Olivia’s POV

I was driving to Manhattan with Ethan, exchanging text messages with Grace, my dear friend with whom I’d always stayed in touch.

Grace: So, you’re heading to Manhattan?

Olivia: Yeah, just a quick lunch with some investors. Nothing to worry about.

Grace: What if you run into someone you’d rather avoid?

Olivia: That’s unlikely. But even if it happens, it doesn’t faze me anymore.

Grace: You’re right, girl. Besides, your charming boss will have your back and keep you safe.

I smiled at her last message. Grace was always teasing me about Ethan, nudging me to start a relationship with him. Since I left Manhattan and began my new life in Staten Island, Grace and I had never stopped talking.

She was my confidante, a true friend, but I never asked her about Alexander, my ex-husband. I hadn’t heard anything about him in these past five years, and honestly, I didn’t want to know. My life was going so well without him ruining everything.

He was probably living blissfully with his beloved wife, Vanessa, so why would I care to know about him? To hurt myself seeing him happy while I struggled? In the early years after our separation, I’d made that mistake.

I’d obsessively checked their social media, seeing Alexander and Vanessa looking radiant and in love, jetting off on luxurious trips to breathtaking, romantic destinations—things he never did when we were married. It was clear Vanessa was his true love, and it crushed me.

I used to cry in corners, consumed by jealousy and longing, hating Vanessa for taking my husband and leaving me alone. But then I realized—how could she take something that was never truly mine?

Over time, I pulled back, buried my emotions, and focused on my daughter, my studies, and my career. Now, when I saw news reports of Alexander with Vanessa by his side, it no longer stung like it used to. I considered myself healed.

“Your smile is so radiant it makes me wonder who’s on your mind,” Ethan said from beside me. Through the car window, New York City’s bustling skyline stretched as far as the eye could see.

I grinned, showing him my phone. “Just chatting with Grace. She wants to come over Saturday night.”

“Oh, Grace,” he said with a nod. Since Ethan was close to Mia, he and Grace had met at one of our lunches at home. They were both kind people, so they got along easily. “Is it a girls’ night? Can I throw on a dress and join in?” he joked, making me laugh as he playfully invited himself.

“I don’t think Grace would mind,” I said, smiling. “Besides, Mia said she misses you.” Maybe I should give Ethan a chance.

“It’ll be a joy to see my little girl again,” he replied, and I smiled warmly. Just then, the car pulled up in front of a familiar establishment. “We’re here,” Ethan announced.

“The meeting’s here?” I asked, my voice faltering as I saw the elegant sign for “Charme.” My throat tightened.

“Yeah,” Ethan confirmed. “The advisor said this is the Elysium Designs rep’s favorite spot. Do you know it?” I nodded faintly, still shaken. “Great,” he said, smiling and taking my hand. “Don’t stress, everything will be fine.” He stepped out of the car.

I sat frozen in my seat. Ethan thought I was nervous about presenting a crucial project for my career, but the truth was, I was reeling because I knew this restaurant all too well—and the memories it held were far from pleasant. It was here that Alexander Vaughn had humiliated me in every way imaginable.

Ethan opened my car door and gently placed an arm around my back, guiding me protectively as we entered the restaurant. Charme had changed since five years ago—it was more polished, more inviting.

At the reception, we gave our names, and the host led us to the VIP area, where the Elysium Designs representative had reserved a table with a stunning ocean view.

“This place is gorgeous, my goodness,” Ethan remarked as we sat down. We’d arrived early to ensure we didn’t keep our client waiting. “You know, I’m tempted to invite you for dinner here sometime. Would you say yes?” he asked, his flirtatious tone unwavering.

I shook my head, swallowing hard before replying, “Sorry, my schedule’s packed this week.” My throat felt parched, and I grabbed the glass of water on the table, gulping it down. Every corner of this restaurant brought back that awful night of humiliation. Five years had passed, but it felt like yesterday.

“Alright…” Ethan said, his voice tinged with disappointment, though I was too distracted to notice. “Is this representative going to make us wait long?”

He didn’t realize it, but I was on the verge of panic. I couldn’t function like this—I wouldn’t be able to present the project. All I could think about was fleeing this restaurant and never returning. Abruptly, I stood, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. Nearby diners glanced over, clearly finding my gesture rude, but I barely registered them.

“Are you okay, Olivia?” Ethan asked, concern in his voice, and I nodded weakly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back…” I said, hurrying toward the bathroom, desperate to escape.