Chapter 164

Chapter 164
ADAM'S POV
I heard the soft click of the door before I saw her.
Olivia. Hair smooth and perfect, heels clicking against the floor like punctuation marks. She didn’t wait for me to speak. Just glided to the chair across from my desk, sat with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, and adjusted her coat like she owned the goddamn room.
I didn't move. Just watched her from under my lashes, my index finger tapping against my thigh in slow, measured beats. My right foot kept time against the floor... subtle, anxious, restless.
Day three without Layla.
Three days without her laugh , her hands, without looking into those blue eyes that anchored me. I was suffocating. My skin didn’t feel like mine. The calls weren’t cutting it. Her voice helped… but I needed more.
I needed her.
Olivia cocked her head. “I’ve gotta admit,” she said, voice velvet-smooth, “I was a little surprised when you called and asked to meet.”
“Were you?” I said, tone clipped, dry. My jaw clenched so tight I felt it pop.
She shrugged, all careless grace. “Not complaining.” She leaned forward, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I’m assuming from the scene at the fundraiser, the blonde found out the truth and couldn’t bear it?”
My head turned sharply, but I didn’t let my expression shift. She was still clueless. Still playing whatever game she thought she had the upper hand in.
“I’d rather not discuss that,” I said flatly. She blinked, seemingly unbothered. “Fine by me,” she said with a little nod. “Let’s talk about us instead.”
I let out a short humorless laugh. “Us?” I repeated. “I was actually thinking we’d talk about the Evanovich empire.”
That got her. The smile faltered. A crease formed between her brows as I reached into the drawer and pulled out the envelope I’d been working on for the last two days, the one that had kept me up while I stared at my phone waiting for Layla to text something real, something soft. I placed it on the desk and slid it toward her.
“Go ahead,” I said.
She hesitated, just a fraction of a second, before reaching out with manicured fingers and carefully peeling back the flap. Her posture was still composed, still refined. But her eyes... they sharpened the second she started reading.
Inside was every file, receipt, offshore account, falsified report, shell company, and backdoor deal I could trace back to her family’s so-called empire. It was all there. And I’d made sure to highlight the patterns... laundering, regulatory fraud, embezzlement, and a suspicious number of quietly settled lawsuits.
My voice stayed calm, steady. “You know, Olivia, I think you forgot what line of work I’m in. Why I was able to build a tech firm in the first place.....It's not only because I can fix problems...it's mostly because I know how to find things. Buried things no one wants dragged into the light.”
She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the documents.
“That’s nothing,” she said quickly, too quickly.
I smiled coldly. “I could pull reports, timelines, testimony. Cross-reference half a dozen agencies and leak it to the right people in under an hour.” I leaned forward, voice low. “Your family built their empire on quicksand and pretty lies. You? You inherited a dynasty of rot and called it legacy.”
Her nostrils flared. She didn’t speak.
“My demand is simple,” I said. “You leave me and Layla the hell alone. You stop playing games. You stop calling. You stop fucking showing up.”
She lifted her chin. “And if I don’t?”
I leaned back, fingers steepled, keeping my expression even as that now-familiar ache returned ...Layla’s absence sitting heavy on my ribs.
“If you don’t,” I said, “I’ll make sure your family name isn’t whispered with respect. It’ll be spit out in every boardroom from here to Geneva. You’ll be the Evanovich who tanked the empire... not because you made bad deals, but because you couldn’t let go of a man who never wanted you.”
As she set one page down, she scoffed softly and said, “Do you think you’re the first person who’s tried to bring my family down?” Her voice was cool, casual, with a polished confidence that only money could breed. “It’s been done before. More times than I can count, honestly. The thing about money and power....no matter how dirty the roots....it grants you a certain kind of immunity. A seat at the table. People look away.”
I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms, watching her. “And did those people have a powerful name behind them too?” I asked, voice even. “Because I do.”
She finally looked up at me then. Eyes narrowing just a little. I hated invoking my father. Hated wearing his legacy like armor. But desperate times.... “I don’t like playing that card,” I added with a sigh, “but let’s not pretend it doesn’t change the odds.”
She stared, and for a beat, the air between us went still. No elegance in it now. Just tension, cold and sharp.
“You’re smart, Olivia. Accomplished, well-connected,” I said. “So maybe take some time to decide if this is all really worth it. ”
“We’re not kids anymore,” I went on quietly, letting the weight of the words settle. “So don’t sit there acting like some wide-eyed girl nursing an old crush. You’re too sharp for that. Too grown. Whatever this is, whatever it was...just let it go .”
Silence stretched between us.
She stood slowly, sliding the documents back into the envelope, her face unreadable now. “You’re serious.”
“I’m fucking exhausted,” I said, voice low, hoarse. “And I’m in love with someone who deserves peace.”
She didn’t reply. Just tucked the envelope under her arm, smoothed her coat, and walked to the door without a word.
When it closed behind her, I let my head fall into my hands. My fingers dug into my scalp. I needed to see Layla. I needed her eyes on me, her voice, her scent....
Fuck, I was losing it!
I stared at the screen like it owed me something. Her name was still pinned at the top of my favorites, " Flower ", in bold, unrelenting letters. A hundred times. That’s how many times I’d picked up my phone since I shot awake in that cursed penthouse in a cold sweat at 3:12 a.m., heart pounding like someone had carved her name into it with a knife. I told myself I’d only call once a day. That was the deal. One call. One thread of restraint keeping me from unraveling completely.
She said I was the stronger one between us. That I had more control. That I could handle the silence better than she could.
Bullshit.
If this was control, it was the cruelest kind...quiet, gnawing, slow. Like bleeding internally. No one could see it, but it was killing me anyway.