Chapter 2

Olivia's POV

I quickly shoved my suitcase under the bed.

The front door opened, and Matthew stumbled in reeking of alcohol.

He saw me sitting in the bedroom and froze for a second, then frowned. "Where the fuck have you been? You wouldn't answer your phone. It's bad enough you didn't show up to Rebecca's gallery opening, but you didn't even send congratulations. She was really hurt, you know that?"

I stared at him—this man I'd loved for seven years.

His suit was wrinkled, his tie hung loose around his neck, and his hair was a complete mess. He looked hungover as hell.

"I was in the hospital," I said flatly.

Matthew paused mid-way through taking off his jacket, then rolled his eyes. "The hospital? What now? A cold? Stomachache? Olivia, could you PLEASE stop faking sick for attention? I'm beat."

"I wasn't faking." I kept my voice steady. "Ectopic pregnancy rupture. Massive internal bleeding."

Matthew whipped around and stared at me. "What... what did you just say?"

"I lost the baby. Almost died on the operating table too." I stood up and smoothed down my skirt. "But it's fine. It's over now."

Matthew rushed toward me, reaching for my shoulders, but I stepped aside.

His hand froze in mid-air, panic flooding his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you call me to come?"

"I DID call you, Matthew." I looked straight into his eyes. "You said you were watching fireworks with Rebecca and told me to stop being dramatic."

His face went white. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

"I... I thought you were just..." he stammered.

"Thought I was just being jealous?" I smiled coldly. "It's okay, Matthew. I really don't blame you anymore."

Hard to blame someone when you just don't give a shit anymore.

Matthew seemed thrown off by my weird calm. He was used to my tears and yelling, not this cold nothing.

"Olivia, I'm sorry, I had no idea..." He took a deep breath, trying to sound gentle. "You must have been so scared these past few days. I'll call the best nutritionist right away to help you get better. What do you want? That bag from Paris? Trip to the Maldives? Name it, it's yours."

I watched him scramble to fix things, but then caught sight of lipstick stains on his shirt collar.

My stomach turned.

"No thanks." I turned away from him. "I'm tired. I need to sleep."

Matthew stood there, mouth half-open like he wanted to say something, but eventually just walked out and quietly closed the door.

I listened to him pacing around the living room, heard him calling his assistant to get some nutritionist. I felt... empty. Just empty.

The next day, I went to work like nothing happened.

My colleagues saw how pale I looked and asked what was wrong. I just smiled and said I had a cold, then buried myself in files.

During lunch, I knocked on senior partner Mr. Smith's office door.

"Olivia, you look like hell," Mr. Smith said, putting down his pen and frowning at me.

"I'm fine, Mr. Smith." I handed him a document. "This is my application for transfer to the LA office."

Mr. Smith's eyebrows shot up. "LA? Are you sure? You've got everything here, and you and Matthew..."

"Matthew and I are done," I interrupted. "I want to wrap things up here ASAP."

Mr. Smith looked at my face, sighed, and signed his name.

Walking out of his office, I pulled out my phone and booked a flight for next Friday.

Next Friday was Rebecca's birthday. Matthew would definitely be there celebrating with her—I knew he'd already booked their Paris trip.

Everything was falling into place.

That evening when I got home, Matthew was already there for once.

He'd bought my favorite Black Forest cake and was actually wearing an apron, cooking steak in the kitchen.

"You're back?" He poked his head out when he heard the door, putting on this big smile. "Go wash up. Dinner's almost ready."

I watched him bustling around the kitchen, and for a second it reminded me of when we first started dating.

Back then we were broke as hell, but he'd always try to cook me something special.

Too bad people change.

During dinner, Matthew kept piling food on my plate, watching my face like a hawk.

"Olivia, how about we go to the Hamptons this weekend?" he said carefully. "Just us."

"I have to work this weekend," I said without looking up from my steak.

"Next weekend then?"

"We'll see."

Matthew put down his fork and sighed. "Olivia, I know you're still pissed at me. Look, I fucked up, okay? I've been thinking about this nonstop. Can we just... start over?"

Start over?

I looked up at him.

Just then, his phone lit up.

A text from Rebecca. Even though it was only there for a split second, I saw what it said.

"Matthew, I'm scared. Can you come over?"