Olivia takes a long exhale as I kill the engine. She turns to me with a small, appreciative smile, the faint lines of tension from yesterday softened. The sight sends a wave of satisfaction through me. That is why I’ve brought her here—to remind her that the world can be gentle, even if her family is not.
“Ready?” I ask, stepping out and circling to her side to open her door.
I shoot her a look when she makes a move to handle it herself. She freezes, then rolls her eyes playfully as I pull the door open. I won’t have her lifting so much as a finger—not when I’m around.
Her feet touch the ground and she stretches, tilting her face toward the sun. The light catches the soft angles of her face, illuminating her like a painting, her auburn hair gleaming likeburnished copper and her emerald eyes vibrant, alive in a way I haven’t seen since I got to this cursed town.
“This is nice,” she murmurs, her gaze drifting over the trees.
“A little peace and quiet will be good for you.” I say it softly, but my intent is clear, and she glances my way, lips curving.
We start down the path, the trill of birds mingles with the rustle of leaves around us. As we walk, Olivia breaks the silence, her tone teasing. “I probably need the exercise after ‘too many pancakes’ yesterday.”
“There’s no such thing as too many pancakes for you,” I reply, my tone resolute. Her laugh is light, and I let it linger, soaking in the rare sound of her unguarded happiness.
But the memory of Claudia’s cutting comments flash through my mind, sharp and unwelcome.
How dare she?Olivia isperfect. Every curve, every line of her is a testament to her strength and beauty. That her own mother can’t see it infuriates me.
I swallow the irritation, forcing it aside as I focus on her now. Her steps slow and she gazes at the trees, a distant, wistful look on her face.
“I used to love places like this when I was younger,” she says quietly. “Anywhere I could find some peace. Just to breathe, you know? To forget all the expectations for a while.”
I nod, though my jaw clenches.Expectations. They’ve weighed her down for years, molding her into someone who believes she owes the world more than it has ever given her.
She continues, “Ashby…has its moments, but it can also be stifling. I used to dream about running away, just getting as far from here as possible. New Zealand, maybe. The ends of the earth.” She laughs softly, the sound tinged with something bittersweet.
I stop walking, turning to face her. “And where would you go now, if you could choose?” My voice is steady, but tension coils in my chest.
The question hangs between us, and almost instantly, regret needles through me.
Why did I ask?What good can come of hearing her answer?
My mind leaps ahead of me, wild with the possibilities—whether there is still some part of her that dreams of running far from here, far from me. Whether she still imagines a future in which I am not the fixed point, but an afterthought left behind. The pause stretches—only seconds, I know, but each one lands like a blow to my ribs.
Then her lips curve into a shy smile, and she says, “Well, I chose New York in the end, didn’t I?”
A surge of possessive satisfaction courses through me, sharp as a current, the reminder soothing me. Indeed, for all her hesitation, for all her wistfulness about running, she will be in New York with me. That is what matters. That is what is real.
And yet, there is something in her tone that doesn’t sit right. A lack of spark, of anticipation. I remember how her eyes once lit when she spoke of Castor & Wyatt, and though Baxter is every bit as prestigious, I can hear the longing in her voice.
“I could still make a call to Castor & Wyatt,” I say carefully, tightening my grip on her hand as though I can press conviction into her.
I feel her stiffen instantly. She tries to slip her hand from mine, but I refuse to let go. Her sigh cuts sharp, and when she turns those green eyes on me, it’s with a flash of steel that makes me falter.
“No, Nathaniel,” she says firmly. “If you do that—if you make calls after I’ve told you not to—I will be very upset. And I won’t take the job.”
I’m already stepping closer, apologies rising to the surface, my body angling to draw her in where it’s safe. But she resists, standing her ground even as I keep her hand in mine, refusing to sever that tether.
She shakes her head. “I need to earn it. I need to know that I’m good enough to deserve it. If you take that away from me…then it won’t really be mine.”
Her conviction slices through me, and though the instinct is to fight it, to keep her swaddled in the insulation of my power, I can’t help but respect her for it. She has clawed her way toward every opportunity, borne the weight of a family that never saw her for what she is, and still she stands here telling me she must carry it all herself. I admire her fiercely, even as it tears me open.
“I understand,” I say sincerely. “I only want to see you happy.”
Her gaze softens then, and the edges of her resistance begin to melt.
This time, when I reach for her, she lets me gather her in, her petite frame pressed against me. I bow my head, pressing a kiss into her hair. She smells of strawberries and cream—because I made sure to bring the bottles of shampoo and conditioner she left in my apartment when I drove up here.
