Chapter 155

Chapter 155
Olive's POV
I always knew Gordon would cave eventually.
When I was deciding which man to pursue—and there had been plenty of options—I chose Gordon for two reasons. First, because he was Nydia's boyfriend. Second, because he was the kind of man who was easy to manipulate. Not particularly sharp. Not particularly decisive.
Turns out I read him perfectly.
He wasn't exactly thrilled to be standing outside a bridal boutique with me today, but he was here. And that was all that mattered. Nydia was dead. A corpse. Was I really going to lose to a corpse?
Gordon was acting like this now because the loss was still fresh. Give it a few months. He'd realize that I was the one standing by his side, day after day, and eventually he'd come around. Men always did.
With that thought settled comfortably in my mind, I reached over and looped my arm through his.
He immediately tried to pull away.
I tightened my grip and smiled up at him sweetly. "You haven't forgotten about Nydia's remains, have you?"
"You—" His jaw locked. He stared at me with barely contained fury, teeth grinding. "Don't push it."
"Push what? It's just an arm." I tilted my head. "Besides, you kissed me right in front of Nydia once. Remember that? Or has that conveniently slipped your mind too?"
The more he hated hearing it, the more I intended to say it. I wanted him to sit with exactly what kind of man he'd been while he was with her—how easily he'd strayed, how little his devotion had actually meant.
"Enough." His voice cracked with anger. "Not another word."
I laughed softly. "Oh, come on, Gordon. Be honest with yourself for once. You didn't love Nydia as much as you think you did. If you had, you wouldn't have kept ending up with me every time I gave you the opportunity. You can't blame that entirely on me."
"I felt guilty about you. I was trying to—"
"To what? Comfort me by kissing me? Comfort me by—"
"Stop."
He couldn't finish the sentence. He just stood there, jaw tight, eyes shut, looking like a man being slowly crushed by something he couldn't name.
Good. Let him feel it.
I smiled to myself and turned my attention to the boutique ahead.
---
The bridal salon I'd chosen was legendary in this city. Celebrities, socialites, even major film productions—everyone came here. I'd selected it specifically for the name. The prestige. Because if I was going to announce my return to society, I was going to do it properly.
I was Olive. Even without the family name and the inheritance, I was going to walk into a room that left no one in any doubt about who I was.
But the moment Gordon and I stepped inside, I stopped dead.
There was a film crew already there—cameras, equipment cases, a cluster of production staff milling around the fitting area. And right in the middle of them, laughing at something one of her colleagues said, was a face I hadn't seen in years.
Zoe.
My stomach turned.
Zoe and I had come up together in the same dance company. She had talent—I'd always grudgingly admitted that—but she'd come from nothing. No connections, no family money, no social standing. For years, I'd used every advantage I had to keep her exactly where she belonged: beneath me. She'd never gotten a lead role I didn't want first. Never gotten a recommendation I hadn't blocked.
Then Nydia got involved. Nydia, with her relentless do-gooder impulse and her need to rescue every stray she encountered. She'd helped Zoe. Stirred things up. And in the end, I was the one who'd been pushed out.
I'd told myself Zoe would amount to nothing without me in the picture to drive competition. I'd genuinely believed it.
Now here she was. On a film set. Looking polished and confident and annoyingly, infuriatingly fine.
I felt rage curl through my chest like smoke.
How is this fair?
She didn't deserve any of this. She wasn't better than me. She had never been better than me. And yet—
I squared my shoulders and walked toward her.
"What a coincidence," I said pleasantly. "Zoe. It's been forever." I let my eyes travel over her with deliberate slowness. "I didn't expect to run into you here, of all places. Tell me—do you still think about how Nydia forced me out of the company just to help you? I think about it sometimes."
Zoe's expression darkened the moment she heard Nydia's name. "What exactly are you implying?"
"Nothing. Just stating facts." I shrugged. "She went to bat for you and paid a serious price for it. And here you are, looking like you haven't thought about her in years. If Nydia knew how quickly people forgot her, I wonder if she'd still have done it."
"Don't you dare—" Zoe's voice cracked. Her eyes went glassy. "Nydia was a good person. She was a genuinely good person, and she died young and that's not fair, and I think about her all the time, so don't you stand there and—"
"Oh, I know she's dead," I said breezily. "Honestly? I couldn't be more relieved."
Zoe went very still.
"She's been a thorn in my side for years," I continued. "Every time I turned around, there she was, ruining something for me. I wake up in the morning and I think, she's gone, and I feel better immediately. I genuinely do."
Zoe lunged forward. Two of her colleagues caught her by the arms before she reached me, pulling her back, talking her down in low urgent voices.
I'd known she'd flinch. She always did. All bark.
Satisfied, I turned to the nearest sales associate and smiled. "I believe I have a fitting appointment? Could you bring out my gown?"
---
The associate disappeared into the back. One of the film crew—a middle-aged man with a director's air about him—turned to his own associate and said quietly, "Go ahead and bring out ours as well."
I glanced at him sideways.
Their gown. For whatever forgettable production they were shooting. I nearly pitied them for the comparison they were about to suffer.
Mine had cost a million dollars. One million, charged without hesitation to Gordon's card the day he'd agreed to the engagement. I'd spent weeks imagining the moment I'd wear it—the gasp in the room, the flash of cameras, every person who'd ever doubted me forced to watch me walk down the aisle like the woman I'd always known I was.
I was going to be radiant. Untouchable.
Then both gowns were wheeled out at the same time.
I couldn't speak.
The dress the crew had ordered was extraordinary. I didn't want to admit it—every instinct in me resisted—but standing next to it, my million-dollar gown looked almost plain. The construction, the detail, the way the fabric caught the light—it was the kind of dress that made everything beside it invisible.
"Stunning," the director breathed, shaking his head slowly. "In twenty years I have never seen anything like it. Your team has outdone yourselves."
The blood in my face went hot.
"I'll buy it," I said.
Every head in the room turned toward me.
I looked directly at the director. "Name your price. Whatever it costs, I'll pay it. I want that dress."
The man's brow creased. "Miss, I'm afraid that's not something I'm able to accommodate. This gown was commissioned for our production. It's not—"
"Everything has a price," I said flatly.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry."
I pivoted to Zoe. "Talk to him. You're on this project, aren't you? Put in a word. I'll make it worth your while."
Zoe stared at me for a long moment.
Then she said, quietly and precisely: "This isn't about money, Olive. You stood there five minutes ago and said you were relieved that Nydia was dead. That you were happy." Her voice was steady, but her eyes were burning. "You're a cruel, ugly person. And I don't mean your face. I'm not doing anything to help you."
Something snapped in me.
"Cheap little nobody," I spat. "You and Nydia deserve each other. She's dead and rotting, and if there's any justice in this world—"
"That's enough."
Gordon's voice cut through the room like a door slamming shut.
I turned. He was staring at me with an expression I hadn't seen from him before—not grief, not anger exactly. Something colder than either.
He reached down and peeled my hand from his arm.