<b>Chapter </b>272


    OLIVIA’S POV


    TA


    No, I don’t think so they can’t be fighting, otherwise Adrian wouldn’t even be here right now. But the <b>way </b>themissioner looked at him told a different story. His eyes flickered in a way I couldn’t quite ce. It wasn’t the usual professional look one officer gives to a visitor. No, it was more than that. He looked at Adrian with something close to fear, as if the very sight of him had thrown him off bnce. Like he had done something wrong, something he didn’t want Adrian to uncover. Like he was trying to hide behind formality, but his eyes gave him away.


    “Mr. Westwood, you didn’t tell me you wereing today.” His voice cracked slightly, the stammer slipping through despite his attempt to soundposed.


    “Yes, that’s because I decided toe yesterday and it slipped my mind to inform you,” Adrian replied, his tone firm but casual, the kind of voice that carried authority even without trying.


    Themissioner cleared his throat, straightened his shirt, and gestured toward his office. “Alright then, pleasee in.”


    I followed Adrian inside, my heels clicking lightly against the floor as the cool st from the air conditioner hit my skin. The temperature difference was sharp, almost biting, but refreshing after standing outside under the bright sun. My eyes wandered across the room.


    It wasn’t a luxurious office by any means, but it carried the weight of history. Stacks of neatly arranged paperwork covered the desk, some tied with stic bands, others arranged in slim folders. Arge police uniform, neatly pressed, hung on the wall like a symbol of pride, framed by medals pinned just above it. Along the far wall were ck–and–white portraits of pastmissioners, men who once carried the same burden of responsibility he now held. Their stern expressions seemed to watch us enter, like silent judges assessing whether we belonged here.


    Themissioner broke the silence as he motioned toward the chairs across his desk. “I’m guessing this <b>is </b>your wife. She looks as stunning as ever. I can see you have good taste in women. You’re wee, Mrs. Westwood.”


    For a moment, the words froze in the air. Adrian and I turned to look at each other, and for the briefest second, it felt as though time had slipped backward. Mrs. Westwood. The name hit me like a quiet shock, one I wasn’t prepared for.


    It wasn’t that themissioner had said anything wrong. In his mind, he was probably being polite, acknowledging what he believed to be true. But for me, it was like reopening an old wound that had never fully healed. I hadn’t been called that name in years. Hearing it now carried a strange mix of emotions – nostalgia, awkwardness, and an undeniable warmth I didn’t want to admit was there.


    But how did he not know who I was? Didn’t he watch the news? Hadn’t he seen my face across the media? My name wasn’t exactly hidden from the public since I came to New York and came out. Still, I realized something in that instant: he probably didn’t. He was a man buried inw enforcement, a man whose daily life revolved around crime reports, political briefings, and endless files. People like me, the boardroom power yers, meant little to someone like him. To him, I was simply the woman walking into his office with Adrian, and so, naturally, he assumed I was Adrian’s wife.


    <b>17:31 </b><b>Wed</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>17 </b><b>N </b>


    ?????


    That realization led me to another. If he had called me Mrs. Westwood, then that meant Adrian <b>had </b>never walked into this office with another woman before. Not once. That thought made something stir inside <b>me</b>. <b>It </b>shouldn’t have mattered, Adrian’s personal life after me was none of my business but the knowledge settled somewhere deep, leaving me both curious and strangely… pleased.


    Part of me wanted to speak up, to correct themissioner. To set the record straight, to say clearly <b>that </b><b>I </b>was no longer Mrs. Westwood, that Adrian and I were not together, that the name belonged to a <b>past </b>I <b>had </b>chosen to walk away from. I wanted to protect myself from the misunderstanding before it spiraled into somethingrger.


    But there was another part of me, a bigger, louder part that didn’t want to correct him.


    That part of me felt proud.


    Proud to be standing here and still be called his wife. Proud that, in some strange way, the title still fit me even after everything that had happened. Even after the betrayals, the coldness, the distance. Being associated with Adrian wasn’t the shameful burden I used to tell myself it was. No, in that moment, as themissioner’s words echoed in the air, it felt good


    Even though it was odd and stirred up feelings I wasn’t ready to face, it also reminded me of a time when that name Mrs. Westwood meant safety, power, and belonging. And for reasons I didn’t want to admit, I found myself holding onto that feeling instead of correcting him


    Plus, I needed themissioner to think we were together so I could find out all the information I needed from them. If I corrected him and said Adrian and I weren’t married anymore, I risked losing that small edge of influence. People always spoke more freely when they thought they were addressing a couple rather than two individuals with different motives. It gave me cover, and at the same time, it made themissioner less suspicious of my sudden presence here.


    Adrian still stared at me, waiting, almost daring me to object to being called his wife. He knew me well enough to expect me to open my mouth and set the record straight, but instead, I did the opposite. I let a big, deliberate smile spread across my face and turned toward themissioner.


    “Thank you,” I said warmly, ying the role I wanted him to believe.


    From the corner of my eye, I caught Adrian’s expression. He was quick to try and mask it, but I saw the flicker of shock cross his face. For a moment, he looked like someone had pulled the rug from under him. He wasn’t expecting me to go along with it, and that surprise almost made meugh.


    We both took our seats next to each other, and I noticed how uncharacteristic it felt sitting side by side with Adrian again, like we were back in another life. I folded my hands on the desk, pretending to be calm, but my heart had picked up its pace.


    “It’s also good to see you getting better, Mr. Westwood,” themissioner began, his voice shifting into that polite, formal tone officers use when they’re addressing people of importance. His eyes darted between Adrian and me, as though measuring the dynamic. “So, what brings you here today?”


    Adrian wasted no time. “The robbers your men arrested,” he said firmly. “Have you gotten anything from


    them<b>?” </b>


    Themissioner blinked, slightly taken aback by his bluntness. “Anything like what?” he asked, ncing between us both now as though trying to assess whether this was <b>a </b>casual inquiry or something far more


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    serious.


    “That attack wasn’t just random. Someone sent them toe for me. Now we’re here to find out if <b>your </b>men have been able to get something out of them.” I immediately came in.


    The weight of my words hung in the air for a moment. I could even sense the tension shift in the room. The cool hum of the air conditioner seemed louder, the faint ticking of a wall clock suddenly sharper.


    “Unfortunately…” themissioner said after a pause, “we haven’t been able to get much. The only information we could pull from them was that the person who might have sent them is a woman.”


    I froze. A woman?


    That didn’t make sense. My mind immediately began sorting through the possibilities. I barely had any female enemies in the business world most of my rivals were men, power–hungry and ruthless in their pursuit of dominance. Women in my circle were either allies orpetitors who preferred outmaneuvering me in deals, not hiring criminals to take me out.


    Still, the thought gnawed at me.


    Who could it possibly be?


    My mind searched frantically for a face, a name, someone who had both the motive and the courage to go this far. Then, like a cold breeze<i>, </i>a possibility whispered itself into my thoughts.


    Could <i>it </i>be Vanessa?


    I clenched my jaw at the thought. Vanessa had always been ambitious, always hungry for a way to climb higher. Right now, she was the only one who stood out, the only person I could imagine crossing a line like this<b>. </b>


    “Is there anyone that mighte to your mind?” themissioner asked, breaking through my thoughts and pulling me back into the present. His voice was gentle, but his eyes were sharp, watching me carefully for


    a reaction.


    I didn’t want to give him everything just yet. I couldn’t until I was sure. But I couldn’t deny that Vanessa’s name loomed heavily in my mind like a shadow.


    “I’m not 100% sure,” I said carefully, my voice steady despite the storm swirling inside me, “but yes…. might be someone in mind.”


    There