Chapter 41 41
Olivia sat alone at the corner table of the café, untouched coffee cooling in front of her.
Her heel tapped against the floor—once, twice—controlled impatience wrapped in elegance.
Then Duke walked in.
Dark coat and his usual neutral expression.
He slid into the chair opposite her without greeting.
“This is… complicated,” he began quietly.
Olivia’s eyes sharpened. “Start talking.”
Duke placed a tablet between them, angling it so only she could see. “Five years ago. Valentine’s night. Mr. Brooks’s birthday.”
He tapped the screen.
The footage flickered to life.
\---
A lit bar came to view
Lucas sat at the VIP sector a glass in his hand. Then another. Then another.
The timestamp ran fast—hours collapsing into minutes. He was laughing too loudly, swaying slightly, his tie loosened, jacket gone.
“He drank nonstop,” Duke narrated softly. “Security confirms he was celebrating his birthday. Alone.”
The footage jumped.
Lucas slammed into someone.
Then fists.
A bar fight exploded—chairs crashing, men shouting. Thugs. At least three of them. Lucas fought back, recklessly, fueled by alcohol and rage, but he was outnumbered.
Olivia’s nails dug into her palm.
The screen shook as the camera angle shifted.
Lucas stumbled outside.
Blood at his lip. Knuckles split. He bent over, retching, barely able to stand.
Then—
A shadow entered the frame.
A woman.
Her face was partly hidden by the angle, hair falling forward as she rushed to him.
She grabbed his arm.
Held him steady.
Spoke to him—urgently.
Olivia leaned closer.
The woman wrapped Lucas’s arm around her shoulder when his legs gave out.
Static crackled.
The woman turned slightly—and Olivia caught it.
The eyes.
Her breath caught.
“That’s—” Olivia whispered.
The footage cut out.
Black screen.
\---
“No one knows what happened after,” Duke said quietly. “The cameras went down. But whatever occurred… it began there.”
Olivia stared at the frozen black screen.
Her vision blurred red.
Her fingers clenched—
And she grabbed her coffee and hurled it across the table.
The cup shattered.
Dark liquid splashed everywhere.
“HER,” Olivia snarled, voice shaking with fury. “She touched him. She was there.”
Her chest heaved, eyes burning, something feral breaking loose behind them.
Duke didn’t flinch.
“That woman,” he said carefully, “is the missing piece.”
Olivia rose slowly from her seat, hands trembling, smile twisting into something unrecognizable.
“So that’s it,” she whispered. “That’s where she took him from me.”
She straightened, wiping coffee from her sleeve like it was nothing.
Olivia reached into her purse without breaking eye contact.
She pulled out a thick wad of cash and dropped it on the table.
It landed hard.
“Your job here is done.”
She stood.
Duke frowned slightly, rising halfway from his seat. “But the woman, Miss Olivia—we haven’t identified her yet. She vanished after the footage cut. If we move too fast—”
Olivia picked up her sunglasses and slid them on, masking the storm in her eyes.
“Leave that to me,” she said coolly.
She turned on her heel and walked out of the café, heels snapping with finality.
Behind her, the broken cup sat in silence—coffee dripping slowly off the edge of the table, like something already spilled that could never be put back.
The city blurred past Olivia’s windshield.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white.
Tears ran freely down her cheeks, smearing her carefully applied makeup.
Her breaths came in uneven gasps, mingled with soft, hiccuping sobs.
She didn’t care.
She was drunk on frustration, grief, and fury—a storm she could no longer contain.
Her foot pressed harder on the gas, weaving past cars, ignoring red lights, heart hammering desperately.
Finally, she arrived at the Brooks mansion.
The gates loomed large, silent sentries waiting to judge every visitor.
She slammed the car door open and nearly stumbled out, swaying slightly, mascara streaking across her cheeks.
The uniformed staff glanced at her warily.
“Miss Olivia… is everything alright?” one asked.
Olivia barely registered him. Her voice cracked, trembling.
“Where… where is he?” she demanded. “Lucas… I need to see him!”
The worker hesitated, then nodded. “In his study, Miss. He hasn’t come out for hours.”
Olivia’s chest tightened.
She moved past him without another word, stumbling slightly over the marble floors as she made her way toward the study.
Her sobs echoed softly in the hallways as she reached the door.
Olivia’s trembling hand reached for the study door.
With a sharp push, it swung open.
Lucas was there—back to her, broad shoulders tense, tattoos partially exposed under the light.
Her breath caught.
He hadn’t seen her yet, and she froze.
The sight of him—the curves of his back, the way the light hit the ink, the power he exuded even in stillness—sent a jolt straight through her chest.
Her lips parted, but before she could speak, a thought struck like a lightning bolt.
Lucas… who was she?
Her mind spiraled.
You had an affair?
She imagined the worst outcomes.
Him leaving her—turning away, never looking back.
Her modeling career tanking because scandal always left a mark.
Her love—her heart—shattered on the floor like broken glass.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, tears threatening again. “I still love him…”
Her hands tightened into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms.
Her body ached from more than alcohol or exhaustion.
Lucas finally shifted, the faint creak of his chair echoing in the study.
His head tilted slightly.
Then his voice—low and rough
“Liv…”
Her stomach lurched.
She froze, eyes instinctively drifting to his hands.
Rings. Engagement rings.
But they weren’t there.
Not on his fingers.
Not on the hand she had been imagining so many times in someone else’s embrace.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
The memory of yesterday—the engagement, the announcement, the photos—flashed violently in her mind.
Olivia slowly lifted her eyes to his.
Her lashes were wet, her gaze glossy and desperate.
“Lucas,” she said softly, voice trembling just enough to sound fragile, “I need you to do something for me.”
He straightened, confusion flashing across his face.
“Liv… what are you doing?” he asked carefully.
She took a step closer.
“You love me, right?” she whispered.
Lucas frowned slightly. “Of course I—why are you asking me this now?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she reached behind her back.
His eyes widened a fraction. “Olivia—”
“You promise?” she pressed, cutting him off, her voice urgent now. “Promise you’ll do it. Whatever I ask.”
The zipper slid down slowly.
The soft sound filled the room far louder than it should have.
Lucas stood abruptly. “Stop,” he said, not angry—but unsettled. “What is this about?”
She turned her back to him, the dress loosening, her shoulders bare. Her voice cracked.
“Just… promise me,” she said. “Please.”
She turned slightly, eyes shining.
"Fuck me lucas” ... fuck me hard Mr Brooks.