OLIVIA’S POV
Dinner that evening was nothing short of tense. The clinking of cutlery against tes barely masked the quiet rage simmering in the room. <b>My </b>fingers tightened around my fork as I tried to stayposed, honestly I was just thinking of different ways to calm my father down, everyone was, but each <b>time </b>we tried he remind us how we nearly lost our lives, Mexicans took family seriously, that’s one thing for sure because the man looked like he was about to explode
“You want me to just do nothing? He tried to kill you?” he said, voice low but sharp as steel. “Both of you?”
Julian and I exchanged a nce. I gave him a slight nod, silently telling him to let me handle this. He respected my choice and looked down at his te, pushing a piece of steak around without taking a bite.
“Dad,” I began, “I know how this sounds…”
“It doesn’t just sound like anything. It is something,” he snapped, his hand mming against the table. The tes rattled. “That boy put my daughter and grandson in danger. How am I supposed to sit here and do nothing?”
I stood, slowly and carefully, and walked around the table to him. I ced a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Please,” I said softly, “Don’t do anything. Let me handle this.”
“Olivia, he nearly killed you. You want me to stand by while he walks free?”
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I want you to watch. Watch the woman I be. Watch how I rise without him. That’s the real punishment, Dad. Not violence. Not revenge.”
He looked up at me, his stern expression faltering. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, after what felt like a century, he let out a deep sigh and nodded.
“You want to handle this your own way, does that mean you would go <b>in </b>contact with him again?” my dad asked.
“Never, this is the first time I am meeting you in person after years, so it might sound weird saying this, but I need you to trust me on this, I’ll handle him my way,” I said.
After a few seconds of him being silent, he finally let out a heavy sigh which looked like he was finally ready to calm down,
He took out his phone and made a quick call. “ra, it’s time. Be at the house tomorrow morning. I have someone for you to mentor<b>.” </b>
I raised an eyebrow. “ra?”
He put the phone down and smiled. “She was your mother’s assistant. One of the smartest women I know. She’ll teach you what it takes to stand tall in the business world.”
Just as he finished speaking, a woman walked into the room, dressed in a sharp, navy–blue suit and heels that clicked with precision. Her silver–streaked hair was pulled into a sleek bun, and she carried herself with the confidence of <b>a </b>seasoned executive.
Did Dad have her waiting in the house even before I arrived here?
“You must be Olivia,” she said, extending her hand/Her voice was firm, her gaze even firmer.
“I am,” I replied, shaking her hand.
“We begin tomorrow at 7 a.m. sharp. <b>Don’t </b>bete.”
<b>She </b><b>didn’t </b>wait for a response before turning on her heel and walking out. I blinked<b>, </b>still <b>processing </b>what just <b>happened</b>.
<b>“</b>Well,” Julian said from his seat<b>, </b>finally breaking his silence, <b>“</b><b>Looks </b><b>like </b><b>you’ve </b><b>got </b><b>your </b>hands full.”
<b>1/3 </b>
<b>09:04 </b>Fri, 27 <b>Jun </b>?
After dinner<b>, </b><b>I </b>needed air.
<b>The </b>walls of the estate suddenly felt too close, like they were closing in around me. I slipped out through the side gate and walked toward the nearby town. The evening air was crisp, the sky a canvas of deep purple and navy, the stars peeking out,
I walked past quiet shops and cafes, my thoughts swirling. I wanted to believe I had made the right decision by stopping my father. Revenge wasn’t <b>what </b>I needed. Control, rity, and growth were.
and a forgotten music store with faded posters in the window. The Eventually, I stumbled into a cozy–looking bookstore tucked between an antique shop. door creaked softly as I stepped inside, and a small bell above it jingled, announcing my arrival.
Warm lighting bathed the space in a golden glow, casting gentle shadows across the worn wooden floors. The air smelled of cinnamon, <b>aged </b><b>paper</b><b>, </b><b>and </b>the faintest hint of vani candles burning somewhere nearby. It was the kind of ce that made time slow down.
Rows of tall, slightly uneven bookshelves loomed like sentinels, each packed to the brim with everything from worn–out paperbacks to first editions in protective sleeves, I wandered between the aisles, letting my fingers skim the spines as I walked. A quiet peace settled over me, muffling the noise in my head. For once, I wasn’t thinking about the past or the chaos waiting outside. I just wanted to find a good story.
A faded hardcover on the top shelf caught my eye–its title almost obscured by dust, but something about <b>it </b>tugged at me. I reached up, stretching <b>on </b><b>my </b>toes to grasp it.
he shelf.
That’s when someone bumped into me from behind, nearly sending me into the
“Oh, crap! I’m so Sorry!”
I turned around, startled. A woman about my age stood there, looking both sheepish and amused. She had a head of curly brown hair that refused to be tamed, oversized tortoiseshell sses that magnified her expressive eyes<b>, </b>and a canvas tote bag slung over one shoulder<b>, </b>bulging with sketchpads and what looked like paintbrush handles sticking out the top.
“It’s okay,” I said, chuckling, brushing my hair out of my face.
“You sure? I didn’t knock any sense out of you or anything, did I?” she said with a wide grin that tugged at the corners of her eyes.
Iughed again–genuinely this time. It surprised me how easily it came. “No damage done. I’m Olivia.”
“Ste,” she said brightly, thrusting her hand out with an enthusiastic shake. “I make a habit of running into mysterious women in bookstores. It’s kind <b>of </b>my thing.”
“Is that so?” I raised a brow. “Sounds like a story waiting to happen.”
“Oh, believe <b>me</b>, I’ve <b>got </b>a library full. Some of them even have happy endings,” she winked. “Others… well, they usually involve spilled coffee and awkward apologies.”
I couldn’t help but smile. There was something instantly disarming about her–like sunshine with sharp edges. “Are you from around here?”
<i>“</i><i>Born </i>and raised,<i>” </i>she said, then tilted her head, studying me. “You, however, don’t have that small–town rhythm. Too polished. Too… put together.”
“You could say I’m transitioning,” I said, choosing my words carefully.
Ste nodded as if she understood more than I was saying. “Well, wee to our little corner of nowhere. If you ever <b>need </b>a crash course in local weirdness, I’m your girl.”
I found myself liking her more with every second. There was no awkwardness, no need to pretend. Just <b>two </b>strangers <b>meeting </b><b>on </b><b>the </b><b>bridge </b><b>between </b>
stories.
<b>“</b><b>Well</b><b>, </b>Olivia the Mysterious,” she said, pulling a phone from her coat pocket, “how about we <b>grab </b><b>coffee </b><b>sometime</b><b>? </b>I <b>promise </b><b>not </b><b>to </b><b>bump </b><b>into </b><b>you </b><b>again </b>-unless it bes <b>a </b>tradition.“.
“I’d like that,” I said<b>, </b>my voice softer than I intended.
<b>09:04 </b><b>Fri</b><b>, </b><b>27 </b><b>Jun </b>
B
<b>“</b>Cool. There’s this hidden café behind the flower shop on Oak Street. Looks like a greenhouse on the outside, but they serve <b>the </b>best <b>lemon </b><b>pastriet </b>you’ll ever put in your mouth. Total secret spot. You’ll love it.”
We exchanged numbers–hers was saved under “Ste the Chaos Ma,” and I didn’t even question it. With a final wave and <b>a </b><b>bounce </b>in her <b>step</b><b>, </b>she headed back into the maze of shelves, humming a tune I didn’t recognize.
Her energy lingered even after she was gone, like static in the air after lighting.
I wandered for a while longer before purchasing the book I’d reached for–a faded novel with a handwritten note still tucked between the pages<b>. </b><b>I </b>pressed it to my chest as I stepped out into thete afternoon light, the crisp air brushing against my cheeks like a whisper.
The streets were quieter now. As I made my way back t