An Offer She Can’t Refuse
1167 Words
(Olivia’s POV)
The night hadn’t even ended, and I already wanted to leave.
My encounter with Isabella had left a sour taste in my mouth. Her words—smooth and deliberately vague—lingered like smoke in my lungs. I just could not stop thinking about her and why Armando had denied deep relationship with her. It also got me wondering if my decision to align with Armando was a good idea. Armando hadn’t brought her up, not once, and the way he’d dismissed her as “no one important” felt like an insult to my intelligence.
No one important didn’t make veiled threats or imply my life was part of some elaborate game.
The ballroom still pulsed with chatter, clinking glasses, and that relentless undercurrent of tension. Armando was back to holding court, surrounded by business magnates and sharp smiles, while I stayed near the edges of the crowd. I sipped at a champagne flute that I didn’t really want, wondering how I’d let myself get dragged into all of this.
Then I heard him.
“Olivia!”
It wasn’t just the sound of my name—it was the fury behind it.
I turned slowly, already knowing who it was. James. He stormed through the crowd, his presence like a storm cloud cutting through the glitter and gold. Conversations stopped. People stepped back, forming a loose circle that left me painfully exposed.
“James,” I said, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. My chest tightened as I met his blazing eyes. Immediately all the betrayal from him came flooding in my head. The son of a b***h!
“Fiancée?” he spat, gesturing wildly toward me, then Armando, who had just started making his way toward us. “This is how I find out? Through the media? You couldn’t even give me the courtesy of a warning?”
His voice carried through the room, sharp and loud enough to draw stares from every corner. My face burned under the weight of their scrutiny. The audacity for me.
“This isn’t the place,” I said quietly, trying to de-escalate. As much as I felt like pouring the champagne in his face, I didn’t want to create a scene.
“Oh, I think it is,” James snapped, stepping closer. His gaze flicked to Armando, who had just reached my side. “And this must be the lucky man who decided to swoop in and pick up the pieces. How’s it feel, Moretti? Stealing another man’s wife?”
Armando didn’t flinch. His expression stayed calm, but I felt the shift in him—the subtle tightening of his posture, the hard edge to his jaw.
“Careful,” Armando said, his voice low and deadly. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
James laughed bitterly. “Embarrassing myself? That’s rich coming from you. Tell me, Olivia—how much of yourself did you have to sell to get here? Or did you let him buy you outright? Or he is paying you to f**k you?!”
Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by a tense silence. My heart thundered in my chest as every muscle in my body tensed.
“That’s enough,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “You don’t get to come here and—”
“I get to do whatever I f*****g want,” James interrupted, his anger boiling over. “You think this changes anything? You think you can just pretend like we never happened?”
Before I could respond, Armando stepped forward, positioning himself firmly between me and James. “You’re finished here,” he said, his tone flat but cold enough to send a chill down my spine. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave. If you open your mouth and say one more crap about my woman, I’m going to f*****g rip tongue outta your mouth and still feed it to you!.”
The words hit like a slap, and I saw it—the brief flicker of vulnerability in James’s eyes before his fury returned.
“This isn’t over,” James said, his voice low and venomous. His gaze flicked back to me one last time, his expression twisting with something between anger and desperation. “You’ll regret this, Olivia.”
And just like that, he turned and stormed out, leaving the room buzzing with murmurs and tension so thick it was suffocating.
Armando’s hand found the small of my back again, steadying me as he leaned down to murmur in my ear. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically, though I wasn’t sure I meant it.
“You handled that well,” he said, his voice soothing. “But he’s not going to let this go.”
I nodded, my throat tight. “I know.”
The rest of the evening passed in a blur, my mind too tangled to focus on the conversations or the lingering stares. I excused myself as soon as I could, needing air, needing space.
Out on the balcony, the city stretched before me, endless and glittering, but I couldn’t shake the weight pressing against my chest. Tears gathered in my eyes as I realized that the only thing I felt for the one whom I loved with all my heart was hatred and disdain. Never did I imagine that James and I were going to turn out like this.
“I was wondering how long it would take for you to run.”
I turned sharply at the voice, my pulse spiking. Isabella. She leaned casually against the railing, her burgundy dress catching the faint light from the ballroom.
“You… What do you want?” I asked, keeping my tone firm but surprised.
She smiled, slow and deliberate. “To talk.”
“I’m not in the mood for games.”
“Good,” she said, stepping closer. “Because this isn’t a game. Not for you, at least.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Her eyes gleamed, dark and knowing. “Armando’s been playing this game for years, Olivia. And he’s very, very good at it. But you?” She tilted her head, her smile sharpening. “You’re just getting started. And I think you’ve already realized—this isn’t just about love. Or loyalty.”
I stiffened, her words settling over me like a shroud.
“You should ask him,” Isabella continued, her voice dropping. “Why he chose you. Why now.”
“I don’t need your advice,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.
“Of course you don’t,” she said lightly. “But when the time comes, and you start to see the cracks… just remember. I warned you.”
She walked away before I could respond, leaving me alone with nothing but the city lights and the echo of her words.
And for the first time, I wondered if she might be right.
- Writer
