Amanda smiled without warmth.
"There’s only one way we walk away from this clean, James. We make sure Olivia looks messier than we do."
Chapter 16
Leo
The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator.
Leo stood at the granite island, methodically slicing a fresh peach onto a small white plate. He worked with a meticulous, careful precision, arranging the pale orange slices next to a piece of dry toast. He poured a glass of apple juice, setting it on the wooden tray beside a mug coffee.
A week had passed since Olivia walked in on her husband and Amanda.
For seven days, Olivia had not gone back to the bakery. She had not gone downstairs except when absolutely necessary. She had not sat with Leo in the living room the way she used to. She had barely eaten. She spent nearly every hour curled up in the guest bed, staring blankly at the wall, and Leo felt like every single day, she was disappearing a little more into herself.
He stared at the tray, a heavy, suffocating exhaustion settling deep in his bones. He was terrified for her. He was furious at James. But more than anything, he was deeply, agonizingly frustrated with his own helplessness. He could not fix this just by wanting to. He could make tea. He could slice fruit. He could check on her. He could call lawyers. He could make sure James never set foot near his property.
But he could not force Olivia to want food. He could not force her to talk. He could not force her to come back to herself.
That helplessness felt like a physical weight pressing against his chest.
She had not wanted to speak to anyone. Her parents had called several times. Hannah, Claire, and Sophie had blown up her phone. Olivia had ignored every single notification.
The worst moment had been yesterday. Claire, Sophie, and Hannah had shown up at his front door, demanding to see her. Leo had not turned them away because he wanted to keep Olivia isolated. He had gone upstairs, knocked softly, and asked Olivia if she wanted to see them. She had barely been able to speak, her voice paper-thin, but her answer had been a definitive no.
Leo had respected it.
Her friends had not understood. They had left his porch looking hurt, worried, and suspicious.
The memory infuriated him. Not because he cared what they thought of him—he would play the villain forever if it meant keeping Olivia safe—but because James had orchestrated the entire thing. James had gutted his wife, manipulated her friends, and then used Olivia’s resulting trauma as "proof" that another man was controlling her.
Leo wanted to correct everyone, to tell them the truth. But he didn’t. Because it was Olivia’s story to tell, and he refused to take her voice away from her.
"You look like you're trying to negotiate with a locked door," a soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
Leo turned. Brooklyn was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, dressed in comfortable jeans and an oversized sweater, her dark hair pulled back. She watched him for a moment, her gaze dropping to the meticulously arranged tray.
Leo did not laugh. He picked up a napkin and set it next to the toast.
"Let me try talking to her," Brooklyn offered, stepping into the room.
Leo immediately resisted. "No."
"Leo—"
"She barely knows you," Leo said, his voice tight. "If I can't get her to react, there is no point in you trying."
Brooklyn leaned against the counter, her expression calm and unbothered by his sharp tone. "Maybe that is exactly why I should try."
Leo frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Maybe she doesn't need another person who knows every agonizing detail of the mess," Brooklyn said softly. "Maybe she doesn't need another person looking at her with grief, or fury, or pity. You care about her so much that it radiates off you, Leo. That's a beautiful thing, but right now, it might feel heavy to her. Maybe she just needs someone who can sit with her without carrying years of history into the room."
Leo gripped the edge of the granite island, torn. He did not like the idea. Not because he distrusted Brooklyn—she had been nothing but kind since Olivia arrived—but because Olivia felt impossibly fragile. The thought of a stranger upsetting her made every muscle in his body lock with tension.
"I won't push," Brooklyn promised, reading the conflict on his face. "I won't ask for details. I won't lecture her about eating or getting out of bed. I will only try."
Leo studied her for a long moment. Finally, he let out a harsh, defeated exhale. He picked up the wooden tray and held it out to her.
