Chapter 5
1009 Words
The reception swirled around Olivia in a haze–clinking glasses, soft laughter, the faint clatter of silverware against porcelain. Somewhere, a string quartet played something elegant, forgettable. But she wasn’t really there. Not anymore.
She stood beside Connor, her smile frozen in place, her eyes locked in the space where Lucas had stood only minutes ago. He was gone now, disappeared into a sea of expensive suits and champagne flutes–but the air hadn’t returned to normal. It still pulsed with the weight of his presence.
Her chest was tight. Every breath came shallow and sharp. Her fingers dug into the satin of her gown. She should’ve said something to Connor, to herself, but her mind was blank. What was there to say?
“Are you alright?”
Connor’s voice broke through the noise like a cold hand around her wrist. Steady. Controlled. His eyes were pale, precise, and scanned her face like the way a banker might scan a ledger.
“I’m fine,” she said. The words came out soft, barely more than breath.
A lie.
She wasn’t fine. She hadn’t been fine in a long time. And now, with Lucas back, that fragile illusion had shattered.
She stepped back a little, needing space that didn’t exist. The ballroom suddenly felt too crowded, too bright. The music and voices blurred into a low hum, the kind that rings in your ears before a migraine. She glanced toward the exit, wondering if she could slip out unnoticed.
Connor caught her wrist.
Not hard. Not gentle either.
His grip was purposeful. Unyielding.
He didn’t say anything. Just started walking, guiding her away from the ballroom, away from the eyes that might notice the new bride’s composure cracking. They moved through a set of wide double doors, down a quieter corridor where the polished marble echoed beneath their steps.
He opened the door to a study–dark wood paneling, shelves full of untouched books–and shut it behind them with a soft, deliberate snap.
“Sit.”
His voice was even, but there was steel under it.
Olivia hesitated, then lowered herself into a leather chair by the window. She stared at the floor, her hands twisting the hem of her dress. Her heart still hadn’t settled.
“Who was he?” Connor asked. Quieter now, but colder.
She didn’t answer right away.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. It was a pathetic lie, and they both knew it.
Connor stepped closer. The silence between them stretched thin.
“You don’t know?” he repeated, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “Because he sure knew you.”
She looked up then, her voice brittle. “It’s someone from my past. That’s all.”
Connor’s jaw clenched. “Someone from your past who shows up uninvited to our wedding and calls you his?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “You think that sounds like nothing?”
She looked away. She couldn’t explain Lucas—how much he had once meant, how much she once loved him before he decided to manipulate her and made her do things she had always regretted. Now she was a criminal, desperately trying to hide her past.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “I’ve tried to forget. I tried to leave it all behind.”
“But he didn’t forget you, did he?”
She flinched.
Connor stood over her now, arms crossed, the glow from the chandelier painting sharp lines across his face. She could feel his anger vibrating just beneath the surface–not loud, not violent, but coiled tight like a spring.
Then, the sound of heels clicking sharply on the marble floor was heard, and Evelyn McCoy entered the room without knocking.
Olivia barely had time to straighten up before the woman’s voice cut through the room like a blade.
“Connor,” she said, eyes locked on her son. “I heard there was a scene. Some man from her past?” She waved a dismissive hand in Olivia’s direction without looking at her. “You let this nonsense interrupt the ceremony?”
Connor didn’t respond right away. He didn’t need to. His silence was practiced.
“This marriage,” Evelyn said coolly, “is about family, legacy, and power. Not emotional indulgence. You know better.”
Her gaze flicked to Olivia, full of distaste. “And as for you–remember your place. You’re not here to be remembered. You’re here to be useful.”
Olivia said nothing. She didn’t trust her voice.
Evelyn turned back to Connor. “Handle it.”
“I will,” Connor said quietly.
With that, Evelyn turned and left, her heels echoing down the hallway.
The door closed again. Silence followed.
Connor sighed. It wasn’t tiredness, it was restraint. He turned back to Olivia with a cold sort of clarity in his eyes.
“This marriage is a transaction. We both have our reasons for agreeing to it. But whatever ghosts you’re carrying, you better make sure they stay buried.”
She looked up at him, something inside her fraying.
“And if they don’t?” she asked.
Connor’s jaw twitched. “Then we deal with it.”
A knock at the door cut through the tension like a blade.
Not a gentle knock. Urgent. Insistent.
Connor moved to open it, irritation flashing across his face. But the moment the door opened, something shifted.
He froze.
Olivia couldn’t see who was standing there—but she heard the voice. Low.
“Sir… we have news,
“Lucas Hayes is dead.”
The words dropped into the room like a bomb.
Olivia’s body went rigid.
Her mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out. No breath, either.
Dead?
That wasn’t possible.
She had just seen him, spoken to him, and felt the heat of his gaze across a room full of strangers.
But now, as the silence stretched and the world began to tilt, one emotion began to take root in her body –relaxation.
- Writer
