My Ex Husband Lost Me To His Rival

The breaking point

OLivia POV

The silence in the house after I found the hidden files was heavy, like a storm was about to break.

A week passed, and I moved through the halls of Crest Estate like a living ghost.

I watched Aria settle into the guest house, watched Blake treat her with a gentleness he never showed me, and I kept my mouth shut.

I was waiting for my moment, waiting for the clock to run out on our six-year contract, but life had other plans.

It started in the middle of the night.

Nathaniel woke up screaming, his small body soaked in sweat and shaking with chills. When I touched his forehead, I almost pulled my hand back.

He was burning.

I didn't call the house staff, and I didn't wait for Blake to come home from whatever “late-night meeting” he was having with Aria.

I scooped my son up, wrapped him in his favorite blue blanket, and drove to the hospital with my heart in my throat.

By the time we got to the hospital, his fever had hit 104 degrees.

The nurses took him from my arms, their faces serious, and the next six hours were a nightmare of white walls, the smell of bleach, and the steady, terrifying beep of a heart monitor.

I sat in a hard plastic chair, my hands trembling as I called Blake.

I called him once.

No answer.

I called him twice.

It went straight to voicemail.

I sent a text, my fingers shaking so hard I could barely type.

“Nathaniel is in the ICU. 104 fever. Please come now.”

I watched the clock on the wall, the ticking sound echoing in the empty hallway.

Every minute felt like an hour.

I looked at my phone, checking the news, and my blood turned to ice.

A gossip blog had just posted a photo from a private room at The Gilded Rose, the most expensive restaurant in the city.

There was Blake, looking handsome and calm, holding a wine glass.

Aria was sitting across from him, her hand resting on his, both of them smiling as if the world was perfect.

He was ignoring my calls for a candlelit dinner with his ghost.

Finally, the elevator doors at the end of the hall opened with a sharp ding.

Blake walked out, his expensive suit slightly wrinkled, but he wasn't alone.

Aria was right behind him, wearing a soft silk dress and looking like a worried angel.

She looked like she belonged at his side, while I, in my messy hair and tear-stained face, looked like an outsider.

“Where is he?” Blake demanded, his voice booming in the quiet hall.

He didn't ask how I was.

He didn't apologize for the ten missed calls.

He just looked at me with those cold, steel-grey eyes.

“He’s in there,” I whispered, pointing to the glass door of the room. “He’s been calling for you for six hours, Blake. Where were you?”

“I told you I was in a meeting,” he snapped, his jaw tightening. “Aria was kind enough to drive me here when I saw your frantic messages. Stop making a scene, Olivia.”

“A scene?”

I felt something inside me snap.

“Our son could have died, and you were having lobster with her!”

“That’s enough,” Blake growled, pushing past me into the room.

I followed them, my chest aching.

Nathaniel was awake, but he looked so small and pale under the bright hospital lights. He had tubes in his arms, and his eyes were unfocused from the medication.

When he saw Blake, he let out a tiny, weak sob.

“Daddy...”

Blake moved to the bed, but Aria was faster.

She leaned over the railing, her long hair brushing against Nathaniel's cheek. She reached out her hand, her voice soft and sweet.

“It’s okay, little one. I’m here. I brought the book we were reading, remember?”

Nathaniel looked up at her.

He looked at me, standing at the foot of the bed with my heart breaking, and then he looked back at Aria.

He didn't reach for me.

He didn't want his mother.

He reached his small, shaky hand out and grabbed Aria’s fingers.

“Aria... stay?” he whispered, his voice cracking.

Aria looked at me over her shoulder, and for just a second, the “fragile” look disappeared.

She gave me a look of pure, cold triumph.

She had taken my husband.

She had taken my home.

And now, she had taken the love of my son.

Blake looked at them and actually smiled.

It was a soft, genuine smile I hadn't seen in years.

“He likes you, Aria. You have a good heart.”

In that moment, the last bit of hope I had been carrying for six years died.

It didn't just fade away; it was executed right there in that hospital room.

I realized that my years of sacrifice, the way I had managed Blake’s life, the way I had built his empire from the shadows, meant absolutely nothing.

I was a placeholder.

I was a tool.

And now, I was no longer needed.

I stepped back, the sound of the heart monitor filling my head.

I looked at the man I had married to save my mother, and I felt nothing but a cold, hard vacuum where my love used to be.

I was done being a ghost.

I was done being the foundation for a man who didn't even see me standing there.

I turned around and walked out of the room.

I didn't say goodbye, and I didn't wait for Blake to yell at me to come back.

I walked down the long, sterile hallway, the light reflecting off the floor like a sheet of ice.

I pushed through the heavy glass doors of the hospital and stepped out into the humid New York night.

The city was loud, the sirens and the traffic blurred together, but I felt a strange sense of peace.

The contract was almost over.

I had the files on my phone.

I had the truth in my heart.

And I had nothing left to lose.

As I walked toward the edge of the sidewalk to find my car, a long, sleek black SUV pulled up to the curb.

It didn't look like any of the Sterling cars.

It was darker, more dangerous.

The engine hummed with power, and the tinted window rolled down slowly.

I stopped in my tracks.

The man sitting in the back seat was lean and powerful, his dark hair messy in a way that looked expensive.

He didn't look like Blake.

Where Blake was cold and rigid, this man looked like a predator who enjoyed the hunt.

It was Luciano Sterling, Blake's greatest rival and the man who had been watching my marriage crumble from the sidelines for years.

He didn't look at the hospital.

He didn't look at the Sterling Tower in the distance.

He looked directly at my hands, which were still trembling with rage and grief.

His eyes were dark and intelligent, seeing every secret I was trying to hide.

He leaned forward slightly, the light from the streetlamp hitting his sharp jawline.

“The six years are up at midnight, Olivia,” he said, his voice a deep, smooth rumble that seemed to vibrate in the air. “Are you ready to see what's behind the door you've been guarding?”

“Drive,” I said.