Chapter 4

Six months passed.

I was in Silicon Valley now. I'd used the last of my personal savings to get here, renting a small, cramped room in a shared house. The dream of Innovatech was on hold, replaced by the harsh reality of survival. I worked two jobs to make ends meet: coding for a small startup during the day and bartending at a noisy downtown bar at night. It was grueling, exhausting work, but it was mine. It was honest.

Olivia, true to her word, had not agreed to a divorce. Instead, she started depositing money into my bank account every month. A generous sum, enough for me to live comfortably without working at all. It was her way of fulfilling her promise, of "looking after me" from a distance.

I never touched a single cent of it. The growing balance in that account was a monument to my independence, a silent "fuck you" to her and the life I had left behind.

One Friday night, the bar was packed. The air was thick with the smell of stale beer and cheap perfume. I was wiping down the counter, my mind a blank slate of exhaustion, when the bell above the door jingled. I glanced up, and my blood ran cold.

It was Olivia.

And right beside her, his arm draped casually around her shoulders, was Marcus Thorne. They were with a group of other academics, all of them laughing and talking loudly.

My first instinct was to dive behind the bar, to hide. My heart hammered against my ribs. What were they doing here? In San Francisco? In my bar? It felt like a cruel joke orchestrated by the universe.

I ducked down, pretending to look for something on a lower shelf, my mind racing. I was wearing a cheap, stained apron, my hair was a mess, and I probably smelled like spilled tequila. This was the lowest I had been since leaving, and of course, this was the moment she chose to reappear.

Panicked, I tried to move too fast. My foot slipped on a wet spot on the floor, and I went down hard, my knee slamming into the edge of a beer keg. A sharp, searing pain shot up my leg. I let out a low groan, biting my lip to keep from crying out.

"Hey, you alright back there, buddy?" my boss, a burly guy named Frank, called out.

"Fine," I grunted, trying to pull myself up.

But it was too late. The commotion had drawn their attention. I looked up and saw Marcus Thorne staring directly at me, a look of dawning recognition on his face.

He leaned over and whispered something to Olivia. She turned, and her eyes met mine. The laughter died on her lips. Her face went pale, a mirror of her expression in the hospital room all those months ago.

Marcus, however, looked delighted. He strode over to the bar, his expensive suit looking ridiculously out of place.

"Well, well, well," he said, his voice loud enough for everyone in their group to hear. "Look what we have here. Ethan Miller, in the flesh. I have to say, this is not where I expected to find a tech prodigy."

His words were like daggers, each one hitting its mark. The humiliation was so intense it was a physical sensation, a hot flush that spread across my face and neck. Their entire group was staring at me now, their expressions a mixture of pity and amusement. I was a sideshow, a piece of gossip for them to enjoy.

I pushed myself to my feet, leaning heavily on the counter, my knee throbbing in protest. I stared at Olivia, waiting for her to say something, to defend me, to at least acknowledge me as a human being.

She just stood there, frozen, her eyes wide with what looked like horror.

One of the men in their group, a professor with a smug face, turned to Marcus. "You know this bartender, Marcus?"

Marcus let out a short, cruel laugh. "Not exactly. He's just... a kid Olivia and I used to know back at the university. A bit of a sad case, really. Had all these big dreams, but I guess they didn't quite pan out."

His words hit me harder than the fall. A sad case. A kid they used to know.

I looked at Olivia, my heart pleading with her. Say something. Please.

The smug professor then turned to her. "Is that right, Olivia? You know him?"

The entire bar seemed to fall silent, waiting for her answer. I held my breath. This was it. This was the moment of truth.

Olivia looked from me to the professor, then back to me. A storm of emotions crossed her face-shock, embarrassment, pity. Then, she took a small step back, away from the bar, away from me. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture I knew all too well.

She opened her mouth, and in a voice that was barely a whisper, she said the words that would shatter the last piece of my heart.

"No," she said, looking straight at me. "I don't know him."