Chapter 3

Olivia POV

The gala was a churning ocean of black ties and designer gowns, a glittering shark tank where teeth were bared in smiles that never quite reached the eyes.

I sat at the head table, a ghost draped in navy silk.

Marcus and Izzy were the center of gravity, pulling every gaze in the room. The photographers' flashes were relentless, a strobe-light storm illuminating their perfect, manufactured happiness.

I took a sip of champagne. It hit my tongue flat and lifeless. The caviar on the cracker before me tasted of nothing but saltwater and cold metal.

"Olivia," Izzy cooed, leaning across the table.

Her voice was pitched loud enough to carry to the neighboring seats, sweet enough to rot teeth.

"You look... exhausted. Are you getting enough iron? You really should take better care of yourself. Especially now that you're... alone."

She let the word hang in the air between us like a suspended blade.

*Alone.*

I gripped the delicate stem of my glass until my knuckles turned white. "I'm fine, Izzy. Just busy with research."

"Research," Marcus scoffed.

He didn't even look at me. He was swirling his scotch, watching the amber liquid coat the glass. "You're wasting your time with that art history nonsense. You should be focusing on the merger data I sent you."

"I had some thoughts on the merger," I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my chest. "The environmental impact report is-"

"Izzy suggests we bypass the report and go straight to the zoning committee," Marcus interrupted, cutting me off effortlessly.

He placed a possessive hand on Izzy's shoulder.

"She has a better instinct for the politics of it."

I felt the blood drain from my face, leaving me cold.

Izzy. The woman who thought the Louvre was a high-end shopping mall.

"Right," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Of course."

He used to tell me I was the smartest woman he knew. He used to say my mind was the sexiest thing about me. Now, I was nothing more than an annoyance. A buzzing fly to be swatted away.

My father, seated to my left, reached under the tablecloth and squeezed my hand. His grip was iron-hard.

He slid a glass of water toward me.

"Drink," he murmured, his eyes fixed straight ahead. "Don't let them see you bleed."

I drank. The water was ice-cold, shocking my system. It helped settle the nausea churning violently in my stomach.

I glanced at the antique clock on the wall. I had to get out of here. Every second felt like I was losing oxygen, suffocating in the scent of expensive perfume and betrayal.

Thunder rumbled faintly outside. A summer storm was breaking over the city.

The sound triggered a memory from three years ago. A rainy night in SoHo. We were caught in a downpour. Marcus had stripped off his jacket and held it over my head like a canopy.

*I'd rather get soaked than let a drop touch you,* he had promised.

Now, he wouldn't cross the street to spit on me if I were on fire.

The music died. A spotlight cut through the dimness, hitting the stage.

Marcus stood up. He took Izzy's hand, lacing their fingers together, and led her to the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Marcus's voice boomed through the speakers, commanding the room. "Thank you for coming. Tonight, I have a special announcement."

I knew it was coming. I braced myself against the edge of the table.

"I am proud to announce that Isabella and I will be married this October at the Plaza."

Applause erupted. It was deafening, a physical wave of sound.

I didn't clap.

I sat perfectly still, a statue in the wreckage. My face was a mask of porcelain calm. Inside, however, the last structural beam of my old life finally collapsed.

I felt eyes on me. Pitying glances. Whispers behind hands. *Poor Olivia. The placeholder. The practice wife.*

I reached into my purse. Under the cover of the heavy tablecloth, I pulled out my phone.

I opened my contacts. I scrolled to *Marcus*.

*Block Caller.*

I opened Instagram. *Unfollow. Block.*

I opened the family group chat. *Leave Conversation.*

It took ten seconds to sever three years of digital tethers.

A chill swept up my legs. The ballroom was stiflingly warm, but I was freezing. My teeth wanted to chatter, but I clamped my jaw shut.

*I am not his,* I told myself. *I am not a prop in his play.*

The applause began to die down. The band struck up a slow jazz number.

I stood up.

"Olivia?" my father asked, concern etching his brow.

"I'm leaving," I said.

I didn't say goodbye to Marcus. I didn't look at Izzy. I turned my back on the head table and walked toward the exit with my head high.

I pushed through the heavy double doors and stepped out onto the street.

The rain was coming down in sheets. It was a deluge, a gray curtain over New York.

I didn't have an umbrella.

I stepped off the curb. The water soaked my dress instantly, turning the silk heavy and dark. It plastered my hair to my skull. It ruined my suede pumps.

I didn't care.

I tilted my head back and let the rain wash over my face. It felt like a baptism. A cleansing.

Inside the warm, dry hall, my father leaned toward Marcus.

"Are you sure about this?" David asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Marcus watched the doors where I had vanished. For a split second, his mask slipped. He looked... uncertain. Haunted, even.

Then he hardened his jaw, the CEO returning to the surface. "It's the best choice for the company, David. You know that."

I walked down 5th Avenue in the pouring rain. I was shivering, but my steps were steady.

The water mixed with the tears I finally allowed to fall. It blurred the streetlights into streaks of liquid gold and red.

But I could see the path clearly.

There was no Marcus ahead. There was no Izzy.

There was just me. And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.