Chapter 2

For three days, I didn' t look at my phone. I knew it was buzzing, lighting up with calls and messages from Olivia, but I left it face down on the kitchen counter. The silence in my apartment was a heavy blanket, and I welcomed it. It was a shield against her voice, her lies, her empty apologies.

The only call I made was to my boss. I worked as a lead designer at a firm that had strong ties to Olivia' s startup. Her father was a minor partner, and it was through that connection we' d met. The whole place felt tainted now.

"I need to resign," I said simply, not offering any explanation.

He tried to talk me out of it, offering condolences for my mother and a leave of absence, but my mind was made up. I couldn' t create in a space that was haunted by her memory. He finally, reluctantly, agreed and emailed me the resignation agreement.

The next day, I had to go into the office to clear out my desk and sign the papers. I was hoping to slip in and out unnoticed, but as soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I saw her.

Olivia was standing by the reception desk, talking to my boss. She was dressed in a sharp, professional dress, looking completely unbothered, as if the world hadn't just crumbled around me.

She saw me and her face lit up with a relieved smile. She walked over, her heels clicking on the polished floor.

"Liam! Thank God. I' ve been trying to reach you."

She reached for my hand, but I pulled it away.

Her smile faltered for a second. Around us, heads were starting to turn. Whispers started to ripple through the open-plan office. I could hear snippets.

"…that' s him. The one Olivia was talking about."

"…can' t believe he' d try to break up a marriage."

"…Brandon was so devastated, she had to rush home to him."

My stomach churned. They thought I was the other man. She had painted me as the villain in a story she' d written herself.

"Liam, let' s go talk in my office," Olivia said, her voice low, trying to maintain the illusion of intimacy. She tugged at my sleeve.

I stood my ground, my voice cold. "Don' t touch me."

Hurt flashed in her eyes, a performance for the audience I was sure. "Honey, I know you' re grieving. I' m so sorry about your mom. I wanted to come to the funeral, I really did."

I just shook my head, tired of the lies.

"I bought this for her," she said, pulling a small, beautifully wrapped box from her purse. "It' s a jade pendant. It' s supposed to bring peace."

A gift. For a woman who was already dead. A woman whose last wish she had single-handedly destroyed. The gesture was so meaningless, so insultingly late, that I felt a fresh wave of despair. It wouldn' t bring my mother peace. It wouldn' t bring me peace. Nothing she could do would fix what she had broken.

As she was speaking, her phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced down at the screen. The name 'Brandon' flashed for a brief second before she angled it away.

Her entire posture changed. The concern on her face was replaced by a flicker of anxiety. She hesitated, looking from the phone back to me.

"I… I have to take this," she said, already turning away. "It' s important. Don' t go anywhere. We need to talk."

She walked a few feet away, her voice dropping to a low, soothing murmur as she answered the call. She prioritized him. Even here, even now, after everything, he came first.

I didn' t wait. I walked straight to my boss' s office, the whispers of my colleagues following me like a swarm of angry bees.

"I' m here to sign the papers," I said, my voice flat.

My boss looked at me with a mixture of pity and disappointment. "Liam, are you sure about this? Olivia told me you two just had a misunderstanding. Don' t throw away your career over a lover' s quarrel."

So that was the story she was spinning. A simple fight. Nothing about a secret marriage. Nothing about a dying wish.

"I' m sure," I said, picking up the pen and signing my name on the line. I was done.

The funeral was a small, quiet affair. Just a few of my mother' s old friends and me. We stood under a grey, unforgiving sky, the air thick with unshed rain.

Olivia did not show up.

She didn' t send flowers.

She didn' t even send a message.

As I stood there, alone with my grief, I felt a strange sense of clarity. The pain was immense, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn' t confused. I saw her for exactly who she was: a black hole of self-interest, incapable of genuine love or empathy. And I was finally, irrevocably, free of her pull.