Chapter 37 Leo and Dexter
When Olive finished cleaning herself, she stepped into the walk-in closet and immediately noticed a simple white dress hanging neatly at the center.
It stood apart from the others, unwrapped, untouched—like it had been placed there deliberately.
It wasn’t extravagant. No lace. No jewels. No dramatic cut meant to impress. Just clean lines, soft fabric, and a quiet elegance that felt almost… gentle.
She hesitated before taking it down.
Her fingers brushed the material, light and smooth beneath her touch. For some reason, her chest tightened.
When she slipped it on, she froze.
It fit her perfectly.
Not too loose. Not too tight. The hem fell exactly where it should. The fabric rested against her shoulders like it belonged there, as if someone had known her measurements, not just her size, but her comfort.
Chosen with care.
That realization made her throat ache.
She took a steady breath, lifted her hands to brush her damp hair back, and stared at her reflection for a brief moment. The girl looking back at her looked calmer than she felt—clean, composed, almost untouched by the violence of hours ago.
Almost.
When she stepped out of the shower room, the two maids were still there.
Waiting.
Patient. Respectful. Not intrusive. Not curious. As if standing there for her was the most natural thing in the world.
The older woman smiled gently and gestured for Olive to follow. Olive nodded and walked with them down the quiet hallway, her bare feet making soft sounds against the polished floor.
The house felt vast but hushed. No echoing footsteps. No raised voices. Just controlled silence.
After a few turns, they reached the dining area.
Leo was already there.
He sat alone at the long table, elbows resting against the surface, hands clasped tightly together. His head was lowered, thumbs pressed against his lips as if he were holding something back—grief, anger, exhaustion, or all three at once.
The overhead lights cast soft shadows across his face, carving lines into his expression that made him look heavier than before. Older. Tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix.
“Ms. Navarro is here,” the older woman said calmly.
Leo lifted his head slowly.
His eyes found Olive immediately.
For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just looked at her.
Olive suddenly realized something that made her pause.
They know my name.
The maids. The people in this house. They knew who she was.
“Sit,” Leo said gently. “You need to eat.”
His voice was quieter than usual.
Then he added, almost under his breath, “Berkin might have starved you.”
The name settled heavily in her chest.
Berkin.
So that was his name—the man who dragged her into darkness and used her like leverage.
The older woman pulled a chair out for Olive.
“Thank you,” Olive said softly, her voice polite but drained, and took her seat.
She hadn’t even picked up her spoon when the weight of everything pressed down on her again.
“I need to go home,” she said suddenly, looking straight at Leo. “My mother… my brother… they must be worried. I can’t let them think something happened to me.”
Her hands tightened in her lap.
She didn’t stop there.
“Please,” she added, her voice cracking just enough to betray how close she was to breaking. “Let me go home.”
Leo listened without interrupting. He didn’t rush her. Didn’t dismiss her fear.
Then he nodded slowly.
“I’ll take you home,” he said.
Relief rushed through her chest—
—but he continued.
“After you eat.”
Olive stiffened, afraid for a second that he would refuse her completely.
“You need strength,” he said calmly. “If you go home like this—weak, pale—your mother will worry more. And she doesn’t need that.”
He was right.
Realizing that, Olive let out a breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding. She nodded.
“Okay.”
They ate quietly.
The food was warm, comforting, carefully prepared. Olive didn’t realize how hungry she was until her body responded on its own. Still, she ate slowly, distracted, her thoughts drifting back to everything she had seen.
She caught herself glancing at Leo.
The sadness in his face hadn’t lifted. It sat there, heavy and unguarded, like something he wasn’t bothering to hide. Her mind flashed back to the forest—the gunshots, the chaos, Dexter collapsing at her feet.
Leo shouting his name.
Without thinking, the question slipped out.
“Are you… okay?”
Leo looked up, clearly caught off guard.
For a second, his face was completely open.
Then he forced a small smile. “Yeah.”
It didn’t reach his eyes.
After that, Olive stayed quiet.
When they finished eating, the maids returned silently, clearing the table with practiced ease before disappearing again, leaving the dining area still and empty.
After a few moments, Olive moved toward the window, resting her hands lightly against the glass as she stared out at the beach. The waves rolled in steadily, calm and endless, as if the world had never tilted off its axis.
She stood there, waiting for Leo to come back.
Instead, a man approached her.
“Let’s go, miss.”
Olive turned, confused. “I thought Leo is the one taking me home.”
The man bowed slightly, respectful. “Sir Leo asked me to.”
“Oh,” she said quietly. “Where is he?”
“He’s occupied.”
She didn’t argue and ask what is he doing anymore. She only nodded.
As they walked, she asked softly, “What’s your name?”
“Jack,” he answered.
Outside, a gray Range Rover Autobiography waited. Jack opened the passenger door for her, and Olive slid inside, the leather seat cool beneath her. Her thoughts stayed with Leo—his silence, his grief, the way he had looked at her like he was memorizing the fact that she was alive.
As Jack moved around to the driver’s seat, Olive spoke again.
“Are Leo and… Dexter close?”
Jack paused—just for half a second—before starting the engine.
“Dexter was like a big brother to him,” he said. “He was the first man who served Leo when he turned twenty, when he started managing their family business.”
The car pulled away from the rest house.
Jack’s voice softened. “It’s a hard loss…especially for Sir Leo.”