Chapter 79 79
Mave was inside now—waving frantically through the classroom window until a teacher gently guided him to his seat. Blair lingered for a second longer, hand pressed to the glass, a small, wistful smile on her face before she turned away.
Lucas walked beside her, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but alert. Olivia strode ahead, heels striking the cobblestone path like accusations.
As they reached the curb, Olivia stopped abruptly beside the open rear door. She turned, arms folded, sunglasses pushed up into her hair so her eyes.
“You know,” she said, voice carrying just enough to make nearby parents glance over, “you can find a low-income taxi just like the ones you’re used to. Lucas, she doesn’t need a ride with us. I’m sure the bus stop is only a few blocks. Or better yet—walk. It’s good exercise for someone who’s used to… hustling.”
The words landed like a slap. A few heads turned; a mother with a stroller slowed her pace.
Blair didn’t flinch. She met Olivia’s gaze evenly, chin up.
“I’m not here for a ride, Olivia. I’m here for my son. If Lucas is okay with me coming along for drop-off, that’s between him and me.”
Olivia laughed—short, sharp, performative.
“Oh, honey. Everything is between him and me. You’re just the weekend nanny who overstayed breakfast.”
Lucas, who had been reaching to open the door for Blair, froze. His hand dropped from the handle. He turned slowly, stepping between the two women—not quite blocking Blair, but positioning himself so Olivia had to look at him to continue.
“Liv,” he said quietly. Low enough that only the three of them heard it clearly. “Stop.”
Olivia’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes flashed.
“Stop what? Stating facts? She’s not family, Lucas. She’s the reason we’re late to the office. She’s the reason your son cried all weekend. And now she thinks she gets to ride shotgun in our car like she belongs?”
Lucas exhaled through his nose—once, controlled.
“She belongs in Mave’s life. That’s the only belonging that matters right now.”
Olivia’s posture stiffened.
“So that’s it? You’re choosing her over me? In front of the whole school?”
“I’m not choosing anyone,” Lucas said, voice still low, but edged now. “I’m choosing what’s best for my son.
And right now, that means his mother rides with us when he asks for it. You want to make a scene? Fine. But do it somewhere else. Not here. Not where people are watching and Mave might hear about it later.”
Olivia’s lips parted—ready to fire back—but Lucas didn’t give her the chance.
He opened the rear door wider, gesturing for Blair to get in first.
Blair hesitated only a second—eyes flashing between them—then slid inside without a word.
Lucas turned back to Olivia. His expression was calm, almost gentle, but the steel underneath was unmistakable.
“Get in the car, Liv. Or take your own ride. Your choice.”
Olivia stared at him—chest rising and falling, fury barely leashed. For a moment it looked like she might walk away, might slam the door and storm off in her heels.
Then she pressed her lips into a thin line, yanked open the front passenger door, and dropped into the seat with exaggerated force.
Lucas closed the rear door behind Blair, circled to his side, and slid in beside her.
The driver pulled away smoothly, leaving the preschool—and the handful of curious onlookers—behind.
In the back seat, Blair stared out the window, hands folded in her lap.
Lucas stared straight ahead.
The SUV glided through the city traffic in heavy silence.
Up front, Olivia stared straight ahead, sunglasses back on .
Her fingers drummed once—twice—then stilled on her thigh. The driver kept his eyes fixed on the road, pretending not to notice the storm brewing in the passenger seat.
In the back, Blair gazed out her window, one hand resting lightly on the empty booster seat between her and Lucas.
Lucas sat with his elbow on the door armrest, chin on his knuckles, watching the passing buildings without really seeing them. Neither spoke. The space where Mave had been felt like a missing heartbeat.
Olivia’s mind, however, was screaming.
How the fuck do I make him fuck me again?
She replayed it obsessively—the way Lucas had stepped between her and Blair at the school gates, the quiet authority in his voice when he said “Stop.” The way he’d opened the door for her first. The way he’d sat beside her in the back seat like it was natural.
He’s slipping.
She clenched her jaw so hard her molars ached.
He used to look at me like I was the only thing that mattered. One night—one good, filthy night—and he’d forget her name again. I know how to do it. I’ve done it before.
Her mind flashed to her manager three years ago—forty-something, married and powerful in the agency. She’d fucked him in the back of his Bentley after a late shoot, slow and deliberate, whispering exactly what he wanted to hear while she rode him until he was shaking.
Two weeks later she was headlining campaigns. One month later she was “the face” of three major brands. Men were simple. Give them the fantasy, make them feel like kings, and they’d hand you the castle.
Lucas is no different. He’s just… distracted.
She glanced in the side mirror—caught Blair’s reflection, calm, composed, staring out at the city like she owned it.
This shit I call a sister…
The thought burned hotter.
She thinks she can just waltz back in and take him. Take everything I waited five years for. No. Not happening.
Olivia’s nails dug into her palm.
I’ve tried every natural way. Lingerie, teasing, promises of no condoms, bending over his desk. Nothing. He looks at me like I’m furniture now.
A darker idea slithered in.
What if I just… drug him?
Her pulse kicked up.
Slip something in his whiskey. Not enough to knock him out—just enough to make him rock hard, lower his inhibitions, make him remember how good it used to be. Make him need it.
Make him take it. He wakes up inside me, guilty, confused, but already addicted again. He’ll blame the alcohol. H
e’ll blame stress. He won’t blame me.
She shifted in her seat, thighs pressing together at the thought.