Chapter 10 A Needless Kitchen War
1369 Words
(Oliver’s POV)
The sponge hit his chest with a soft, damp thud.
Soapy water slowly dripped from Oliver’s black shirt, trailing down onto the kitchen floor of Havenmere—just minutes ago, spotless and perfectly in order.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Oliver simply stood there, looking at Olivia.
Across the kitchen, Olivia stood with her chin slightly raised, arms folded over her chest, her expression firm—like someone who had just won a very important duel.
If someone had told him a week ago that his first morning of marriage would begin with Olivia Sinclair throwing a kitchen sponge at him, Oliver would have dismissed it as a terrible joke.
And yet, here he was.
Standing in his own kitchen.
With soapy water dripping from his shirt.
And the strangest part of all—
He almost wanted to laugh.
“Quite an aggressive attack,” he said at last, his tone calm.
Olivia didn’t move.
“Consider it a warning.”
Oliver glanced down briefly at the sponge on the floor before bending to pick it up.
“Domestic wars usually begin with words,” he said, turning the sponge slowly in his hand. “Not weapons.”
“If I had started with words,” Olivia replied coolly, “you would have pretended not to understand.”
Oliver looked at her again.
There was something different about Olivia this morning.
Not the explosive anger from last night.
Not the cold distance that shut every door.
This was something else.
Something more alive. More real.
Like a storm that had finally settled into rain.
Oliver placed the sponge back in the sink, picked up a cloth, and began drying the counter—this time with far more precision. He could feel Olivia watching him, her expression still laced with suspicion.
“You’re not going to retaliate?” she asked.
Oliver shrugged lightly.
“I’ve just been attacked with a foam-based weapon. I think it’s wise not to escalate.”
Olivia narrowed her eyes.
“You did this on purpose.”
“Maybe.”
“You made a mess just to provoke me.”
Oliver paused, the cloth still in his hand, and looked at her for a moment before answering.
“It’s better when you’re angry,” he said quietly, “than when you go silent like last night.”
The room fell into a heavier silence.
Olivia didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the wide window overlooking the lake, where the morning light shimmered softly across Windermere’s surface, before returning to him.
“You think I’m upset because of the kitchen?” she asked.
“No.”
Oliver set the cloth down.
“You’re upset because of the box.”
Olivia let out a soft laugh.
There was no humor in it.
“You read situations very quickly.”
Oliver met her gaze steadily.
“I’m an architect. Reading structure is part of my job.”
Olivia shook her head slowly.
“You don’t read structure, Oliver.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“You guess.”
She turned as if to leave, but Oliver spoke again before she could take more than a step.
“I don’t know who sent that box.”
Olivia stopped.
Her back was still facing him.
“I didn’t ask.”
“I’m telling you anyway.”
A few seconds passed before Olivia turned back.
Her gaze was still sharp.
“Fine,” she said shortly. “Then say it.”
Oliver leaned lightly against the counter.
“Cassie and I were over before this wedding.”
No reaction.
But Oliver noticed the slight tightening of her jaw.
“We worked together,” he continued. “That’s why there are office photos.”
Olivia nodded faintly.
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“I’ve seen them.”
Her tone was too calm.
And Oliver suddenly realized that calm like that was far more dangerous than anger.
He exhaled slowly.
“I didn’t hide anything.”
“No,” Olivia said.
“You just never mentioned it.”
The words landed between them—heavy, irreversible.
Oliver didn’t answer right away.
Because she was right.
He had never mentioned Cassie.
Not because he had anything to hide—but because, in his mind, that part of his life had already ended long before this arrangement began.
But looking at Olivia now, standing across from him—
He realized it didn’t feel that way to her.
Olivia let out a long breath.
“Forget it.”
She picked up a glass from the table.
“We didn’t even get married by choice.”
Oliver frowned slightly.
“So none of this matters?”
Olivia looked at him again.
“Do you think it does?”
The question lingered in the air.
Oliver didn’t answer.
Because the answer forming in his mind was too honest.
And far too quick.
Instead, he said,
“I think it’s easier if we stop pretending everything is fine.”
Olivia raised a brow.
“We’re not pretending.”
“Aren’t we?”
Oliver gestured toward the kitchen—their small battlefield from moments ago.
“Because this looks like pretty clear evidence that everything is not fine.”
Olivia glanced at the sink.
The plates.
The sponge.
Then back at Oliver.
And for the first time that morning, the corner of her lips shifted slightly.
“Then at least we’re consistent.”
Oliver raised a brow.
“With what?”
“With fighting.”
Oliver almost laughed.
But before he could respond, Olivia’s phone rang on the kitchen counter.
Oliver immediately recognized the name on the screen.
Evelyn.
Olivia answered.
“Hello?”
Oliver turned back to the sink, pretending to wash dishes, though his attention caught fragments of the conversation.
“I’m fine.”
A brief pause.
“No, I didn’t kill him.”
Oliver bit back a smile.
Another pause.
“Eve, it’s only the first morning.”
Oliver couldn’t help himself.
“Emphasis on morning,” he murmured.
Olivia shot him a sharp look.
Clearly, Evelyn heard something on the other end.
“Yes,” Olivia said flatly.
“He’s still alive.”
Oliver finally let out a quiet laugh.
Olivia ended the call a few seconds later and placed her phone back on the counter.
“You’re making an excellent first impression.”
Oliver shrugged.
“I always do.”
Olivia shook her head slightly.
But this time, she didn’t look angry.
Just… tired.
And maybe a little confused.
A few seconds of silence passed before Olivia spoke again.
“I have work this afternoon.”
Oliver glanced at her.
“Office?”
“Client.”
Olivia looked down briefly at what she was wearing—her simple cotton shirt and loose linen trousers, clearly more suited for a quiet morning than a professional session.
She exhaled softly.
“I need to get ready.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked toward the stairs.
Oliver watched her as she climbed, her steps light but quick—like someone avoiding too much conversation.
A few seconds later, something registered in his mind.
She wasn’t heading toward the guest room.
She was heading to the master bedroom.
Their room.
It made sense.
Since the night before the wedding, their mothers had efficiently—almost militarily—moved all of Olivia’s belongings into that space. Silk blouses, work dresses, casual sweaters—all now hanging beside Oliver’s neatly arranged shirts.
The wardrobe was no longer his alone.
Oliver still remembered Olivia’s expression when she first saw it.
A mixture of surprise, restrained protest…
and something harder to define.
And now—
She had walked in there without hesitation.
Oliver wasn’t sure whether that small shift meant something—
or far too much.
He turned back to the sink and picked up the same sponge Olivia had thrown at him earlier.
Soapy water still dripped faintly from its edges.
He stared at it for a moment.
Then smiled slightly.
The first morning of their marriage.
And they had already started a war.
Strange.
Because for the first time since all of this chaos began—
Oliver didn’t feel like running away.
- Writer
