Chapter 2

Olivia POV

The next morning, I started the purge.

My body ached. It was a dull, persistent throb in my lower back, likely from the pregnancy, but I ignored it. I needed to move. I needed to cleanse this house of him.

I stepped into the walk-in closet. It was filled with things Marcus had bought me. Dresses that were undeniably Izzy's style, not mine. Perfumes that smelled like sandalwood-Izzy's signature scent. Jewelry that was heavy and ostentatious.

I took a large cardboard box and started discarding things into it.

The diamond necklace he gave me for our first anniversary. *Clunk.*

The silk scarves he insisted I wear. *Swish.*

The cashmere sweaters in beige and grey. *Thud.*

I was stripping away the costume he had made me wear.

"What are you doing?"

I froze. Marcus was standing in the doorway. He was dressed for work, impeccable in a navy suit.

I didn't turn around. I kept folding a sweater with trembling hands. "Spring cleaning. It's too cluttered in here."

"You're throwing away the necklace I gave you?" His voice was sharp.

"It's being sent out for cleaning," I lied. The lie tasted like ash, but it came out smooth. "And the clothes... they don't fit right anymore."

Marcus walked over. He grabbed my arm, turning me to face him. His grip was firm, bordering on painful. He looked at my face, really looked at me, for the first time in weeks.

"You look pale," he said. There was a flicker of something in his eyes. Annoyance? Concern? It was hard to tell. "Are you sick?"

"I'm fine," I said, pulling my arm away. "Just tired."

He stared at my stomach for a second. My heart hammered against my ribs. If he knew about the baby, he would never let me leave. He would lock me in this house until I produced his heir.

"You've lost weight," he muttered, his eyes critical. "Eat more. I don't like skinny women."

*Izzy is curvy,* I thought.

His phone rang. He released me immediately to answer it.

"David," Marcus said. His tone shifted instantly. Respectful. Eager. "Tonight? Yes, of course. Olivia and I would be delighted."

He hung up and looked at me. "Your father is hosting a family dinner. We're going."

"I don't feel up to it," I said.

"Izzy will be there," he said. He didn't even realize he had said it. It wasn't a reason for me to go; it was the reason *he* was going. "Get dressed. Wear the blue dress. The one I bought you last month."

The one that was the exact shade of Izzy's eyes.

*

The car ride was suffocatingly silent. Rain lashed against the windows.

Halfway there, Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

"Here," he said, tossing it into my lap.

I opened it. It was a brooch. A vintage dragonfly made of sapphires. It was beautiful. It was also something I would never wear.

"Thank you," I said softly.

"It's not for you," he said. He was checking his hair in the rearview mirror. "It's for Izzy. It's a 'thank you' for her help with the merger. Give it to her when we get there. It looks better coming from you."

I stared at the brooch. He wanted his wife to give his mistress a gift. He wanted to use me as a shield for his affection.

"Okay," I said.

We arrived at my father's estate. The dinner was already in full swing. My father, David Hayes, looked frail but happy. He hugged me tightly.

"Livvie," he whispered. "You look tired."

"I'm okay, Dad."

Marcus was already across the room. He had found Izzy.

They stood close. Too close. Marcus was leaning in, whispering something that made her throw her head back and laugh. The air around them crackled. It was magnetic. It was undeniable.

I walked over. I felt like an intruder in my own reality.

"Izzy," I said.

She turned. Her smile was dazzling. Predatory. "Olivia. Darling. You look... quaint."

I held out the velvet box. "Marcus wanted you to have this."

Marcus stiffened slightly, but Izzy opened it. Her eyes lit up.

"Oh, Marcus," she breathed. "It's perfect. It matches the one you gave me in Paris years ago."

She looked at me with a triumphant smirk. "We went to a conference there. Before you two met."

"I remember," Marcus said. His voice was thick.

We sat down for dinner. I was seated next to Marcus, but I might as well have been on the moon. He spent the entire meal passing dishes to Izzy, refilling her wine glass, laughing at her jokes.

The first course arrived. Scallops.

I stared at the plate. I was deathly allergic to shellfish. Marcus knew this. I had spent our honeymoon in the ER because of a shrimp cross-contamination.

"Eat up, Olivia," Marcus said, not looking at me. He was busy cutting a piece of steak for Izzy. "The chef outdid himself."

"I can't," I said quietly.

"Don't be rude," he hissed.

"It's scallops, Marcus."

He stopped. He looked at my plate, then at me. For a second, he looked blank. Then, a flash of irritation.

"Right," he said. "I forgot. Just pick around them."

Across the table, my aunt chuckled. "Look at Marcus and Izzy. They bicker like an old married couple. If I didn't know better, I'd say you two were the ones celebrating an anniversary."

The table went silent.

Marcus didn't deny it. He didn't reach for my hand. He didn't laugh it off.

He just looked at Izzy. And in that look, I saw everything. The longing. The obsession. The love he had never, ever given to me.

I gripped my fork until the metal dug into my palm.

*I am done,* I thought, a cold resolve settling in my chest. *I am so done.*