Olivia paused in the center of the room, waiting for him to look up. The seconds dragged on. He finished his email, tapped the screen, and finally lifted his head. His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second before dropping right back to his device.
"You look nice, Liv," he said, his tone entirely distracted. "Are you ready to go?"
The compliment felt hollow, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. He had barely even looked at her. He did not notice the dress. He did not notice her hair. The two hours of careful preparation were met with a passing glance and a generic sentence. The rejection settled deep in her chest, a physical ache that she forced herself to swallow down as she grabbed her clutch.
***
The restaurant the firm chose was polished and loud, with mirrored walls and brass fixtures reflecting the dim lighting. When they arrived, they made the rounds. They were welcomed by the senior partners, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with people dressed in tailored suits and expensive jewelry.
For the last twenty minutes, Olivia stood beside James in a circle of his colleagues, holding a glass of wine she barely touched. The atmosphere felt stifling. They were laughing at inside jokes about acquisitions and discussing clients she did not know.
Amanda held court in the center of the group. The woman was undeniably charming, steering every topic back to herself or to James. And she touched him constantly.
At first, Olivia tried to dismiss it. Amanda was expressive. She tapped Greg’s arm when she laughed. She leaned close to Mark when she spoke. Olivia told herself not to be unfair. She did not want to read into things.
But as the hour wore on, the pattern became undeniable. Amanda touched James far more than anyone else. She rested her hand on his forearm. She tapped his shoulder. When she laughed, she placed her palm flat on his chest. At one point, she reached up and brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his jacket lapel. James did not step back. He engaged with her, entertained and present in a way Olivia had not seen in months.
Olivia tried to join the conversation. "We were actually talking about a similar expansion for the bakery last week—"
"James, tell them about the Longford account," Amanda interrupted, smoothly talking over her.
"Oh, the Longford account was a disaster until Wednesday," James said, laughing and turning his attention right back to Amanda.
He missed Olivia’s attempt to speak. Olivia stood there, feeling invisible.
When the group shifted to order another round of drinks, Olivia pulled James aside. She kept her voice hushed, choosing her words with care. "James, can I talk to you for a second?"
"Make it quick," he said, checking his watch. "Mark is waiting for me."
"I know Amanda is friendly with everyone, but the touching is a little much tonight."
James sighed, his expression hardening into irritation. "Are we really doing this right now?"
"I am just telling you how it makes me feel," Olivia said, her heart beating fast. "She has had her hand on your chest three times."
"Liv, you need to stop being so insecure," James snapped, his tone clipped and embarrassing. "It is not an attractive trait in a woman."
The words landed with a biting sting. Olivia stared at him. She was not just hurt by the accusation; she was deeply wounded that he would say it here, treating her like an inconvenience when she had tried to communicate instead of making a scene.
"You hurt my feelings," Olivia said, her voice remarkably controlled despite the ache in her throat.
James barely registered the statement. "Maybe you need a drink," he said dismissively. He gestured toward the other side of the room. "Go to the bar. I need to finish this conversation with Mark."
He turned his back on her, walking right back to his friends.
Olivia stood frozen for a second, humiliated and aching. She nodded to the empty space where her husband had just been, turned on her heel, and walked toward the mahogany bar. The noise of the restaurant buzzed around her, but as she navigated through the crowded room, she had never felt so painfully alone.
Chapter 5
James
James tossed the Longford file onto the center of his solid mahogany desk. The endless demands of the acquisitions team irritated him. He rubbed his temples, tired of the relentless questions from the junior partners. Yet, sitting in the corner office overlooking the city, he thrived on the power. He controlled the board, he managed his pristine public image, and he manipulated every lie he fed his wife without breaking a sweat.
The office door clicked open.
Amanda walked in without knocking. She wore a tailored crimson skirt and a teasing, confident smile that James knew perfectly. He smiled back, pushing his leather executive chair away from the desk. He wanted the distraction.
"You look like you need help focusing on those reports," she murmured, walking around the edge of his desk. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor.
