Chapter 100 Chapter 100
Olivia’s POV
The silence is unbearable.
Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind that heals. This is the silence that presses in on my ears until I swear I can hear my own thoughts echoing too loudly inside my skull.
I sit alone on the edge of my bed, still in the clothes I wore earlier, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around myself like I might come apart if I let go. The room smells faintly like his house—clean linen, wood polish, something expensive and restrained. It shouldn’t be here. It feels invasive, like a reminder that refuses to leave.
I stare at the wall without really seeing it. Everything has already happened.
The shouting. The slap.
The look on Sebastian’s face when the truth finally landed.
Now there’s just… this.
Shame crashes over me in waves so strong it makes my stomach churn. It’s not sharp or sudden—it’s slow and suffocating, like being buried under something heavy and damp.
But it isn’t the shame people expect. It’s not because I slept with him.
It’s not because I loved him.
It’s because tonight, in his study, in his own home, I was reduced to something ugly.
A word. A thing.
A weapon someone else used.
I press my palm flat against my chest, trying to steady my breathing. Every time I close my eyes, I hear Wes’s voice again—sharp, furious, cruel. The way he said my name, like it was something rotten in his mouth. The way he looked at me like I was proof of something shameful instead of a person who once mattered to him.
And worse—Sebastian heard it.
He saw it.
He stood there and watched the past I never wanted to collide with the present I was trying to protect.
A knock sounds softly at the door.
I don’t answer.
The door opens anyway.
Avery steps inside, her movements careful, like she’s approaching something fragile that might shatter if she moves too fast. She takes one look at me, and her face tightens.
“Oh, Liv,” she says quietly.
That’s all it takes.
I fold in on myself, my chin dropping to my chest as the tears finally spill over. Ugly ones. The kind that comes with shaking shoulders and sharp, gasping breaths I can’t seem to control.
Avery crosses the room in two strides and sits beside me, pulling me into her arms without asking. I cling to her like a lifeline, my fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater.
“I feel disgusting,” I choke.
“You are not,” she says immediately, firm and unyielding. “Do not let that live in your head.”
“He said it like I was nothing,” I whisper. “Like everything I’ve ever done was just—just that.”
Avery’s arms tighten around me. “Wes doesn’t get to define you. Not now. Not ever.”
“But Sebastian heard him,” I say. “He looked at me like he didn’t know who I was anymore.”
Avery goes still.
“That look,” I continue, my voice breaking. “That’s what hurts. Not the yelling. Not the confrontation. That moment when I realized he felt blindsided. Humiliated. As a father.”
I pull back slightly, scrubbing my face with the heel of my hand.
“I didn’t lie to hurt him,” I say, the words tumbling out faster now. “I lied because I was scared.”
Avery nods slowly. “I know.”
“I was scared of losing my job,” I admit. “Scared of losing him. Scared of everything blowing up exactly like it did tonight.”
She exhales softly. “Fear makes people do stupid things.”
“I should have told him,” I say. “Before it got complicated. Before it mattered.”
“Yes,” Avery agrees gently. “You should have.”
The lack of judgment in her voice makes the tears start all over again.
“I didn’t think it would come out like that,” I whisper. “I didn’t think it would be violent. Or cruel.”
Avery reaches up and brushes my hair back from my face. “That part isn’t on you.”
“But the silence was,” I say. “I chose it.”
We sit there for a long moment, the room filled with the sound of my uneven breathing slowly beginning to calm.
“What did he say after?” Avery asks carefully.
I shake my head. “Nothing that fixes anything.”
She doesn’t push.
That’s the mercy of having someone who knows when questions will only hurt more.
My phone sits face-down on the nightstand. I haven’t checked it. I can’t. The idea of seeing his name—of not seeing it—both feel equally unbearable.
“I keep replaying it,” I admit. “The way he asked me if I ever planned to tell him.”
Avery winces. “That’s a brutal question.”
“I didn’t have an answer,” I say. “And that scares me.”
Because the truth is…I don’t know when I would have told him. Or if I would have found another excuse to wait. Or if I would have kept convincing myself that silence was safer than honesty.
I thought I was protecting something. Maybe I was just protecting myself.
Avery squeezes my hand. “What happens now?”
I stare at the wall again, the same spot as before.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Everything feels… broken. And I don’t know which part is my fault and which part just… is.”
I lean back against the headboard, exhaustion settling into my bones like lead.
“I keep wondering,” I say quietly, “if loving Sebastian was a mistake.”
The words feel heavy as they leave my mouth.
And once they’re out there, I don’t know how to take them back.