Chapter 233 233

Chapter 233 233


Olivia stepped out into the night, shutting the luxury sedan's door without making a sound.

Her evening gown dragged slightly along the damp asphalt, but she didn't seem to notice or care. 

She stood for a beat, staring up at the, exterior of the industrial building ahead.

Nothing about her face gave away what was happening inside her.

She didn't hesitate as she crossed the pavement.
The heavy metal door at the entrance was pulled open from the inside by a broad-shouldered man standing guard.
“Ma’am,” he grunted.
Olivia didn't even acknowledge him. She brushed past into the, claustrophobic hallway, her heels snapping against the bare concrete.

At the end of the corridor, a heavy wooden door swung inward. A man was standing inside the sparsely furnished office, shifting his weight nervously. On the wall behind him, a small television flashed.

Olivia stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes locking onto the screen.
The same footage was playing on a endless loop across every major network:
BREAKING NEWS: LUCAS BROOKS SHOT AT MANHATTAN GALA
Underneath the headline, chaos played out in high definition—guests fleeing in terror, flashing red lights reflecting off wet pavement, and an ambulance pulling away under heavy police escort. Then, a sharp headshot of Lucas filled the screen.
Her husband.
The quiet composure Olivia had maintained all night dissolved, leaving behind a terrifying, lethal stillness. Her jaw set so hard a muscle twitched in her cheek.
The man in the room swallowed dryly. “Olivia…”
“You said it was done,” she whispered. Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, and infinitely more dangerous for it.
He fidgeted with the cuff of his jacket. “It was supposed to be.”
Olivia finally turned her head, her dark eyes pinning him to the spot. “What happened?”
“He wasn’t the target,” the shooter muttered, leaning back against the edge of a desk. “You know that.”
“I do know that.”
“He moved,” the man said defensively, throwing his hands up. “I had the crosshairs locked right on the girl. Out of nowhere, Brooks saw the barrel and threw his entire body in front of her—”
Before he could finish the sentence, Olivia crossed the distance between them and delivered a sharp, brutal backhand across his jaw.
The crack resonated off the concrete walls. The man stumbled back against the table, his hand flying to his split lip in utter shock. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“I gave you one name!” Olivia spat, stepping right into his personal space, her eyes burning with pure venom. “One simple job!”
“I couldn't predict him playing the damn hero!” he yelled back, wiping a smear of blood from his mouth. “I pulled the trigger the second he stepped into the line of fire—there was no stopping it!”
Olivia’s chest heaved as she stared at him, her breathing ragged. She turned slowly, pointing a shaking, manicured finger at the television screen where Lucas’s face was still broadcast.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” she hissed.
The man glanced at the screen, then looked away, unable to meet her eyes.
A harsh, humorless laugh escaped Olivia’s throat—a dry, chilling sound that made the air in the room drop ten degrees.
“You were supposed to put a bullet in Blair,” she said, her voice dropping into a vicious thread. “Not my husband.”
“I didn’t mean to hit him,” the shooter grumbled, his confidence completely shot.
“I don’t care what you meant to do!” Olivia roared, her mask dropping completely to reveal the raw, unhinged rage underneath.
She turned back to the screen, watching the news ticker report that Lucas was currently fighting for his life in emergency surgery. Her hands curled into tight, trembling fists at her sides.
“Lucas was never supposed to be the one in that hospital bed,” she whispered to the empty room.

~
Olivia stepped out into the night and pulled her car door shut, immediately dropping the manicured composure she had worn inside.

For a long moment, she just stared blankly through the windshield into the dark. Then, pressing her palms against her temples, she squeezed her eyes shut until they stung, drawing up a shallow, shuddering breath.

“Lucas…” she murmured, practicing the tremor in her throat. She tried it again, letting her voice break on the second syllable. “Lucas.”

A tear welled up, spilling over her lashes and trailing down her cheek. Perfect.

She put the car in drive. By the time she pulled under the lights of the hospital entrance, her face was flushed, her breathing ragged, her eyes appropriately rimmed in red.

She hurried through the sliding glass doors, her heels hitting  loudly against the linoleum. But as she rounded the corner to the private wing, her feet ground to an abrupt halt.

Through the clear window of the ICU room, the picture was infuriatingly intact. Blair sat right beside the mattress, holding Lucas’s hand in both of hers. Mave was leaned up against the edge of the bed, chatting animatedly with his father while Lucas looked on with a weak, affectionate smile.

The color drained from Olivia's face, replaced by a cold, deadly stillness. Her fingers dug into the leather strap of her purse.

She took a step toward the handle, then another—before a firm grip clamped onto her elbow.
“Olivia.”
She turned instantly, softening her expression as she met Patricia’s gaze. But her mother-in-law’s face was pure ice.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Patricia said, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper.
Olivia blinked, letting her eyes widen. “Mother-in-law—”
“Don’t.” Patricia pulled her arm back, her voice tight with fury. “Your husband takes a bullet, and you couldn't even bother to ride in the ambulance? You went home?”
Fresh tears spilled over Olivia’s lower lashes on cue. “I didn’t—I wasn't—”
“You left him,” Patricia cut in, gesturing sharply toward the glass wall. “And Blair has been sitting in that chair since the moment he hit the floor. She hasn't left his side.”
Olivia dropped her head, her chin trembling. “I started feeling so sick at the venue... I thought I just needed to lie down for an hour. I didn't realize how horrific it was until I turned on the news. If I had known—”

“You should have called the detail immediately,” Patricia snapped, though the hard edge of her posture faltered just a fraction at Olivia’s trembling shoulders.

“I know,” Olivia sobbed softly, wiping her cheek with a manicured hand. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Patricia didn’t look convinced.
Olivia lowered her head, pretending to wipe away another tear.

Inside, her thoughts were screaming.
Keep looking at me like that.
Go ahead.
You’re next.
Her fingers tightened around her handbag, feeling the distinct, rigid outline of the small blade stashed safely in the inner lining. For one sickening second, a vivid image flashed in her mind—pulling it out, stepping close, ending the lecture right here in the quiet hallway before Patricia could even scream.