Chapter 23
Olivia
The conference room was functional and sterile, smelling faintly of lemon polish and bitter coffee, but Olivia felt altogether different sitting in the leather chair than she had just weeks ago.
She opened her notebook on the polished mahogany table.
Beside it sat the thick folder Leo had brought her, filled with hard copies of the evidence.
She was still hurt. She was still scared.
But the paralyzing fog had lifted. She had seen James and Amanda’s cruel, calculating words.
She knew they had laughed about deceiving her.
She knew they had planned to shred her reputation.
She was no longer willing to let them write the ending to her story.
Her lawyer, a sharp-eyed man named Mr. Davis, sat across from her. He folded his hands over his legal pad and outlined their strategy.
They would file for divorce, citing marital misconduct.
They would request an equitable distribution of property and seek temporary orders to freeze the contested assets while the case was pending.
They would pursue aggressive discovery, forcing James to produce every bank statement, corporate expense report, and hidden transaction record he possessed.
"Furthermore," Mr. Davis said, tapping his pen against the table, "we will prepare your own claims against Amanda. Specifically, alienation of affection and criminal conversation."
Olivia looked up from her notebook. "What does it mean to sue Amanda?"
Mr. Davis explained clearly. "In North Carolina, alienation of affection is a civil claim a spouse can bring against a third party who willfully interfered with the marriage and contributed to the loss of marital affection.
Criminal conversation is a related claim, filed when you have evidence of sexual relations outside the marriage. We have that evidence."
He leaned forward, his tone turning strategic.
"Suing Amanda is not just about holding her accountable.
It counters your husband's entire narrative. James is claiming Leo caused the end of the marriage. Your evidence will show James and Amanda had already destroyed the marriage long before you ever knocked on Leo’s door. "
The logic strengthened Olivia’s spine. James had tried to weaponize the legal system against Leo, but the truth could be used as a weapon, too.
She felt focused. The grief was there, but clarity had taken the front seat.
"I want the divorce," Olivia said, her voice firm.
"I want my financial rights protected. I want my bakery safe.
I want Amanda sued, and I want James to stop using Leo as a scapegoat.
" She looked Mr. Davis in the eyes. "I don’t want him punished because I’m hurt.
I want him exposed because he used my trust as a hiding place. "
Mr. Davis offered a respectful nod. "We are going to fight for every piece of that."
He flipped to the next page of his notes, and his expression turned grave. "But we need to address the signature issue."
Olivia felt a familiar knot form in her stomach.
"It remains our biggest hurdle," Mr. Davis explained.
"We still have no solid proof that you did not sign those specific documents knowingly.
The evidence we recovered from James and Amanda is damning, but it does not directly mention the financial paperwork.
James implied he was preparing for a future with Amanda, keeping separate savings, but there is no explicit message where he admits he tricked you into signing the transfers or misused your signature pages. "
The frustration bubbled up, burning the back of Olivia's throat.
"The handwriting experts cannot prove the signatures were forged," the lawyer continued, delivering the harsh reality.
"If James argues you signed the documents voluntarily, even if you later regretted it, the financial recovery becomes much harder.
We need evidence of misrepresentation, document substitution, or coercion.
Without that, you may still be at risk of losing part of the money James moved.
And depending on how the assets are tied together, the bakery could still be financially exposed. "
Olivia felt her newfound strength hit a solid brick wall.
"We are not done digging," Mr. Davis promised.
Olivia nodded, gripping her pen until her knuckles turned white, the fear resting just beneath her skin.
***
The following day, Olivia sat on the edge of the bed in her parents' rented house. She was emotionally drained from the meeting, yet strangely restless. She wanted to keep fighting, but she did not know what to do with herself now that the legal wheels were turning.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
It was a text from Leo.
Put your hair under a hat. Wear a big jacket. Dress comfortably. Meet me two streets behind the house, by the tree near the corner. Don’t use the front door.
Olivia stared at the screen. For a fleeting second, she felt like a teenager sneaking out of her parents' house to do something forbidden.
Then reality settled over her.
Still, there was something almost ridiculous about putting on a baseball cap and her father's oversized denim jacket to sneak out of the house in broad daylight.
She pulled her hair up, tucked it under the hat, and slipped out the side entrance, walking briskly.
She felt nervous, scanning the street, but a spark of adrenaline made her feel alive for the first time in days.
Two streets back, near a large oak tree, a dark gray SUV she had never seen before idled by the curb.
The passenger window rolled down. Leo sat in the driver's seat.
Olivia climbed in, glancing around the unfamiliar interior. "Whose car is this?"
"I borrowed it," Leo said, putting the SUV into drive. "It's not in my name."
Olivia gave him a look.
"I'm not taking chances with James having your parents' rental watched," Leo said, checking his rearview mirror.
"Where are we going?"
"I'm taking you somewhere beautiful," Leo replied, his tone easing into something softer. "Somewhere you can have one day without lawyers, James, Amanda, lawsuits, or anyone asking you how you feel."
Olivia rested her head against the seat. "Is that even possible?"
"For a few hours," Leo promised, turning onto the main road, "we are going to pretend it is."
He drove them out of Charlotte, heading west toward the mountains. The tense knot in Olivia's chest remained tight for the first hour. She kept checking the side mirrors, watching the cars behind them, waiting for the illusion of safety to shatter.
Leo noticed. He didn't make her feel foolish. He just reached over, turned up the radio, and murmured, "We're clear, Liv. Nobody followed us."
Gradually, the rigid line of her shoulders relaxed.
They reached the Lake Lure and Chimney Rock area by early afternoon. The landscape was breathtaking—a vast, shimmering body of water surrounded by lush green mountains and towering granite cliffs.
They walked near the edge of the lake, the breeze cool against their faces.
Leo kept his promise. He did not push her to talk about James or the meeting with Mr. Davis.
He just let her breathe. They visited a small overlook, browsed a local artisan shop where Leo made a dry, sarcastic comment about a terrifyingly ugly wooden bear carving, and bought her a small, hand-painted ceramic mug.
He pointed out ridiculous things just to make her smile. Olivia found herself laughing—a real, unforced sound—multiple times. Every time she did, she caught Leo watching her, his icy blue eyes fixed on her face like he was trying very hard not to make too much of the moment.
She was becoming more aware of those looks.
She was becoming more aware of the heat blooming in her chest when he stood close, or the way her pulse jumped when he guided her forward with a hand near the small of her back.
She kept the feelings unnamed, but they were there, shifting beneath the surface.
As the afternoon waned, Leo drove them toward the foothills, parking outside a small, tucked-away building that looked more like an old farmhouse than a business.
There was no polished tourist vibe. A handwritten wooden sign read Whitaker’s . Inside, the air smelled divine—a rich, intoxicating blend of baked fruit, caramelized sugar, and butter. Mismatched plates clinked softly at the few occupied tables.
"What is this place?" Olivia asked, taking in the glass display case.
"We are here for sonker," Leo told her, guiding her to a small table near the window.
An older man in a flour-dusted apron walked out from the back, wiping his hands on a towel.
He had kind, crinkled eyes and introduced himself as Mr. Whitaker.
He brought them two generous bowls of warm blackberry sonker, a regional North Carolina dessert somewhere between a cobbler and a deep-dish pie, with a creamy vanilla dip poured luxuriously over the top.
Olivia took one bite, and her eyes widened. "Oh, my god."
She was a baker, and the magic of the dish woke her up. She leaned forward, her curiosity ignited. She started asking Mr. Whitaker questions about the crust texture, the maceration of the blackberries, and the exact consistency of the dip.
Mr. Whitaker chuckled, pulling up a chair.
He told them the story of sonker, a Surry County tradition passed down through generations.
He explained that families would argue passionately over the right crust-to-fruit ratio, or whether the dip should be poured before or after baking, but everyone agreed on one thing: it was meant to be shared.
"My grandfather taught me," Mr. Whitaker said, smiling fondly. "People used to bring whatever fruit their farms produced that week. I keep making it because good food... well, it can carry people back to themselves."
The line struck Olivia straight in the heart.
She tasted the dessert again, mentally breaking down the flavor profile, her mind working through recipes and ratios for the first time in a month. Across the small table, Leo watched her. He saw the baker in her wake up. He saw the light return to her eyes.
It was a perfect hour.
***
On the drive back to Charlotte, Olivia felt tired, but significantly calmer. She was not free from the fear or the dread of what her future held. But she felt lighter than she had that morning.
Leo parked the SUV on the dark street two blocks behind her parents' rented house.
The mood in the car shifted. The beautiful day was over.
Leo killed the engine and walked her on foot to the back door of the property. The air was cool, the crickets chirping in the yard.
They stopped near the deck light.
"Thank you," Olivia said softly, looking up at him. "For everything."
"You don't have to thank me for a bowl of sonker, Liv."
"Not just the day," Olivia insisted, her voice catching. "Everything. The way you keep showing up for me. The way you gave me one day where I felt less broken."
Leo stared at her, the shadows playing across the sharp angles of his face. "You never have to thank me for that."
Neither of them moved.
The memory of the kiss they had shared in his kitchen hung thickly in the space between them. Leo’s confession felt tangible in the night air. Olivia felt the undeniable pull toward him, and this time, she recognized it enough to be genuinely scared.
She thought he was going to kiss her.
She wanted him to kiss her.
That realization made her heart race, a frantic rhythm thumping against her ribs.
Leo looked down at her mouth. His chest rose with a deep breath. He looked up into her eyes, and she could see the fierce, agonizing battle he was fighting with himself. He wanted it, too. She could see it burning in the blue depths of his gaze.
But he had promised not to push. He had promised to give her space.
Leo leaned in, closing the distance, and pressed his lips firmly against her forehead.
The kiss was tender, restrained, and full of everything he was actively choosing not to take.
Olivia closed her eyes, a shiver running down her spine. When he stepped back, a part of her wanted to grab his jacket and ask why he hadn't kissed her properly.
"Go inside," Leo murmured, his voice rough. "Text me when you're in your room."
Olivia nodded. She unlocked the back door and stepped into the kitchen.
For hours, Leo had given her a day that did not belong to James. But standing alone by the back door, heart racing from a kiss he had not given her, Olivia realized James was no longer the only man changing the shape of her life.