Chapter 5

The hospital discharged me with a heavily wrapped ankle and a prescription for painkillers. My flight was in less than twelve hours. I had two things left to do.

First, I went to the Thompson Corporation headquarters. I didn' t need to resign anymore, but I wanted to see it one last time. As I limped through the lobby, I noticed the strange looks. My former assistant, a sweet girl named Chloe who I' d mentored, wouldn' t meet my eye.

I went to my old department. It was half-empty. My entire team, the people I had hired and worked with for years, were gone.

"What happened?" I asked a junior analyst from another team.

He looked around nervously. "After you... left, Mr. Mark and Mr. David came in. They fired everyone on your team. Said they needed a fresh start." He lowered his voice. "They' re all working at a rival firm now. They took the big project with them."

I saw Mark and Sarah walking out of what used to be my office. They were laughing, his arm draped possessively over her shoulder. She was holding a file that looked suspiciously like my project proposal for the next quarter.

It was clear. They weren' t just replacing me; they were erasing me. My presence, my work, my entire contribution to this company meant nothing. I turned around and threw the resignation letter I had written into a trash can on my way out. It was a pointless gesture.

My final stop was the Thompson mansion, but not the main house. I went to the small, private villa on the property where Mrs. Thompson lived. She had always preferred her own space.

She opened the door and her kind face crumpled when she saw me. The bruise on my cheek, my bandaged ankle, the haunted look in my eyes.

She pulled me into a fierce hug. "Oh, Olivia. My poor, dear child. What have they done to you?"

Tears streamed down her face. We sat in her sunroom, and I told her everything. The rejection, the birthday party, the abuse, the slap. I didn't cry. My voice was steady, factual.

She listened, her expression shifting from sorrow to a cold, hard anger I had never seen in her before.

"I was blind," she whispered, her hands clenched into fists. "I raised two monsters. I am so, so sorry, Olivia."

She stood up and went to a small safe hidden behind a painting. She came back with a check.

"This is for you," she said, pressing it into my hand. It was a substantial amount, more money than I had ever seen. "A wedding gift. Go, start your new life. Be happy. You deserve it."

"Thank you, Mrs. Thompson," I said, my voice thick with emotion for the first time. "For everything."

Just then, the door to the villa burst open. Mark and David stormed in, their faces red with fury. Sarah trailed behind them, looking nervous.

"We heard you were getting married!" Mark shouted, his eyes wild. "You' re lying! You' re just doing this to make us jealous!"

"Who is he?" David demanded, stepping towards me. "We' ll pay him off! You' re not marrying anyone but one of us!"

Sarah chose that moment to play her part. She burst into tears.

"Olivia, how could you?" she sobbed, clutching Mark' s arm. "You told me you were leaving to find yourself. You said you were happy for us! Why are you making up these stories to hurt everyone?"

That was the moment Mrs. Thompson finally broke. The sight of her sons' delusion and Sarah' s blatant lies ignited her fury.

"GET OUT!" she screamed, her voice shaking with rage. She pointed a trembling finger at the door. "All of you! Get out of my house! You have broken this family, and you have broken my heart. I never want to see you again!"

Mark and David stared at their mother, shocked into silence. They had never been spoken to like that in their lives.

Mrs. Thompson turned to me, her eyes full of tears. "Go, Olivia. Go now. Don' t look back."

I limped towards the door, my heart a painful mix of sorrow and relief. As I was about to step out, David, in a final act of petulant rage, moved to block my path.

"You' re not going anywhere until you apologize to Sarah," he snarled.

Before I could respond, he deliberately tripped me. I cried out as I fell, my injured ankle twisting under me. Searing, white-hot pain shot up my leg.

Sarah, feigning victimhood, knelt beside me, her voice dripping with false concern. "Olivia, please, just say you' re sorry. Let' s end this."

David stood over me, his face a mask of pure hatred. "Apologize."

I looked from his face to Sarah' s, then back to the memory of every cruelty they had inflicted upon me. The twenty years of shared history dissolved in that moment of excruciating pain. It was all gone.

"Never," I gasped.

With a furious roar, David raised his foot and stomped down hard on my injured ankle.

The snap was audible. The pain was blinding. I screamed.

Through a haze of agony, I saw Mrs. Thompson fly at her son, slapping him across the face with all her might. "You monster!"

I didn' t wait to see the rest. I crawled out the door, dragging my broken ankle behind me. I pulled myself into the waiting car my mother had sent and didn' t look back.

I left for the airport directly from the hospital. The next day, I posted a single picture on my social media. It was my hand, holding a brand new marriage certificate. Beside it was another hand, strong and steady, wearing a simple gold band. My new husband, Mr. Sullivan.

The caption was simple: "Mrs. Olivia Sullivan."

Then I blocked Mark and David Thompson, who were already flooding my inbox with frantic, desperate messages. My new life had begun.