THE EMPIRE BETWEEN US

Olivia “Who the hell is she, Ryan?” The words clawed out of my throat before I could stop them, trembling with a rage I didn’t know I was capable of. My hands were gripping the doorframe, holding myself upright as I stared at the scene unfolding in my bedroom—the sacred space we once shared. Then, that was the beginning of our marriage. My life was crumbling but Ryan had come to my rescue. When all of his betrayal started, it was a blur, but this was the last straw. Ryan bolt upright, his body tangled in sheets that are far too familiar, and the woman beside him—blonde, smug, unbothered—didn't even try to cover herself. Instead, she smirked, like she won some unspoken prize. “Olivia, I—” “Don’t,” I cut him off, my voice sharp and brittle. “Don’t you dare insult me with excuses.” my blood boiled as I tried to find the words. “I wanted to give us a chance but it seems you can't keep that thing between your legs for long. You bastard.” I wanted to scream, to cry, to throw the framed wedding photo from the nightstand at his head. But I couldn't. Emma’s voice echoed faintly from the living room, humming to her favourite cartoon, blissfully unaware that her father had just shattered the world we built together. At least, the world I managed to get lost in. I was once saved by this whole sham of a marriage but now, everything was crumbling once again. “You’re overreacting,” Ryan said, scrambling out of bed and pulling on his pants. He didn't seem to care about how all of this was going to affect our child and me. His tone was clipped as if my outrage was the real problem here. “Overreacting?” I spat the word out like poison, my chest heaving. “You brought her here—into our home, into our bed—and I’m the one overreacting? When would you stop doing this?” Blondie finally decided to slip out of bed, lazily collecting her clothes from the floor. She didn't even spare me a glance; she just sauntered out like she’s done this a hundred times before. It was the last straw. “Get out,” I said, my voice low and trembling with barely contained fury. “Get out before I do something I’ll regret.” “No, you get out. This is my house, remember? You don't get to boss me in my own house. You were the one I brought out from the clutches of your family, that cold mansion, where you were spoiled. You had a shot at a good life and freedom. You think you can pin me down by being faithful to you. You are the worst. If you want to get out. You can leave.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he didn't give me the chance to speak. “I want a divorce.” I forced the words out of me. “And I bet you would come crawling back in no time.” he smiled. I walked away before I could see whatever arrogance he was about to display. My only focus was Emma. I scooped her up from the couch, her tiny arms wrapping around my neck as she giggled, oblivious. “What’s wrong, Mommy?” she asked, her innocent eyes searching mine. “Nothing, sweetheart,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “We’re going to see Grandma.” And just like that, I left. No bags, no second thoughts, just the two of us and the open road. *** The snow crunched beneath my boots as I stepped out of the car, the icy air biting at my cheeks. Emma was asleep in the backseat, her soft snores, a small comfort in the overwhelming quiet of the Family's hideout. A cabin that's far from the wealth I had known. I didn't want to make a fuss about my broken marriage. So I decided to camp here till I was ready to face Mom and Grandpa. Home. I haven’t been back in years, not since Dad’s funeral. The village looked like something out of a Christmas card, snow-covered rooftops, wreaths on every door, twinkling lights strung across the streets. It’s as beautiful as I remembered, but the memories it stirred were bittersweet. The cabin came into view, its rustic charm untouched by time. Smoke curls lazily from the chimney, and the porch light cast a warm glow in the dark. For a moment, I hesitated. This place was supposed to be a refuge, but all I could feel was the weight of everything I’ve lost. The door flung open before I knocked, and my mother’s familiar face lit up with joy. “Olivia!” she exclaimed, pulling me into a hug that smelled like cinnamon and home. “Oh, it’s so good to see you. And Emma, my sweet girl!” "How did you know I was coming?" She smirked Mike. "I don't want..." "He is not aware you are here. I made sure of it." I smiled at her, tears forming at the sides of my eyes. Emma stirs at the sound of her name, rubbing her eyes as she’s passed from my arms to my mother’s. “Hi, Grandma,” she mumbled sleepily, snuggling into her shoulder. I was quick to forget what home felt like, being in the same space as my mom, trying to hold myself together. Being home at this moment might be the very remedy I needed even with all the memory it stirred. Behind my mother, my brother Mike appears, his grin was as boyish as ever despite the streaks of grey in his hair. “Look who decided to come back,” he teased, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “Don’t start,” I warned, but there’s no heat in my words. Inside, the cabin was exactly how I remembered it, cosy, cluttered, and bursting with love. The scent of baked apples wafts from the kitchen, and the crackling fireplace cast a golden glow across the room. We settled in for dinner, the table was laid with comfort food that felt like a warm embrace. For a while, it was easy to forget the pain I left behind, to lose myself in the familiarity of family. “Ethan’s back in town,” Michael said casually, breaking the dull in conversation. The fork in my hand freezed mid-air. “Ethan Blake?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent, but my heart betrayed me, skipping a beat at the mention of his name. “Yeah, he’s here for business,” Michael continued, oblivious to my reaction. “I ran into him the other day. He asked about you.” My stomach twisted. Ethan was always... complicated. Quiet but steady, a constant presence in my life while I was in college. We tried to cross the line into something more, but there were moments, glances, touches, unspoken words, that lingered long after he left me without a word. “Hmm,” I managed to say, focusing on cutting my food into neat little squares. Michael smirked knowingly but doesn’t push. *** That night, after Emma had been tucked into bed and the house had fallen into a peaceful silence, there was a knock at the door. I paused mid-step, my heart inexplicably racing. When I opened it, the sight before me stole the breath from my lungs. Ethan Blake stood there, taller and broader than I remember, with a rugged confidence that wasn’t there before. His dark hair curls slightly at the ends, and his dusky green eyes, those damn eyes, are warm and piercing all at once. “Olivia,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. “Ethan,” I replied, trying to steady my breathing. He smiled, the kind that reaches his eyes, and for a moment, I forget how to speak. “I heard you were back,” he said, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Thought I’d stop by and say hi.” “Hi,” I managed, feeling ridiculous as the word hangs between us. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged, heavy with years of unsaid things. “It’s good to see you,” he finally said and I caught the faintest flicker of something, regret? Longing?, in his expression. “You too,” I said, my voice softer now. We exchanged a few polite words about the City, the weather, and the usual small talk, but the tension between us was impossible to ignore. “Well, I should let you get some rest,” he said after a while, stepping back. “Goodnight, Olivia.” “Goodnight,” I whispered, watching as he disappears into the night. I closed the door, leaning against it as my heart continues to race. I tried to catch my breath but every attempt I make towards that proved to be futile. I knew I was aware of his arrival but nothing prepared me for that. Nothing could have prepared me. “Mommy, is he the man in the picture?” Emma’s voice startled me, and I turned to find her standing in the hallway, clutching her stuffed rabbit. “What picture, sweetheart?” I asked, frowning, still catching my breath. “The one in Uncle Michael’s book,” she says, her sleepy eyes blinking up at me. “The man with you by the tree.” My blood runs cold. Ethan and I had taken that picture years ago, one snowy Christmas Eve. I didn’t even know Michael still had it. But how does Emma know him? I try to avoid the question as all I am left with was her stare, inquisitive for an answer. Questions swirled in my mind as I tucked her back into bed, her innocent words echoing long after she drifted off to sleep. What has Ethan been holding onto all these years? And why did it feel like coming back home only opened a door I was not ready to walk through.