HIS UNDOING: CONTRACT OF HEARTS

Chapter 2 – Goodbye to the Past

Olivia’s POV

The morning light hurt my eyes when it filtered through the thin curtains of the cheap motel I’d chosen. I hadn’t been able to go home. The thought of sleeping where Alexander and I had once planned our future made my stomach twist. So I’d found this small, forgotten place on the edge of town—somewhere no one would think to look for me.

I dragged myself to the bathroom sink, splashing cold water on my face. My skin was pale, my eyes rimmed with red, but I stared at myself hard. No more tears, I told the girl in the mirror. No more begging, no more weakness.

But strength wasn’t easy when my phone buzzed with a flood of messages.

Alexander: Come back. Don’t be dramatic. You have nowhere to go.

Lucinda: Hope you’re not crying too hard, Liv. Alex belongs to me now.

I threw the phone onto the bed, bile rising in my throat. How could they be so cruel? How could two people I loved stab me in the back like this?

My chest tightened, but then anger flared. They wanted me broken, and I couldn’t give them the satisfaction.

I grabbed the phone again, my fingers shaking.

I typed back to Alexander: You’re nothing but a liar. You’ll regret losing me, because one day, I’ll be loved by someone a thousand times the man you’ll ever be.

And to Lucinda: You can have my leftovers. You’ll never be more than a second choice, no matter how loud you moan.

I hit send before I could think twice, then blocked them both. My heart still pounded, but a strange lightness filled me. It was over. I was free, even if freedom came drenched in betrayal.

Later that afternoon, I went back to the apartment one final time. Each step inside felt like walking through a graveyard of memories

It was all lies, all of it.

I quickly stuffed my essentials into a suitcase, refusing to let the tears fall again. As I zipped it shut, my eyes landed on the wedding dress hanging in the corner: white satin, delicate lace, hours of dreams stitched into its fabric. My throat tightened.

But then I walked over, tore it from the hanger, and shoved it into a black garbage bag. That dress would never see the light of day.

When I left the apartment for the last time, I didn’t look back. The past had died there, in those walls, in that bed.

On the street below, I flagged down a cab, my suitcase clutched tight. The driver asked where I was going, and for a moment, I hesitated.

Where was I going?

I didn’t know yet.

The cab dropped me off downtown, but I didn’t give the driver a destination until the very last second. I blurted out the first place that came to mind—the café I have come across a couple of times due to the nature of my job.

The air smelled of roasted coffee beans and rain-soaked pavement as I stepped out, clutching my suitcase. The streets buzzed with life—people rushing, laughing, talking into their phones as though the world would never betray them.

For a moment, I envied them. Their normalcy. Their ignorance.

I walked into the café and claimed a small corner table. The smell of fresh pastries should have comforted me, but my stomach twisted. I ordered tea, just to keep the staff from eyeing me suspiciously.

My phone sat on the table, silent now. Blocked numbers couldn’t scream at me. But silence didn’t erase the memory of his words. No one will ever want you.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to let them echo too long.

I opened the job listing app on my phone, scrolling endlessly. Most ads had already expired, and the rest were not in my line of work.

Still, I couldn’t be picky. I needed money, and fast. Rent. Food. Survival.

I looked around the café, my gaze landing on the woman behind the counter. She was maybe in her fifties, sharp-eyed but kind-looking, moving between customers with practiced ease. Something in me pushed past the humiliation, past the fear.

I picked up my suitcase, walked to the counter, and cleared my throat.

“Excuse me,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “I was wondering… are you hiring? I’ll do anything—clean tables, wash dishes, make coffee. I just… I need work.”

Her brows arched, and for a moment, I thought she would turn me away. But then her gaze softened, flicking down to the suitcase at my side, and back to my face.

“Well,” she said slowly, “I wasn’t planning to. But something tells me you’re not the type to ask unless you really need it.”

And just like that, a door cracked open in the ruins of my life.

Relief washed through me so strongly that my knees almost buckled. “I do,” I admitted, my voice cracking on the words. “I really need it.”

She studied me, her eyes narrowing as if weighing my sincerity against the risk of taking me in. Then she nodded once.

“Fine. You can start today. Name’s Evelyn, but everyone calls me Eve. You’ll be on cleanup duty for now. If you’re any good, I’ll teach you the register later.”

I let out a shaky breath, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Thank you. Really… thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said briskly, though her eyes held a flicker of kindness. “Aprons are in the back. You look like you’ve had a rough night, but customers don’t care. Smile when you can, keep busy when you can’t. And don’t spill the lattes — people act like I’ve murdered their mothers when their foam isn’t right.”

Despite myself, I laughed softly. The sound felt foreign, like my throat had forgotten how to carry joy.

I spent the next few hours bussing tables, wiping counters, and learning the rhythm of the café. It was busy but not overwhelming, and something about the routine dulled the jagged edges of my grief. I needed this — a place to pour my energy before the memories consumed me.

By the time late afternoon rolled in, I was sweaty, exhausted, and covered in coffee grounds. But I was still standing. That alone felt like a victory.

The bell above the door chimed.

I barely looked up from the counter I was wiping until a shadow fell across it. Then I froze.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. A charcoal suit that looked like it cost more than my entire wardrobe.

And those eyes — the same ones I had seen the night before, when a handkerchief appeared in front of me as I cried on that park bench.

It was him.

The man in the suit.

He looked just as composed, his expression calm but unreadable as his gaze landed on me. My breath caught, and I almost dropped the rag in my hand.

He didn’t smile, but his eyes lingered on me a moment longer than necessary. Then he nodded once, as if confirming something to himself.

“I’ll have a black coffee,” he said simply.

My hands fumbled as I punched it into the register. The machine beeped wrong, and I cursed under my breath. He raised a brow, watching silently as I tried again. My heart hammered so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

Finally, the order went through, and I passed it to Eve, who shot me a knowing smirk before starting the brew.

I busied myself with wiping the counter again, anything to avoid the weight of his gaze. But curiosity gnawed at me, forcing me to glance up.

He was still watching me.

Not mockingly, not cruelly, but with a strange intensity that made my skin tingle.

I swallowed hard. “Thank you for… the handkerchief. Last night.”

Something flickered in his eyes — recognition, yes, but also something I couldn’t name.

“You kept it?” he asked.

I nodded, my fingers brushing against my bag where the folded fabric still sat, a small lifeline from a stranger.

His lips curved, not quite a smile but close. “Good.”

Eve called out the order, breaking the spell. He picked up his cup, and for a second, I thought he’d leave without another word.

But then he leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only me to hear.

“Try to eat something yourself,” he said. “You look like you’ve forgotten how.”

Before I could respond, he turned and walked out, the bell chiming softly behind him.

I stood frozen, my heart thudding against my ribs, the world suddenly sharper, heavier, alive again.

Who was he?