12. Olivia
Olivia
Olivia sat at her desk, trying to hide a big smile every time someone walked by.
She was still on cloud nine after Nicholas's text. But as she thought about their dinner date, a wave of anxiety crept in.
How am I going to pull this off?
She wondered, tapping her laptop. If she kept using Lauren as her alibi, she couldn't keep her out of the loop much longer. It felt risky to involve her boss, but Lauren had basically given her blessing by conveniently leaving the bar that night.
Olivia thought about calling her sister Julia, but decided against it. Julia would help in a heartbeat, but Olivia wanted to handle this on her own. She was tired of needing to be rescued.
What she needed was a partner in crime.
Lauren, with her sharp instincts and steady support, was the perfect choice. Lauren wasn't just a cover; she was protection.
Olivia took a deep breath, stood up, and smoothed her skirt before heading down the hallway. She knocked on Lauren's glass office door. Lauren looked up from a pile of schedules, waved, and motioned her in.
"What's up, Olivia? You look like you're either about to win an Emmy or confess to a crime."
Olivia stepped inside and quietly closed the door. She sat down, hands clasped in her lap. "Actually, I have a bit of a problem, and I think I need your help to navigate it."
Lauren leaned back, grinning as she tossed her pen onto the desk. "Let me guess. Does this 'problem' happen to be six-foot-one, incredibly handsome, and named Nicholas Moretti?"
Olivia's eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat. "How... how did you know?"
Lauren laughed, her voice filling the office. "Oh, please. Anyone could see how that man was looking at you the night we saw him at the bar. It was like no one else was there. I felt like a third wheel just sitting there for five minutes."
Olivia blushed, laughing with a mix of relief and embarrassment. "So, you knew. You knew the whole time."
"I had a pretty good idea," Lauren said, her face softening. "When you came in the next day, talking about 'trouble at home,' but looking happier than ever, your face said everything you weren't saying. So, what do you need from me?"
Olivia leaned in and lowered her voice. "I need cover for tomorrow night. If Mark tries to check up on me and calls you, I told him we're going out for dinner and drinks to celebrate the ratings."
Lauren didn't hesitate.
She stood, walked over, and squeezed Olivia's hand. "Consider it done. I've got your back, Olivia. If he calls, I'll say you're in the ladies' room, and we're on our third round of martinis, having a deep heart-to-heart talk. You just enjoy your dinner."
Olivia felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders, her smile finally real. "Thanks, Lauren. Really. I don't know what I'd do without you."
She got up, but Lauren stopped her, grabbing her arm.
"Wait. Do you know how you're going to handle things with Mark from now on? You can't keep making excuses forever."
Olivia's smile faded, replaced by a serious look.
She sat back down, and so did Lauren. "I think I do.
I told Mark that I wanted a separation. I'm going to start looking for an apartment.
I need to get out of that house, Lauren.
I need a place that's mine, where I don't have to hide who I am or who I'm seeing. "
Lauren went quiet, her eyes narrowing as she mentally scanned her connections.
After a long moment, she snapped her fingers.
"You know, I might have a solution for that.
I have a close friend who is looking to sublet her condo for the next six months, starting next month.
She just accepted a major consulting assignment in London, and she needs someone reliable to move in and help with the expenses when she vacates it. "
Olivia felt a surge of hope, her heart beating faster. "Really? Where is it? And do you think I could afford it?"
"It's a great place," Lauren said, checking her contacts. "Corner unit, nice view. It's just a block from the Whole Foods downtown, so you'd be close to everything. I'll ask her tonight about the price, but I'm sure we can make it work for your budget."
Olivia grinned, already imagining herself in a new place without Mark. "Thank you, Lauren. Let me know what you find out. If I could move in soon, it would be a lifesaver."
As she walked back to her desk, everything seemed brighter, and the air felt lighter.
She wasn't just planning a date anymore.
She was planning a new life.
For the first time in years, she felt in control.
All afternoon, Olivia's mind raced.
She wanted to tell Mark she was moving out, but so much was still uncertain. How long would the condo deal take? Would the owner approve her? Could she afford a downtown sublet on her producer's salary without Mark's help?
Despite her worries, she drew on a hidden strength.
As she drove home through the humid Tampa evening, Olivia decided she would not tell Mark about the move until she had the condo keys in hand.
For now, the guest room was her temporary retreat, but she needed her skincare, silk robe, and other essentials from the master bathroom to prepare for tomorrow's dinner.
She envisioned a long bath. Something to calm her nerves. Something that was hers.
Her heart jolted when she turned the corner and saw Mark's silver Porsche glinting in the driveway.
She clenched the steering wheel, a wave of nausea rippling through her. "Please," she pleaded under her breath, "just one hour of peace."
Inside, the sharp sound of her heels echoed her nerves. Mark was at the stove, spatula in hand, exuding a tense determination. When he turned, his eyes skimmed over her with predatory slowness.
"Don't you look sexy," he said, infusing the words with a chill that made her skin crawl.
"Thank you," Olivia replied, her voice carefully neutral. "I'm going up to change."
Mark gestured toward the counter, where a bottle of red wine was already breathing. "I thought I'd do something different tonight. I'm cooking us a real meal so we can actually sit down, have some wine, and chat. Like we used to."
Olivia looked at him, feeling exhausted and unsure.
Who are you kidding?
"Mark, you haven't cooked in years, and I don't think there's anything left to talk about. Sunday made things clear." She'd been sleeping in the guest room and only used the master suite to get dressed. The situation grew more awkward by the hour.
"Just go change," Mark insisted, offering a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'll have dinner on the table by the time you're back down."
As she walked upstairs, Olivia's mind raced. She wondered if his offer to cook and call her sexy was an attempt to rekindle intimacy. She dreaded he might try to get her into bed.
She already knew she would resist.
When she returned to the kitchen, Mark was already plating the food. "Perfect timing. Let's eat. I found this lemon-herb chicken recipe online—it looks pretty good, if I do say so myself."
Olivia dropped into her seat, exhaustion fogging her appreciation. "It looks fine, Mark," she said blankly.
The conversation was brittle and aimless—weather, office talk, nothing that mattered.
When she emptied her glass, Mark nudged the bottle forward. She blocked it quickly. "I've had enough, thank you." Her pulse beat anxiously as the tension stretched between them.
Mark paused, the bottle hovering. "You always have at least two glasses."
She smiled politely. "Not tonight. I have work to finish before bed. Tomorrow will be a long day."
"About tomorrow," Mark said, setting the bottle down. "I was thinking I'd take you out. Somewhere fancy."
Olivia's irritation flared. "Mark, I already told you. I'm out with Lauren tomorrow night." Every word was a struggle.
"Oh, right? The celebratory drinks," he muttered, his jaw tightening. "Maybe Saturday, then."
Olivia's chest tightened. "Mark, do you remember our talk about the separation? We need space. Going out to dinner would only make things worse."
Mark's "nice guy" facade began to flicker. "Look, Olivia, I'm trying here. I made dinner. I'm willing to make concessions."
"Thank you for making dinner," she said, keeping her voice steady—polite, not an opening. "But one meal doesn't make up for five years of being ignored. It's not that simple."
He leaned forward, his tone turning patronizing. "Are you sure you want this? It's going to be hard for you out there without my support. You're used to a certain lifestyle."
"The problem is you care more about my lifestyle than my happiness." Her voice trembled with frustration.
She stood up, heart pounding, desperate to escape the tension pressing in from every corner of the room. "I'm going upstairs to take a bath and read. I hope you'll give me the privacy I asked for."
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Mark's eyes darkened, the performative warmth stripped away entirely. "You can take your bath," he said, his voice dropping into a cold, territorial growl. "But don't forget that's my bathroom, too." The words hissed between clenched teeth, heavy with warning.
Olivia helped him clear the table in tense silence, then went upstairs.
She grabbed her book and robe and went into the master bathroom. She knew Mark could be difficult, but still hoped he would respect her space.
To be safe, she locked the heavy door.
The click made her feel a little better.
Half an hour slipped by as Olivia soaked in the hot, perfumed water, desperate to lose herself in her book and fleeting thoughts of Nicholas. She was just starting to feel her muscles unknot when a violent knock pierced the fragile calm, jolting her heart into a frantic thrum.
"I'm not done yet, Mark!" she called out, her heart starting to gallop.
"That's fine, stay there." His voice came through the wood, muffled but insistent. "I'm just coming in to get something I forgot."
His tone said otherwise.
Before she could protest, the click of the lock made her blood run cold.
The door swung wide.
Mark entered, not searching for anything but her. He moved to the tub, his gaze prowling over her, lingering hungrily where the water revealed her body just beneath the surface.
"You look so sexy," he murmured, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "Would you like some company in there?"
"No! I told you I wanted privacy, Mark. Please leave."
He didn't move.
Instead, he leaned closer. "I know what you said, but it's been a while. I thought you might need a little 'release' to help you sleep."
"Mark, please leave. I mean it."
He lunged forward.
His hand snared her wrist with a brutal grip. She yelped, pain and panic searing through her. "Stop! Let go of me!" she cried, her voice slicing the air.
"You're still my wife," Mark snapped, each word brimming with icy entitlement. "You have certain marital obligations, Olivia." His other hand plunged downward, his fingers clenching her breast through the water with cruel insistence.
"Mark, don't! Let me go, or I'll call the police—do you hear me? I swear to God I will!"
Fear charged through her veins, raw and electrifying.
He flinched.
She knew his weakness. He cared too much about public image, about family reputation. Fear of the police—fear of his father finding out—was the only threat that ever reached him.
He hesitated, holding her wrist.
Then, they pulled away as if burned.
"Fine," he spat, his face contorted with livid, wounded pride. "Have it your way. Don't come crawling back to me when you find out how cold the world really is."
He stormed out. The door crashed shut behind him with violent finality.
Olivia curled in the water, her breath ragged, her whole body convulsing with tremors.
She refused to let the tears fall.
She clung to the sides of the tub as if she might drown in something larger than water. Shakily, she forced herself out, wrapped herself in pajamas like armor, and fled to the guest room—relief and shame tangled in every step.
The moment she lay down, the tears broke loose.
Scalding. Ferocious. Like betrayal, finally given permission to move.
She curled tighter, shaking, her thoughts bitter and cold.
I don't know this man. I hate him.
His selfishness she had always known. But tonight it had turned monstrous.
Alone in the dark, Nicholas's memory anchored her just enough.
Tomorrow's dinner wasn't just dinner.
It was survival.