Chapter 2

I am not a wilting flower.

I am Olivia Vanderbilt Miller. I don't swallow disrespect.

"Out." My voice was ice.

The girl blinked.

She clearly hadn't expected a direct confrontation. Not from me, not on our first meeting.

Perhaps my tone was too harsh.

Chloe looked flustered, her confidence wavering.

"I... I'm sorry, Mrs. Miller." Her voice trembled. She fumbled with her seatbelt, then scrambled into the back.

Ethan ended his call, his gaze flicking between me and the rearview mirror.

He saw my face. He knew I was angry.

A look of weary indulgence crossed his features.

He leaned over, his familiar scent washing over me, and clicked my seatbelt into place.

The seat felt wrong. Too far forward.

I jabbed the controls, adjusting it back to my setting.

My irritation spiked.

"Seriously? Who dares adjust my seat?"

The air in the car crackled. The girl in the back was silent, probably terrified.

Ethan's brow furrowed slightly. His voice was calm, measured.

"If you're not in the mood tonight, Olivia, we can go home."

In the rearview mirror, I saw Chloe's shoulders shaking. Silent tears.

My patience snapped.

"Chloe, is it? I'm not going anymore. You can get a cab. Mr. Miller and I are going home."

Her face paled. She looked at Ethan, a desperate plea in her eyes.

He offered no rescue.

She got out of the car, her shoulders slumped.