Chapter 2 Fighting Back

Olivia's POV

After they finally left—William mumbling some crap about "running errands," Charlotte practically skipping out the door still glowing from her orgasm—I collapsed on the kitchen floor in the middle of all that broken ceramic and completely lost my shit.

But I gave myself exactly ten minutes to fall apart. Then I had work to do.

"Morrison Law Offices, this is Mia."

"Mia, hey, it's Olivia Peterson. I need to see Elijah today. Like, emergency status. Can we do ten AM?"

Silence on the other end. "Oh honey, of course. What's this about?"

The word felt like swallowing glass. "Divorce."

"Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry. He can fit you in at two."

I hung up and caught myself in the hallway mirror. Same messy brown hair, same exhausted green eyes. But inside? Everything had changed. I wasn't the same woman who'd woken up this morning stressed about picking an anniversary restaurant. That woman was dead.

Thirty minutes later, I was sitting in First National's private banking office, watching Margaret Chen's manicured fingers dance across her computer.

"You want to close everything? Even the money market account?" Margaret's eyebrows shot up so fast they practically hit the ceiling.

"Every. Single. Account. I want cashier's checks for the full amounts."

Her fingers were flying now. "Mrs. Peterson, that's... Jesus, that's eight hundred twenty-four thousand dollars."

"I know exactly what it is."

"What about the joint credit cards—"

"Cancel them. Right now. All of them."

I signed papers until my wrist ached. Every signature felt like cutting another chain.

Walking out of there, I literally ran into Amelia coming out of the Starbucks across the street. My friend looked like she'd been crying her eyes out.

"Amelia? What's wrong?"

She looked up with red, puffy eyes. "Oh! Olivia! I'm okay, just... work's been hell."

Poor thing. Real estate was brutal right now. "Come on, let's grab coffee. I'm buying."

We snagged a corner booth at Grind. Amelia ordered her usual vanilla latte; I went straight for black coffee—my nerves were already shot.

"That asshole James gave the Waterfront Estate listing to Isabella," Amelia said, practically stabbing her drink with the stirrer. "Six million dollar property, and he just hands it to his golf buddy's twenty-something daughter who's been doing this for like five minutes. Meanwhile, I'm busting my ass selling starter homes and fixer-uppers, having to close six deals just to make what she'll earn on one."

"Well," I said, feeling the universe align perfectly, "sounds like today's your lucky day."

Her head snapped up. "What do you mean?"

"I need you to sell my house."

She actually shrieked so loud everyone turned to stare.

"Are you fucking kidding me? The Victorian on Maple Lane?"

"Dead serious. And I need it gone fast. Plus, I need you to find me a new place—downtown, high security, close to the hospital if possible."

Amelia was already pulling out her iPad. "Furnished or empty?"

"I'm starting completely over, so furnished is perfect. Oh, and one more thing—I need a cleanout company. I want every trace of him gone by this weekend."

"Everything?"

"Every sock, every beer bottle, every stupid fantasy football trophy. Donate it all or ship it to my dear sister."

Amelia's eyes went sharp. "Okay, what did that piece of shit do?"

I slid my phone across the table and hit play.

Watching Amelia's face go from confusion to horror to absolute fury was almost worth the pain.

"That fucking bastard!" she hissed. "With Charlotte? Your own goddamn twin?"

"Yep. That's her."

"What do you need from me?"

But my phone started ringing. Unknown number.

"Hang on." I answered. "Hello?"

"Ma'am, this is Samuel from the Grand Hotel. We're having payment issues with Mr. Morrison's reservation..."

My blood turned to ice water. This was about to get so much worse.