CHAPTER SIXTEEN #2
"I won't," Olivia promised quickly, a sudden, desperate relief washing over her. The door wasn't closed. If Kennedy truly didn't want him, maybe there was still a chance to salvage the ashes.
Olivia took a deep breath, preparing herself for the final, most shameful piece of her visit. She looked at the faint, healing scar on Kennedy’s cheek.
"Kennedy," Olivia said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper, with genuine shame. "I am so incredibly sorry for slapping you. I was out of my mind with anger, and I acted like a monster. It was unjustified, and I will regret it for the rest of my life."
Kennedy lowered her teacup to the saucer with a quiet, definitive clink. She looked Olivia directly in the eye. The air in the conservatory seemed to cool.
Kennedy did not say that it was alright. She did not offer a soft smile of forgiveness, because it was not alright.
"You will have to make peace with what you did yourself, Olivia," Kennedy stated, her voice a calm, immovable wall of stone. "I do not want revenge against you. I wish you no ill will. But I refuse to absolve you simply to make you feel better about walking into my home and assaulting me."
The rejection of absolution hit Olivia hard, but she nodded slowly, accepting the fairness of the judgment. She had no right to demand forgiveness.
"I understand," Olivia whispered. "Thank you for your time, Kennedy."
Kennedy merely picked up her book, slipping the silk bookmark out from the pages. "Thomas will see you out."
Neither woman had noticed the shadow standing just beyond the slightly ajar doors of the adjacent library.
Ryder Ashford-Wale stood perfectly still, his back pressed against the wood-paneled wall of the hallway.
He had come to the Lockhart estate that morning to drop off some architectural mock-ups for the nursery gate, and he had been cutting through the library when he heard Olivia’s voice in the conservatory.
He had listened to the entire exchange.
He hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but as the conversation unfolded, he found himself unable to move. He had heard Olivia’s apologies, but more importantly, he had heard the chilling indifference in Kennedy’s voice.
Why would I want to marry him? The words echoed in Ryder’s mind, devoid of any anger or bitterness.
It was the pure, unfiltered sound of a woman who simply did not care anymore.
Ryder turned and walked silently back through the manor, exiting through the side doors. He didn't go to his car. He walked straight across the sprawling lawns, the bitter wind whipping at his jacket, heading directly for his own estate.
He found Grayson in his private office, standing by the windows, staring blankly out at the ocean. Grayson looked haggard, the weight of his guilt and the sheer, agonizing distance from Kennedy wearing him down to the bone.
"I just came from the Lockhart house," Ryder announced, stepping into the office and shutting the mahogany door behind him.
Grayson turned instantly, his posture stiffening, the circles under his eyes standing out starkly in the afternoon light. "Is Kennedy alright? Did something happen with the baby?"
"The baby is fine," Ryder said, walking over to the leather sofa and sinking into it, running a hand over his face. "But Olivia was just there."
Grayson went rigid. His hands balled into fists at his sides, a sudden, protective panic spiking in his chest. "Olivia? How did she get in? Did she do something? If she touched her again, I swear to God—"
"She didn't touch her," Ryder interrupted, holding up a hand to stall his brother’s rising fury. "Calm down. She didn't go there to fight. She went to apologize, and to explain herself."
Grayson exhaled a harsh, jagged breath, the immediate terror receding, though his jaw remained tightly clenched.
The fact that Olivia had gone to speak to Kennedy, or that she had tried to explain herself, did not unsettle him.
If anything, he was glad Olivia had finally taken accountability for her unhinged behavior in the foyer.
"What did Kennedy say?" Grayson asked, walking over to his desk and leaning heavily against the edge of it.
Ryder looked at his older brother, his eyes filled with sympathetic sorrow. He took no pleasure in delivering the final blow.
"Grayson, Olivia asked Kennedy if she intended to marry you," Ryder said quietly. "And Kennedy looked at her like she was crazy. She told Olivia that she doesn't want your money, she doesn't want your name, and she doesn't want you."
Grayson stared at him, his heart stuttering in his chest. "She was just trying to get Olivia to leave her alone."
"No, she wasn't," Ryder corrected gently.
"Grayson, she told Olivia that the baby is a Lockhart.
She intends to give the child her last name, not yours.
She told Olivia she would sign legal papers waiving any right to your financial support.
She told Olivia she is free to try and repair her relationship with you, because she isn't competing for you. "
The words hit Grayson like physical strikes to the chest. A Lockhart. Waiving his support. Go repair your relationship.
"She was indifferent, Grayson," Ryder continued, delivering the hardest truth of all. "There was no anger in her voice. There was no bitterness. For the rest of your life, you will be the father of Kennedy’s child... but that may be all you ever are to her."
Grayson felt a sudden, pervasive coldness seep into his bones, starting at his chest and radiating outward until his fingertips went numb.
He had spent the last two months clinging to the desperate, agonizing hope that her anger was a sign that she still cared.
He had believed that beneath the ice, the fire of their thirty-year history was still burning.
He had told himself that if he was patient, if he proved his devotion through the pregnancy, he could slowly rebuild the bridge between them.
But as Ryder’s words echoed in the quiet office, the horrific reality finally settled over him.
He had burned that bridge himself. He had taken the torch of his own blind accusations and incinerated the very foundation of her love for him. And Kennedy was no longer interested in rebuilding it. She hadn't just closed the door; she had walked out of the building.
For the first time since the night of the anniversary party, Grayson was forced to consider the terrifying possibility that Kennedy had truly, permanently moved on from him emotionally.
He stared at Ryder, the silence of the office pressing down on him, realizing with a sickening drop in his stomach that he had absolutely no idea what his next move was supposed to be.