Chapter 2

Olivia POV

My body was healing, but my heart felt like it had been removed and swapped for a stone.

It was heavy. It was cold. But at least it didn't bleed anymore.

Elizabeth, my mother, had sent Jennings, our family butler, to the hospital in her stead. He stood by the door like a sentinel, bringing me bone broth and organic fruit that tasted like wet cardboard.

Michael came by occasionally. He brought flowers that were too large for the vase and sat in the chair by the window, checking his watch as if counting down the seconds until he could leave.

"You look better," he said one afternoon, his eyes fixed on a notification on his phone screen.

"I feel better," I lied.

He didn't notice the lie. He simply nodded, tapped out a reply, and left ten minutes later.

I didn't mind. His absence was easier to stomach than his presence.

When Jennings left to get me fresh water, I forced myself out into the hallway. My legs were still weak, trembling slightly under the hospital gown, but I needed to move. I needed to prove to myself that I could still stand on my own.

That was when I saw him.

Michael was standing near the elevator bank, his back to me. He wasn't looking at his phone. He was holding a small, crumpled photograph in both hands.

He was staring at it with an intensity that made my stomach turn. It was the look of a starving man staring at a feast he couldn't touch.

Then, with a sudden, violent motion, he ripped the photo in half.

He didn't throw it away. He shoved the pieces into his pocket, his shoulders heaving as if he couldn't breathe.

The elevator doors opened, and Selena stepped out.

She looked pale, but her eyes were blazing. She walked straight up to him. They didn't see me standing in the shadow of the linen cart.

"You can't keep doing this, Michael," she hissed. Her voice was low, but in the quiet hospital corridor, it carried like a scream. "You have a wife. You have a child coming."

"I don't care about the child!" Michael yelled.

He realized his volume too late and lowered his voice, grabbing her shoulders desperately.

"I don't care about the legacy. I don't care about the Hayes money. I would give it all up. I would sign over the company. I would divorce her tomorrow if you just said the word."

My breath hitched.

I pressed my hand against the wall to steady myself. Hearing it was different than knowing it. Knowing it was a dull ache. Hearing it was a bullet to the chest.

Selena looked terrified. She pulled away from him.

"You're insane," she whispered. "You're obsessed with a version of us that died ten years ago."

She turned and ran back into the elevator.

Michael stood there, frozen. He looked like a man who had just watched his entire world walk away.

Then, slowly, pathetic in his grief, he reached into his pocket. He pulled out the torn pieces of the photograph. He tried to fit them back together, his hands shaking, trying to fix a past that was already broken.

I turned around and walked back to my room.

I didn't cry. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up a business magazine Jennings had left. I stared at the words until they blurred.

Later, a nurse came in to change my IV. She was young, chatty, and blissfully unaware of who I was.

"That poor man in the hallway," she said, checking my vitals. "He's been here every day. Not for you, honey. No offense."

She lowered her voice, leaning in like we were conspirators.

"He goes to the hematology ward. I heard him talking to Dr. Evans. Apparently, he almost dropped out of Harvard to take care of that woman when she had her first scare years ago. Sold his car to pay for her meds. It's like something out of a movie."

I looked at the nurse.

"Yes," I said, my voice steady. "It sounds very romantic."

I was the villain in their movie. The obstacle. The rich wife keeping true love apart.

I closed the magazine with a definitive snap.

It was time to rewrite the script.