Olivia’s POV

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE.” His voice cuts through me like a blade, sharp, scorching, final.

I freeze in the middle of our living room, my hands trembling at my sides. My heartbeat pounds in my ears so loudly I can barely hear my own thoughts. Hunter’s eyes are on me burning, furious, disgusted. I don’t understand. I can’t even breathe properly. Tears gather before I can stop them.

Why is he doing this?

“Honey, Mason, please listen” My voice cracks, and I take a shaky step forward, reaching for the man I love.

He cuts me off before I can even finish. “DON’T CALL ME THAT.” His words are low and vicious, and he takes a step toward me slow, threatening, like I’m something he wants to crush. “You are so good,” he mutters, his voice hard with sarcasm, and his hand closes around my arm with a harsh grip.

I wince. I don’t fight him. I just stare at him, wishing he would look at me properly and see I’m breaking.

“I gave you everything,” he says, voice cold. His fingers squeeze tighter, and I lower my gaze, swallowing back a sob. He has never looked at me like this. Like I’m filth.

“And you go sleep around. And with my damn brother.”

My tears stop for a second, replaced by shock and boiling disbelief. I stare at him, chest heaving. Sleep around? With his brother? The words are so outrageous they don’t even feel real.

“I did not cheat on you, Mason!” My voice rises, louder than I expect, shaking with anger and fear. “If you could just listen to me” I choke, my vision blurring.

“Get your ass out of my house now!” His tone is deadly, final. He doesn’t waver.

I can’t breathe. I clutch his arm desperately. “Mason, please.” My voice is barely a whisper now. I just need him to stop for one second. To hear me. To remember I’m his wife.

My hand rests on his arm, trying so hard to anchor him, begging him not to throw everything away. “Mason, I’m pre—”

He cuts me off again, snapping through my voice like it’s meaningless. “Just get your things and leave.” He turns away from me without hesitation, walking down the hallway like I’m already gone.

My knees nearly buckle. I stand there, my chest caving in on itself. I taste salt on my lips. My throat stings. My hand drops to my stomach without thinking, a reflex I don’t even process fully.

I don’t move for a long moment. I wait hoping he’ll come back, tell me he didn’t mean it, that he’ll listen. But all I hear is a door slamming somewhere in the house.

Tears spill faster, burning down my cheeks. I wipe them with shaking hands and force my legs to move. I make my way to our no, his bedroom. The walls feel like they’re closing in. I pull out a small suitcase from the closet and start grabbing clothes with numb fingers. My breaths are shallow and uneven.

This can’t be happening.

I hear footsteps again but not coming toward me. He’s pacing somewhere else. He doesn’t come to stop me. He doesn’t ask me a question. He doesn’t even try to look at me.

When I walk back through the hallway with my bag, my vision is so blurry I almost walk into the wall. I stop just outside the living room to look at him one last time.

He’s standing by the window with his back to me, shoulders tense, fists clenched. He won’t turn around. He doesn’t want to see me. My voice is gone. My heart is going with him whether he wants it or not.

I walk to the door slowly, my legs heavy like I’m dragging my whole world behind me. My fingers hover on the handle.

“Hunter,” I whisper, even though I know he won’t answer.

Silence.

I step outside. The cold air stings my face instantly, mixing with the wetness of my tears. I close the door gently because I don’t have the strength to slam it. I stand on the porch, clutching my bag, staring at the house that held my marriage, my hopes, my baby, my entire life.

Twenty years old and I thought happiness was mine. I thought loving him was enough. I thought trust was mutual. I thought I was safe.

I was wrong.

I walk to the end of the driveway with no idea where to go. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I don’t look at it. My hands slide instinctively over my stomach again. He didn’t even let me finish the word.

Pregnant.

I swallow the sob that tries to escape. The night feels colder now. I keep walking.

Be careful who you trust, they say.

I never thought I’d have to be careful with him.