Chapter 3

Olivia's POV

The air froze.

Matthew's eyes darted to his phone screen, then he frantically flipped it face-down on the table.

"Spam text," he said awkwardly, trying to hide the panic in his eyes.

I didn't say anything. Just kept cutting my steak.

Before, I would've grilled him until he snapped at me with "Can't you stop being so paranoid?" But now, his shitty acting just seemed pathetic.

"I'm done." I put down my silverware and stood up. "I'm gonna go to bed."

"Olivia, hold on—wanna watch a movie or something?" Matthew said quickly, almost pleading. "I can make popcorn, like old times..."

"No thanks." I walked toward the bedroom without looking back. "I'm tired."

Matthew rushed after me and grabbed my wrist. "What the fuck do you want from me?"

His voice had that edge—like he'd already bent over backwards and I was still being a bitch about it.

I pulled my hand away. "I'm not asking for anything, Matthew. I'm just tired."

Matthew stared at me, mouth half-open like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He watched me close the bedroom door, frustration flashing in his eyes.

Over the next few days, Matthew was ridiculously attentive. He came home on time every day, bought me expensive gifts, even cancelled important business dinners.

He thought if he just spent enough time sweet-talking me, I'd crawl back into his arms like I always did.

He had no idea I was counting down the days.

Counting down until I could leave his ass.

Thursday night, Matthew mysteriously took me to this fancy French restaurant.

He'd rented out the whole place. A violinist played in the corner, and the table was covered in bright red roses.

"Olivia." Matthew, wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo, walked up to me and suddenly dropped to one knee.

He pulled a velvet box from his pocket and opened it. Inside was a diamond ring that sparkled like crazy.

"I know these past seven years have been rough on you." Matthew looked into my eyes, his voice all deep and sincere. "I know I fucked up bad, but I promise I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Olivia, will you marry me?"

I stared at him, at that ring I used to dream about, and felt absolutely nothing.

Once, I'd fantasized about this moment a million times. I imagined I'd cry tears of joy, that we'd hug each other tight.

But now? The whole thing was just... pathetic.

Just as I was about to say no, my phone buzzed.

Instagram notification for someone I was following.

I glanced at the screen.

Rebecca had posted something new.

A photo of an ultrasound, with the caption: "A little life is quietly arriving. M, our angel is coming."

I looked at that post and actually laughed.

"Olivia?" Matthew saw I wasn't responding and looked confused. He followed my gaze to my phone.

When he saw what was on the screen, his face went completely white and his pupils shrank.

"What... what the HELL is this?" He shot up, his voice going high and shaky.

I didn't say anything. Just calmly handed him the phone.

Matthew grabbed it and stared at that ultrasound, his hands trembling.

"No... this can't be..." he mumbled, then whipped around to look at me. "Olivia, let me explain. I didn't know..."

"Didn't know what?" I cut him off, my voice ice-cold. "Didn't know she was pregnant, or didn't know the baby was yours?"

Matthew opened his mouth but nothing came out. Just stood there like a fucking deer in headlights.

Just then, his phone rang.

Rebecca calling.

Matthew stared at her name flashing on the screen like it was about to explode.

He hesitated, then finally picked up.

"Matthew, where are you? I'm bleeding! Something's wrong with the baby!" Rebecca's panicked voice came through the speaker, loud enough for me to hear every word.

Matthew's face went through about ten different emotions. He looked at me, then at the diamond ring in his hand, then back at his phone. "Don't panic, okay? I'm coming right now."

He hung up and couldn't meet my eyes. "Olivia, Rebecca's having some kind of emergency. I have to go check on her. Just... just wait here, okay? I'll be right back, I swear!"

He didn't even grab his coat before bolting out of the restaurant.

I stood there watching him run off like that, looking at that diamond ring he'd left behind on the table.

The violinist had stopped playing at some point. The whole restaurant was dead silent.

Seven years, Matthew. You always pick her. Every single fucking time.

I picked up the diamond ring, dropped it in the trash, and walked out.