28. Olivia #2
Alexandra appeared on screen just as her voice had suggested: formidable, precise, and quietly authoritative.
Her assistant, Brooke, sat in the corner of the frame, already typing.
A series of digital documents appeared. Olivia signed each one—authorizations, permissions, the formal beginning of reclaiming her own life.
No mention of money. No retainers. No hourly rates. Nicholas had seen to all of that.
"Have you thought more about what you want out of the divorce?" Alexandra asked.
"I have somewhat. But I'm confused—I thought the prenup said I wouldn't get anything."
"That is what it says," Alexandra said, her eyes sharp behind her glasses. "But that doesn't mean that's what the end result will be. You leave that part to me. Mark is about to get a wake-up call."
Olivia took a breath. "I'd like half. Half of what we accumulated during the marriage. He bought the house before we married, so it's in his name alone—I don't want alimony. I can take care of myself."
"The house could be an issue, but leave that with me as well. If I can show he bought it before the marriage specifically to shield it from the marital estate, he may have a problem."
Olivia stared at the screen. The legal landscape was complicated, and she didn't fully understand all of it yet—but she had someone she trusted to navigate it for her now.
"When do you want me to have him served?" Alexandra asked.
"As soon as possible. I want this behind me."
"Leave it with me. I'll get back to you next week, if not sooner."
Olivia felt the gratitude rise in her throat. "Alexandra, how can I thank you?"
"No need. It's my pleasure. Talk next week."
The screen went dark.
Olivia sat in her quiet office and felt something settle into place that had been loose and rattling for years. She was finally going to be free. And she was going to get what she deserved.
The week passed in a blur of network bookings. She let work fill the space Nicholas had left and told herself it was enough. By Thursday, Alexandra still hadn't called. Olivia tried to be patient and mostly succeeded.
When Lauren appeared over the cubicle partition on Friday—"Drinks tonight?"—Olivia didn't hesitate.
"Yes. I could really use that."
The Market at Edition bar felt warm and familiar, but also immediately wrong in the way places do when they hold memories you aren't ready to face. Every corner reminded her of Nicholas. She felt his absence as if he were still there beside her.
They started with safe topics—work, schedules, the small details of daily life that required no emotional exposure. When the first round hit, Olivia felt it move through her faster than expected.
"We should order food," she said. "This drink hit me fast."
They picked at a light dinner. When the second round arrived, the small talk faded.
"Any word from the lawyer?" Lauren asked.
"Not yet. Probably next week."
"Have you heard from Nicholas?"
Olivia stared at the ice melting in her glass. "No. Nothing." The lump arrived in her throat immediately. "Maybe I was wrong about him, Lauren. It's been almost two weeks. I can't stop thinking about him, and he's clearly moved on. He clearly doesn't feel the same as I do."
"I don't know," Lauren said softly. "Something tells me he does. You can either give him more time or move on and see what else is out there." She tilted her head toward the other end of the bar. "Speaking of—have you noticed the two men over there checking us out?"
Olivia glanced up, then looked away. "No, I didn't. Yes, they are attractive, but my head is just not there, Lauren."
Lauren gave her a small, knowing smile. "Maybe you need a few more drinks."
They laughed. It didn't quite sound real.
Then the mood shifted.
It happened the way bad things often do: without warning. The air in the room changed before she even realized why. Cold crept down her spine first. Then she felt it. Someone was standing directly behind them. Too close. Too still.
She turned.
Her heart stopped.
Little Frankie. The big man beside him. Both of them looming over their barstools like something that had been waiting.
The fear hit her instantly, cold and electric, flooding her chest.
"Maybe you didn't understand what I said to you and your boyfriend last time," Little Frankie said.
Her mouth went dry. Her throat sealed. She was petrified.
He reached out and grabbed her arm—lifting it slightly, squeezing hard. Pain shot straight to her shoulder. Lauren tried to help, but the other man blocked her without a word.
"Don't open your mouth," he growled.
Little Frankie leaned in close. Stale cigarettes.
His voice was low and controlled, with no anger in it, which was somehow worse than if there had been.
"I understand you have a lawyer now, trying to make things difficult for my friend Mark.
So I'm going to say this once more. This is your last warning.
You don't know who you're fucking with. If you make trouble for Mark, the next time you see me, I'm going to mess up that pretty little face of yours. Am I clear?"