He heard voices.
Brooklyn’s voice first, soft and steady.
Then, Olivia’s.
Leo went perfectly still. His heart pounded against his ribs. It had been days since he had heard Olivia speak more than a single, hollow syllable.
The sound of her voice hit him with the force of a physical blow. Not because she sounded fine—she didn't. She sounded tired, her voice rough and broken from crying.
But she was speaking. She was answering a question. She was still in there.
Leo did not listen to the words. He refused to snoop. The very moment he knew Olivia was talking and not in distress, he stepped back. He turned around and walked silently back down the stairs, respecting her privacy even while the worry ate him alive.
Ten minutes later, Brooklyn came down to the kitchen holding the wooden tray.
It was no longer full.
The glass of juice was empty. The sliced fruit was gone. She hadn't touched the toast, but it was enough to make something tight and painful unclench inside Leo’s chest.
"She also agreed to take a shower," Brooklyn said quietly, setting the tray on the counter. "I left her alone to do that."
Leo stared at her disbelief. "How did you manage that?"
Brooklyn leaned against the counter, offering a small, empathetic shrug. "She just needed someone to remind her of the woman she is."
Leo did not fully understand what she meant. He did not know what Brooklyn had said upstairs. He did not know what specific words had finally reached through the darkness.He didn't know why Olivia had responded to Brooklyn when she had spent the last week ignoring him.
There was a brief, sharp pang of inadequacy in his chest, but it did not sour into jealousy. He was far too grateful. If Brooklyn had managed to get Olivia to eat a peach and drink a glass of juice, then Brooklyn had given him the first genuine sign of life he had seen all week.
Leo looked at her, and a real smile—small, but sincere—broke across his face. "Thank you."
Brooklyn returned the smile softly. "She is a lot stronger than you think, Leo. Don't take it personally that she couldn't hear you right now."
Leo nodded, looking toward the staircase, straining to listen.
A moment later, he heard the faint hum of water.
The sound almost undid him.
Olivia was showering. Olivia was trying.
For today, that was enough.
Upstairs, the shower continued to run. For the first time in a week, Olivia was choosing to move.
Leo looked back at the legal pad and the documents spread across the dining table, and the fragile relief in his chest hardened into cold, lethal purpose. James had already taken enough from her. He would not take the rest.
Chapter 17
Olivia
More than two weeks had passed since the afternoon Olivia walked into her marital bedroom and found James with Amanda.
She had not gone back to the bakery.
At first, the shock had been so debilitating that she barely left the guest room. She had slept in brief, exhausting intervals, waking up repeatedly with her heart hammering against her ribs. Now, fourteen days later, she could function. Barely. She could get out of bed. She could shower. She could force herself to eat a piece of toast or drink a glass of water. She could sit on the back patio for a few minutes and answer simple questions.
But she had not been able to return to the bakery, and that inability terrified her more than anything else.
