash Ryder?”
Nina whips around. “Seriously?” she barks. “You’re harassing a kindergarten teacher?”
The gate finally swings open, and Nina all but shoves me inside first. I scramble through, heart racing, and she slams the gate shut behind us with finality.
Inside the courtyard, it’s like stepping into another world—balloons from yesterday’s birthday party still flutter in the breeze, chalk drawings faintly visible on the pavement. But the noise outside taints it. Like oil spilled on water.
I press my back to the gate and take a shaky breath.
Nina squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t let them get to you,” she says softly.
Inside the kindergarten walls, staff bustle around with forced cheer, pretending nothing’s wrong. But it’s clear they’ve seen the crowd.
Ms. Renner won’t meet my eyes.
Mr. David gives me a polite nod, tight-lipped.
Janice, our sweet cook, actually winks and murmurs, “Didn’t know you were dating a rock god. Nicely done.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, not sure if it’s a compliment or judgment.
“You want me to hang around?” Nina asks. “Kick any reporters in the shins? Maybe stage a distraction?”
I almost laugh. “I think I’ll be okay. But thank you. Really.”
She hesitates, scanning my face. “Text me if anything goes sideways.”
I nod. She hugs me—hard—and then disappears down the hall like a stylish avenger.
I step into the Sunshine Room, the place I usually feel most like myself—and that’s when little Ava squeals, “Miss Hart! Are you famous now?”
I blink. “What?”
She giggles. “You were on my mommy’s phone this morning! Like a princess.”
My smile wobbles. “Was I?”
“Are you marrying a prince?” Milo asks, wide-eyed.
My heart thuds. I crouch down to their level, forcing a smile. “No princess here, kiddo. Just me, same old Miss Hart.”
My hands won’t stop trembling as I pass out crayons.
Crayons. I can do crayons. Crayons don’t ask invasive questions.
But just as I begin to breathe again, the office phone rings. Then again. And again.
Janice appears in the doorway, flushed. “It’s the front desk,” she whispers. “They’ve had five calls already. Press pretending to be parents, asking for comment.”
My stomach knots.
“How would they even know where I work?”
She hesitates. “It’s all over the gossip blogs. Someone leaked it.”
“Oh my god.”
I excuse myself and head to the staff break room, grabbing my phone.
Missed calls. Voicemails. A few texts from Liam warning me not to Google myself. And several from Ash.
Footsteps echo in the hallway—quick, purposeful.
Then a voice.
“Miss Hart, can I see you in my office, please?”
The words hit like a hammer. The principal—Mrs. Dinsmore—is standing at the door, lips pursed so tight they’ve practically disappeared. Her expression is polite, practiced… and chilly.
I murmur follow her down the hallway like I’m on my way to detention.
Her office smells like lemon disinfectant and judgment.
She doesn’t ask me to sit. Just closes the door, turns, and fixes me with a look.
“I’ll be direct, Miss Hart.”
Here it comes.
“This is a school. Not a tabloid set. We cannot have paparazzi loitering outside the gates and frightening parents.”
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I say quietly, pulse hammering. “I didn’t invite the press.”
“That may be true.” Her eyes flicker with something—sympathy, maybe—but it vanishes fast. “Regardless, the disruption is unacceptable. I’ve had complaints. Parents are worried. Some are threatening to pull their children if this becomes ongoing.”
I swallow hard. “But I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“This isn’t about wrong, Olive.” The use of my first name doesn’t soften it—it makes it worse. “It’s about optics. Safety. Reputation. Until things calm down, I think it’s best that you… take some time.”
My mouth falls open. “You’re suspending me?”
“A precautionary leave. Until further notice.”
Her tone is smooth. Controlled. Like this is a business transaction and not my life unraveling.
“You can’t be serious.”
Her lips press together again. “You’re a wonderful teacher. Truly. But you’re also now engaged to a celebrity, and like it or not, that means the media will follow. We need to be realistic about how that affects our school.”
She reaches for a folder on her desk, but I barely register it. My vision goes hot and blurry. I keep it together just long enough to grab my tote bag and personal things. What about the kids? I’m going to miss them so much. But I’m instructed not to say goodbye. Just leave—quietly, immediately.
Outside, Ash is waiting beside his sleek, jet-black car, like he’s stepped off a movie set. How did he know to come here? How did he know I’d need someone in my corner? But he did. And he came. Gratitude swells in my chest, threatening to spill over.
Reporters swarm the sidewalk, cameras flashing, voices shouting. And Ash? He’s calm. Steady. A wall between me and the chaos.
His eyes lock on mine.
Without a word, he pushes past the chaos and walks straight to me. One arm comes around my shoulders, the other shields my face as the cameras go wild.
“Back off,” he says, voice cool and commanding. “No comment.”
The reporters scatter just enough for us to slip through. Ash opens the passenger door like a gentleman from another century—quiet, purposeful.
I hesitate for half a second. Smile. Small. Shaky. Like everything’s fine.
But the moment I sit down and the door closes with a soft click, the smile shatters.
Tears spring to my eyes like they’ve been waiting for the sound of silence. My throat clamps shut. My hands fist in my lap.
I can’t breathe around the shame burning in my chest.
The driver’s door opens. Ash slides in, takes one look at me—and his whole face softens.
“Olive…”
I swipe at my cheek. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he says gently, reaching for my hand. His thumb strokes over my knuckles like he’s trying to soothe the ache right out of me.
“I got suspended,” I whisper.
His jaw tightens. “Olive, I’m so sorry. This isn’t right. You’re an amazing teacher. I never meant for any of this to happen—”
I shake my head in defeat. “I know.”
I look at him then—really look at him. And all I see is regret. And fury. And something else: a promise.
“We’ll fix this,” he says, still holding my hand. “I swear to you, Olive. We’ll fix it.”
He lets go of my hand and starts the car. He doesn’t say where we’re going—just drives, away from the city, the noise, the flashing cameras, and the chaos of swirling headlines.
The car hums beneath us, low and steady. I keep my gaze out the window, watching the buildings thin out and give way to trees and quiet and open sky. The tension in my shoulders slowly starts to unravel. Not gone. Just… dulled.
About forty minutes later, he turns off the main road and pulls into a gravel turnout overlooking a secluded stretch of beach. There’s no one else in sight. Just sand, surf, and the late-morning sun glinting off the water like scattered diamonds.
He kills the engine and turns to me.
“Thought you could use a breather.”
My throat tightens. I nod.
We don’t speak as we get out. The air is crisp and salty and still. Ash leads me down a narrow path to a flat patch of rock that looks out over the water. We sit side by side, legs stretched in front of us, the sound of the ocean filling the silence.
I let it all out in a rush.
“I worked so hard for that job.” My voice wobbles. “I went back to school. I took out loans. I studied my ass off. And now it’s all just—gone.”
A tear slides down my cheek. I swipe it away, frustrated.
Ash doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, jaw tense, eyes fixed on the horizon.
I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as the sound of the ocean rolls over us. The air is cooler now, the wind tangling my hair and brushing against my cheeks like a cold reminder of everything that’s just… changed.
My voice barely rises above the surf. “Maybe this was a mistake.”
Ash shifts beside me.
“This whole fake marriage thing,” I continue, throat tightening. “Maybe I should’ve said no.”
The silence stretches between us, taut and brimming.
He exhales slowly. “If I could take it back—the media part, the chaos—I would.”
I glance at him. His profile is sharp in the fading light, jaw tight, eyes shadowed.
“But for what it’s worth… there’s no one I’d rather be fake engaged to. I’m so fucking glad it’s you, Olive.”
The words hit me square in the chest.
He continues, eyes on the sea. “You didn’t deserve any of this. I should’ve protected you better.”
“You tried,” I say, softer now. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is,” he says. “They came after you because of me. Because I’m in the spotlight and I dragged you into it. You were just living your life, doing your job, being amazing with those kids. And now you’re paying for my mess.”
He turns to face me fully. His eyes are dark, stormy, full of something that looks like guilt and regret tangled together. “I’m sorry, Olive.”
And I know he means it. Every syllable sinks into my skin, into the ache I’ve been carrying in my chest since this morning.
“I know,” I whisper.
“I just…” I swallow hard, my voice catching. “I liked my quiet life, you know? It wasn’t exciting, but it was mine. I liked being anonymous. I liked being invisible.” I think of my blog—how I’ve never told anyone I’m the one behind it.
Ash stays quiet, and for a second I think he’s going to let the silence stretch between us again. But then he leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and rough.
“I know,” he says. “And I’m sorry I turned it upside down. But maybe... maybe it’s time people see who you really are. How incredible you are. Not as some rockstar’s fiancée—but as you.”
He reaches out, lacing his fingers with mine. And for a moment, that’s all we are— Two people on a quiet cliffside, trying to hold on to something real in the middle of all the noise.