Cathleen's presence in the room drew Xavier's gaze like a magnet, her confident stride contrasting with the delicate morning light that enveloped her. The subtle hues of dawn played on her features, accentuating the faint scars that adorned her skin-a testament to battles fought and hidden pains endured. Xavier longed to offer her sustenance, a silent plea echoing in his mind to nourish her resilience. Yet the echoes of their heated exchange lingered, stifling any words he might have spoken. Thus, he remained a silent observer, a veil of remorse shrouding his emotions as she paused at the door, sensing the weight of his unspoken sentiments lingering in the space between them.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the room seemed to hold its breath before Olivia's presence pierced the silence. Her frown was a wrinkle etched between perfectly plucked brows, but she knew questioning Xavier about his lingering stare at Cathleen-that would be crossing an unseen line.
"Xa-" she ventured, only to be cut off with a swift, "I thought I told you not to come to my house unannounced."
Her frown deepened. "When did you tell me that?" she challenged her voice a mix of hurt and disbelief. There was no precedent for such a rule in their tangled web of a relationship, and they both knew it.
"Oh, I didn't?" His feigned surprise was as cold as the marble countertop beneath his fingers.
"Of course, you didn't," she shot back, arms folded now, a shield against his indifference.
"Then consider yourself informed. Call first," Xavier stated, his tone brooking no argument. "I don't stay alone. I stay with my wife." It was a declaration, a boundary being drawn-albeit one he knew Olivia wouldn't respect.
She rolled her eyes, the gesture dismissive, yet her mind was already plotting the next surprise visit. Not today, though-today was not the day for this battle.
The tension hung heavy in the air, and the silence stretched between them like a tightrope. Each understood the stakes; the game of power and possession played out in hushed tones and defiant glances. A game with no winners, just casualties of love and betrayal.
The clink of his fork against the porcelain plate punctuated the silence. Xavier's methodical slicing of the strawberries offered a stark contrast to the turmoil in Olivia's gaze, her manicured nails tapping an impatient rhythm on the granite countertop. Her voice broke through the morning stillness, tentative yet probing.
"Did you know Glow Girl changed its brand ambassador?" She asked, her tone laced with barely concealed urgency.
Xavier didn't look up from his breakfast. "When did that happen?" His query was casual as if discussing the weather.
"I got an email yesterday," Olivia replied, the edges of her words tinged with bitterness.
He took another bite, the red juice of the strawberry staining his lips-a mocking echo of the makeup that painted hers. "Well, I'm not surprised they did," he said, the indifference in his voice sharper than the knife he wielded.
Olivia's posture stiffened, and her career and pride were under silent siege. She unleashed her frustration, her words tumbling out in a heated manner. "What do you mean? That's the biggest brand, and working for it could have boosted my career. I was going to continue to be the top model, Xavier, and now... Now some unknown person took my spot." Her voice rose, a crescendo of desperation and anger.
Xavier glanced at her then, his eyes as cold as steel and his mouth curving around the fruit in a sardonic smile. "Glow Girl is all about natural beauty, which of course you are not. Your skin is far from flawless. Let's be realistic; they always put makeup on your face before the shoots." His voice was cool and dismissive, each word a calculated blow.
Olivia recoiled as if struck, her dream of perfect beauty crumbling like an over-powdered foundation.
"Sure, they're a cosmetic company, but only the makeup part you do well," Xavier continued, relentlessly. "The natural photoshoots? There has to be a lot of editing to convince people to buy or that the product works. It's no wonder they looked for someone new. You didn't fit there." The last word hung between them, heavy with finality.
He bit into another strawberry, hearing the sound of a violent crunch in the charged atmosphere. The sweetness was lost on him, just as the bitterness of rejection consumed Olivia. In this house of glass and stone, reflections of love twisted into shadows of betrayal, every mirrored surface echoing back the fractures of their relationship.
Olivia's pride smarted her dreams of eternal beauty tarnished by Xavier's barbed words. She shifted uncomfortably, the sting of his critique lingering in the air like the scent of burnt toast. Eager to redirect the conversation away from her so-called imperfections, she clung to a question that might restore some semblance of control.
"Do you know who the new person is?" Her voice was cautious and tentative as if dipping her toes into icy waters, not wanting to argue about her face with Xavier.
Xavier paused, his finger hovering over the sleek surface of his iPad. "I don't," he said, the chill in his voice belying his casual demeanor, "but I can check." He tapped the screen, swiping through emails with an indifference that only served to heighten Olivia's anxiety. His eyes skimmed the contents, unreadable as ever.
When he reached the Glow Girl email, he tapped it open, and a smirk played across his lips. "No one important," he declared, dismissing both the message and Olivia with a wave of his hand. "Go home."
His command cut through the silence, sharp and cold. Olivia had grown accustomed to this dismissal, with the door always closing on her. Yet, each time, it felt like a fresh wound. Ever since Cathleen moved in, being chased out of Xavier's house had become routine-but still, it grated on her nerves, a jagged reminder that she was not the queen of this chessboard.
She clenched her jaw, refusing to let him see how much his cool rejection affected her. Olivia knew the game was far from over; Cathleen's presence had only raised the stakes. She would see to it that this habit of his would be broken, one way or another.