CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The late November wind howling off the Rhode Island coast was bitter, stripping the last of the dead leaves from the towering trees that lined the winding roads of the affluent estates.
Inside the heated, leather-scented cabin of her rented sedan, Olivia Winters sat parked just beyond the wrought-iron gates of the Lockhart manor.
She kept the engine running, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white.
She was still unable to comprehend how systematically her life had fallen apart.
Every time she closed her eyes, the devastation washed over her in suffocating waves.
She felt as though she were standing in the wreckage of a house she hadn't burned down.
She hadn't crushed those pills. She hadn't bribed the waiter.
She hadn't harbored a single malicious thought toward Grayson Ashford-Wale.
She had genuinely cared about him. She had loved his quiet strength, his sharp mind, and the protective way he had always held her.
She had genuinely wanted to build a life with him, and yet, somehow, she was the one sitting in a cold car, left with absolutely nothing.
The silence in her life was deafening. Her family remained exiled in the cheap Newport rental, drowning in their own toxic guilt, but Olivia had stopped speaking to them days ago.
She needed to untangle the knot of her own conscience.
She needed to clear the air, not to win Grayson back through manipulation, but to salvage whatever shreds of her own dignity remained.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Olivia turned off the ignition. She stepped out into the biting wind, wrapping her wool coat tightly around her shoulders, and walked up to the gated intercom.
When Thomas the butler answered, Olivia did not demand entry.
She politely quietly asked if Miss Lockhart would grant her five minutes of her time.
She expected to be turned away, or worse, to have Spencer Lockhart march down the driveway to physically remove her.
But after a long, agonizing pause, the iron gates slowly swung open with a metallic groan.
Thomas escorted her in silence through the grand foyer—the exact spot where Olivia’s temper had shattered her own morality weeks prior—and led her toward the back of the sprawling manor.
Kennedy was in the conservatory.
The room was a breathtaking glass-enclosed sanctuary, warm and humid, smelling of damp earth, blooming orchids, and jasmine.
Kennedy sat on a plush wicker chaise lounge near the center of the room, a thick cashmere throw draped over her legs.
She was reading a hardcover book, a cup of herbal tea steaming on the small glass table beside her.
She looked serene, untouched by the bitter cold outside.
As Thomas bowed slightly and retreated, closing the glass doors behind him, Olivia stood awkwardly near a towering fern.
Kennedy did not immediately look up. She carefully placed a silk bookmark between the pages of her novel, closed it, and set it on the table.
Only then did she turn her hazel eyes toward Olivia.
The pale, healing scar on her cheek was visible in the natural light, a stark reminder of their last encounter.
"Olivia," Kennedy said. Her voice was perfectly calm, lacking any trace of the venom or fear Olivia had braced herself for. "Thomas said you wanted to speak with me."
"I do," Olivia whispered, stepping hesitantly forward. She stopped a respectful distance away, her hands nervously twisting the belt of her coat. "Thank you for letting me in. I know I am the last person you want to see."
"You are," Kennedy agreed simply, offering no polite fiction. "But I prefer to leave as few loose ends in my life as possible. What is it that you want?"
Olivia swallowed hard. She didn't come to accuse. The righteous, blinding fury that had driven her during her last visit had burned itself out, leaving only an aching clarity.
"I came to explain myself," Olivia began, her voice trembling slightly. "And to plead my case, just so you know the truth. Kennedy... I know you were never really at fault for what happened to my relationship."
Kennedy tilted her head a fraction, her expression unreadable. "Go on."
"I was intimidated by you," Olivia admitted, the shameful truth spilling from her lips.
The admission cost her, her pride, but it felt remarkably freeing.
"From the very beginning. Everyone around us, the society pages, the families...
everyone always talked as though you had always been meant to become Mrs. Ashford-Wale.
I heard the whispers. I knew people had rooted for you and Grayson for years. "
Olivia looked down at the stone floor, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall.
"I allowed that history to make me incredibly insecure.
I felt like an imposter in his world, and I projected all of those insecurities directly onto you.
I turned you into a threat in my mind, even when you were just standing in the room. And I am so sorry for that."
Kennedy listened to the confession in complete silence. The ambient hum of the conservatory's climate control was the only sound in the room. She studied Olivia’s face, seeing the genuine remorse, the exhaustion, and the lingering heartbreak.
"I accept your apology regarding your insecurities, Olivia," Kennedy said, her tone smooth and devoid of malice. "But I do not understand why you are telling me all of this."
Olivia blinked, looking up in confusion. "I just... I wanted you to know that I don't blame you for the end of my relationship."
"I am aware that I did not end your relationship," Kennedy stated pragmatically. "Your family’s criminal actions ended your relationship. I was simply the collateral damage. So again, I ask: why are you here?"
"Because," Olivia faltered, her hands dropping to her sides. "Because you are carrying his child. And I know what that means for his future."
Kennedy’s hazel eyes cooled by a fraction of a degree.
She sat up slightly straighter against the cushions of the chaise.
"Let me be very plain with you, Olivia, so there is no further misunderstanding between us.
I am not expecting Grayson to marry me. Furthermore, I do not care about his money, his name, his fortune, or absolutely anything else that comes with being an Ashford-Wale. "
Olivia stared at her, stunned by the unshakeable conviction in Kennedy’s voice. "But... the baby..."
"My only concern is my baby," Kennedy interrupted firmly. "If you and Grayson want to work things out, you are free to do so. I am not standing in your way, and I have absolutely no intention of competing with you for Grayson’s affections."
"You... you don't?" Olivia asked, the words breathless. It defied everything her family had ever told her about the ambitious, calculating nature of the ultra-wealthy.
"No," Kennedy said, her voice dropping into a register of ironclad certainty. "In fact, you can tell Grayson that as far as I am concerned, this baby is a Lockhart. Technically, yes, the child shares his DNA, but I intend for this baby to carry the Lockhart name."
Olivia’s jaw parted in sheer shock. The Ashford name was a crown jewel of American industry. To refuse it was unthinkable. "He will never agree to that. He will want to provide for his heir."
"He can want whatever he likes," Kennedy replied, unbothered.
She reached for her teacup, holding it delicately in her hands.
"I will sign whatever legal documentation is necessary making it perfectly clear that I do not want a single cent of Grayson’s money or his financial support.
I do not need him for anything. My child will lack nothing. "
Olivia stood frozen among the ferns and orchids, reeling. She had walked into this house expecting to face a triumphant rival. Instead, she was looking at a woman who had the keys to the kingdom and was casually tossing them into the ocean.
"Kennedy," Olivia asked directly, her voice hushed with disbelief. "Do you truly have no intention of marrying him?"
Kennedy looked at her almost incredulously. A faint, humorless smile touched the corners of her lips. "Of course not. Why on earth would I want to marry him?"
The words hung in the warm, humid air.
Why would I want to marry him?
Privately, deep within the quiet sanctuary of her own mind, Kennedy allowed the ghost of a memory to surface.
There was once a time, not so very long ago, when she would have given almost anything for that possibility.
There was a time when the mere idea of marrying Grayson Ashford-Wale would have felt like every secret, desperate dream she had ever carried finally coming true.
She had loved him with a quiet, enduring ferocity for fifteen years.
But that hope was dead. It had not simply faded; it had been violently, permanently burned out of her by everything that had happened in the study, and by the sheer, devastating cruelty of his immediate accusation.
Whatever longing she had once harbored was nothing more than ashes now.
She was no longer thinking about romance, or marriage, or becoming a part of Grayson’s life in that way.
The fairy tale was over. Her only priorities were her own peace of mind and the well-being of the child growing inside her. Nothing more, and nothing less.
Olivia watched the subtle shift in Kennedy’s eyes, realizing with certainty that Kennedy was telling the truth.
"So," Olivia ventured, her voice incredibly tentative. "You truly do not mind if Grayson and I try to repair our relationship?"
"Go ahead," Kennedy said, taking a calm sip of her herbal tea. "Do whatever you feel you need to do, Olivia. I genuinely do not care. I simply ask that you do not pull me into your relationship, and you do not make me a part of your problems anymore."