<b>Chapter </b><b>173 </b>
<b>OLIVIA’S </b>POV
After I finished brunch with Steph, I got back into the car with ra trailing beside me as usual. We had spent over two hours talking and <bughing</b>, <b>and </b>even though I had a long day, Steph had a way of soothing my spirit like warm honey in tea. She always helped me shake off the stress of this demanding life I’d built for myself.
But now, as the car cruised through the upscale streets, reality slowly returned. I had too much on my te–paperwork, pending deals, budget approvals, and that God–forsaken New York branch investors. Just thinking about it made <b>my </b>jaw tighten.
My mood, which Steph had carefully bandaged with her humor and presence, was already starting to unravel.
“What do they take us for?” I muttered under my breath. “Some ATM machine that spits out money whenever they feel like asking?” I sighed heavily <b>and </b>turned to ra, who was busy going over the next day’s itinerary on her tablet. “I’m almost sure the only reason the New York branch is moving this slowly is because I’m not physically there to supervise them.”
“They should be lucky I’m still trying to avoid that city. If I were there, they’d have a taste of my fury–and they wouldn’t like it one bit.”
The convoy of ck SUVS finally pulled into my estate’s driveway. The security gates closed behind us with <b>a </b>low mechanical hum. Two guards were already at my door before the vehicle came to a full stop. As they opened it, I stepped out, my heels clicking softly on the pavement. ra fell in line beside me as we headed toward the front door.
The butler opened therge double doors with a slight bow, “Wee home, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Miguel,” I said with a quick nod, walking in.
But then I froze. My brows furrowed the moment I spotted the unexpected presence in my living room.
There, sittingfortably with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, was Damian.
He looked at ease, sipping from a delicate porcin teacup, and as soon as he spotted me, his entire face lit up with a charming smile. He set the cup down and stood up to greet me.
“Olivia,” he said warmly, walking toward me, “it’s so good to see you again. You’re just as beautiful as Ist remembered.”
Despite my surprise, I gave him a courteous smile. “Likewise, Damian. Thank you for thepliment. Please–have a seat.”
I turned slightly and gave ra a brief nod. She understood immediately and slipped away quietly to give us privacy. I appreciated how she always read the room with precision.
I turned my attention back to Damian, trying to mask the mixed emotions bubbling under my skin. As he sat back down, I remained standing for a moment, analyzing him.
He was always well–dressed–today in a dark navy suit that looked tailor–made–and always polite. But still, there was a part of <b>me </b>that stayed <b>guarded </b>around him. Maybe it was because I had grown so used to controlling my space, or maybe it was because I didn’t know how <b>to </b><b>define </b><b>whatever </b>rtionship we had.
“So,” I began, my voiceposed, “what brings you here today? You didn’t inform me you’d being over.”
“I came to see you, of course,” he said smoothly. “Do I need a reason for that?”
He chuckled, then added, “Besides, I wanted to apologize. I know I’ve been absent these past few months. <b>Work </b>has kept me <b>tied </b>down more <b>than </b><b>I’d </b>like <b>to </b>admit.”
<b>I </b>nodded slowly, taking <b>a </b>seat across from him. “It’s fine. We’re all busy.”
The truth was, I hadn’t missed his visits. That might sound cold, but I had learned to keep <b>my </b>circle <b>small </b>and my heart even <b>smaller</b>. <b>After </b><b>all</b><b>, </b><b>people </b><b>had </b>
a tendency to disappear when you needed them most. Steph and Julian were the exceptions. I could be myself around them–wed, open<b>, </b><b>and </b>
unfiltered.
As if summoned by the tension, ra returned quietly with a tray of tea. She ced it gently between us and gave me a brief look before retreating again. I picked up my cup but didn’t take a sip.
“And how’s Charlie?” Damian asked, leaning back in his chair.
At the mention of my son, my expression softened.
“He’s doing well. Growing fast,” I said with a smile. “He’ll be five in a few months. Can you believe it?”
“No,” Damian chuckled. “Feels like just yesterday he was crawling around the office floor.”
Iughed lightly, remembering those early days.
“He still talks about you, you know,” I added. “He sees you as some kind of superhero.”
That made Damian smile genuinely. “That means a lot. I know I’m not his father, and I’m not trying to take that ce–but I’m happy he looks up to me.”
I paused for a moment, considering his words. “You’re good to him. He needs good men around him–people he can admire and learn from.” I replied as I brought the delicate teacup to my lips and took a small sip. The warmth of the tea did little to ease the storm of thoughts constantly running through <b>my </b>mind these days.
Just then, a soft chime rang from the table. A new notification appeared on my phone screen.
ra, ever attentive, reached for it and scanned the message. Her brows knit slightly as she read through whatever <b>it </b>was. After a moment, she looked up at me, her expression unreadable.
“What is it?” I asked, setting my cup down gently on the saucer.
“Well,” she began carefully, “you’ve just been invited to an exclusive auction event in New York.”
I didn’t even hesitate. “Forget it. I’m not going.”
ra didn’t back down. “This might actually pique your interest, ma’am<b>,</b>” she said, emphasizing her words with a deliberate tone that suggested I should at least hear her out.
<i>My </i>curiosity got the better of me. I turned fully to face her, arching/an eyebrow. “Go on.”
ra held my gaze, always confident in the way she presented things. “It’s not just any auction. It’s… unique. I think you’ll find what they’re auctioning to be very interesting.”
“Such as?” I asked, folding my arms.
ra smiled slightly <i>and </i>said the words slowly, like she knew they’d hook me in. “A Rolls–Royce ck Heart.”
Damian’s voice broke the brief silence. “Really?” He leaned forward, clearly impressed. “That’s one of the rarest cars in the world.”
I tilted my head slightly, my interest officially caught.
“As you both know,” ra continued, “there are only five of those vehicles in existence globally. And someone’s decided to auction one.”
<b>I </b>turned to nce out the window beside me. The sunlight filtered gently through the ss, illuminating the view of my private garage. A <b>lineup </b><b>of </b>some of the finest ssic and vintage cars in the world stood proudly under my name. Each of them symbolized something–milestones<b>, </b>victories<b>, </b><b>power</b>.
Owning the ck Heart–one of only five left–would elevate that collection. It wouldn’t just be another car parked in <b>my </b>collection<b>; </b><b>it </b><b>would </b><b>make </b><b>a </b>statement. A deration of dominance. Of global recognition.
<b>wea</b>, <b>z </b><b>Jur </b>
It would
ce me in
an elite circle of
exclusive billionaires. A very
one.
But…
My jaw
tightened. “New York,” 1 murmured.
That
city.
The very
ce I had
fought
50
hard to leave
behind. The
ce
that held
I the
darkest c
chapters of t
my past the
betrayal, the
heartbreak,!
Was a
car, even one <b>as </b>rare
and
majestic as the
Rolls–Royce
ck
Heart, worth
walking
back
into
that
city? Ac
A city that
had tried to
destroy
me?
A
AD
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