Chapter 3

Olivia POV

Two weeks later, the air in the conference room of the high-end law firm was stale with tension.

My mother, Elizabeth, sat beside me, her spine rigid. She looked less like a concerned parent and more like a queen holding court on her throne, radiating an imperious calm.

Michael sat across from us. He looked haggard, the dark circles under his eyes stark against his pale skin, his tie pulled loose as if he were suffocating.

Serena was perched next to him, a smirk fixed in place. She was poured into a tight red dress that was entirely too loud for a legal proceeding.

"This is ridiculous, Olivia," Michael said, tossing the settlement offer onto the mahogany table with a dismissive slap. "You can't deny me access to my unborn child."

"You forfeited that right when you shoved his mother to the floor," my lawyer said, his voice level and devoid of emotion.

"I didn't shove her!" Serena's voice pitched up, sharp and grating. "She lunged at me! She's unstable! She tried to kill my baby!"

I stared at her. The sheer audacity of the lie was breathtaking.

"You attacked me," I said, my voice quiet but shaking. "You hit me."

"Liar!" Serena shot to her feet, slamming her manicured hands onto the table. "You're just jealous because Michael wants me. You're a dried-up, boring prude. No wonder he looked elsewhere."

"Serena, sit down," the lawyer warned, his tone leaving no room for argument.

But she didn't stop. Her eyes flashed with malice as she reached across the table. Before anyone could react, she grabbed my water glass and launched the contents directly into my face.

I gasped as the shock of the ice-cold water hit my skin, dripping down my chin and soaking into my blouse.

"Serena!" Michael barked. But he made no move to grab her. He didn't restrain her. Instead, he looked at me, dripping wet and humiliated.

"See what you make her do?" Michael said, shaking his head at me as if I were a disappointing child. "You provoke people, Olivia. You always have to play the victim."

My mother stood up slowly. Her movement was graceful, fluid, and utterly deadly.

"Get out," Elizabeth said.

"Not until she signs the custody agreement," Michael sneered, leaning back in his chair. "I want 50/50 custody. And I want my trust fund reinstated."

The stress hit me like a physical blow.

The room began to tilt on its axis. Black spots danced in my peripheral vision, swarming like insects. My chest tightened, an iron band squeezing the air out of my lungs.

"I... I can't..." I gasped, clawing at my throat.

"Olivia?" My mother's voice sounded as if it were coming from underwater, distorted and far away.

I slumped forward, gravity taking over. My head hit the table with a sickening crack, and then darkness swallowed me whole.

*

When I woke up, I was back in the sterile white of a hospital room. The steady beep of a monitor was the only sound.

My mother was holding my hand, her grip tight.

"You fainted," she said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. "High blood pressure. The doctor says you need absolute peace."

I looked up at the ceiling tiles, counting the patterns. I felt empty. Hollowed out.

"He will never stop, Mom," I whispered, the realization settling in my bones like ice. "He will use this baby to torment me for the rest of my life. He will use my child as a bargaining chip for money."

Elizabeth tightened her grip on my hand. "We will fight him. We have the best lawyers."

"No," I said.

I turned to look at her. Clarity washed over me. It was cruel. It was drastic. But it was the only way to sever the tether.

"Tell him the baby is gone."

"What?" Elizabeth looked shocked, her composure cracking for the first time.

"Tell him I lost the baby," I said, my voice trembling but firm. "Tell him the stress... the fall... tell him it was too much."

"Olivia, that's..."

"It's the only way, Mom!" I sat up, desperation clawing at my throat. "If he thinks there is no baby, he leaves. He doesn't want *me*. He wants the heir. He wants the connection to your money. If the baby is dead, I am useless to him."

Elizabeth looked at me for a long time, searching my eyes. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"I will handle it," she said.

*

Mr. Hayes, our family attorney, walked into the waiting room where Michael was pacing like a caged animal.

"Where is she?" Michael demanded, spinning around. "Is the baby okay?"

Mr. Hayes looked at him with a face carved from stone.

"There were complications," Mr. Hayes said, his voice grave. "The stress... the fall... the doctors couldn't stop it."

Michael stopped pacing. The color drained from his face.

"What do you mean?"

"The baby didn't make it," Mr. Hayes lied smoothly.

Michael staggered back as if he had been physically punched in the gut. He collapsed onto one of the plastic chairs, his legs giving out.

"No," he whispered. "That's... that's not possible."

"It is done," Mr. Hayes said, delivering the final blow. "Olivia doesn't want to see you. You have caused enough damage. If you have a shred of decency left, you will sign the divorce papers and leave her to mourn in peace."

Michael put his head in his hands. His shoulders shook violently.

For the first time, he looked small. He looked broken.

*

I sat in my hospital room, miles away from him.

I placed my hand gently on my stomach.

Inside, my baby kicked. Strong. Vibrant. Alive.

I closed my eyes, tears leaking out.

"You are dead to him, little one," I whispered into the silence. "But you are everything to me."