The price to pay

Olivia's POV;

The cab jolted slightly as it maneuvered through the uneven roads, the city lights blurring outside the rain-specked windows. I stared out, barely noticing the towering buildings or the occasional honk of impatient drivers. My thoughts were heavier than the luggage sitting next to me. 

"There's no point in going back to that apartment," I muttered under my breath, my voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. My words sounded hollow, even to me. 

Christopher and I shared that space—or rather, I existed in the corners of it while he remained elsewhere, untouchable. It wasn't a home, not for me. Not anymore. 

The cab slowed as we approached Golden Estate, its gates gleaming under the dim streetlights. The estate was a place of privilege, a world that shut out the poor and middle class with its tall fences and exclusivity. I didn't belong here, not really, but for now, it was a refuge. 

I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. It had been almost a year since I'd seen my family, though they were never far from my thoughts. The city had swallowed me whole, and I'd let it. My hands instinctively reached for my phone, but my pockets came up empty. 

The realization hit me like a slap. My phone. 

I'd left it behind—at the office. 

I groaned, pressing my fingers to my temples. I hadn't wanted to go back there. Not to that suffocating place, not to him. But I knew I'd have to. Tomorrow morning, first thing, I'd retrieve my phone before heading to the one place that still felt like home—my ancestral village. 

I sighed deeply, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window. The thoughts I'd tried so hard to bury rose to the surface, unrelenting. 

"It's useless," I whispered, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Thinking he could ever love me." 

I had followed him everywhere—both online and offline. I had gone to the countryside just to be near him, to catch his attention. I had sacrificed my pride, my time, my energy. And what had I received in return? 

Ridicule. Rejection. Indifference. 

His words echoed in my mind like a cruel refrain: *"Don't even bother coming to work if you don't apologize."* 

I clenched my fists. Who did he think he was? What gave him the right to assume I was living off his money? 

I laughed again, the sound sharp and humorless, as I poured myself a glass of wine in the small apartment I'd retreated to. Grandma Flora had warned me about this—warned me to guard my heart. But I hadn't listened. I had been so blinded by my own desires, by the foolish dream of being Christopher's girlfriend, his wife. 

He didn't even see me. 

The thought stung as I downed the wine in one long gulp, the alcohol burning its way down my throat. A sad smile tugged at my lips as I leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the empty glass in my hand. 

"Maybe Grandma was right," I murmured. "Maybe love is useless. You give everything, and in the end, you're just the one they don't love." 

The idea of accepting the marriage proposal my family had arranged flickered in my mind. It hadn't seemed like an option before, but now? What was the point of holding onto something that would never be mine? 

I shook my head and pushed off the counter, heading toward the bed. But as I climbed in, the damp fabric of my clothes clung to me uncomfortably. 

"I can't sleep in these," I muttered, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and walking to the wardrobe. 

When I opened it, my heart sank. It was empty. 

My clothes—my life—were scattered across different places now. I sighed and climbed back into bed, pulling the thin blanket over myself. It would have to do for tonight. 

---

The next morning, I arrived at Christopher's company earlier than anyone else—7 a.m., to be precise. The air was crisp, the city still shaking off the last remnants of sleep. 

"Good morning, Miss Deeva," a few of my former colleagues greeted me as I walked through the lobby. Their smiles were polite but hesitant, as if they weren't sure how to treat me anymore. 

I nodded in acknowledgment, barely slowing my pace as I headed straight for the elevator. My heart pounded with every step, my anger and determination simmering just beneath the surface. 

When I reached the office, I spotted my phone immediately. It was sitting on the desk, right where I'd left it. 

Relief washed over me as I grabbed it, but before I could turn to leave, a voice cut through the quiet space like a blade. 

"And where are you coming from?" 

I froze. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Christopher. 

I straightened my spine, clutching my phone tightly as I tried to steady my breathing. Without a word, I began walking toward the door. 

"Olivia," he said, his tone sharper now. 

His hand shot out, grabbing my left wrist and yanking me back. The contact sent a jolt through me, but I refused to let him see how much it affected me. 

"What is the meaning of this, Christopher?" I snapped, finally meeting his gaze. 

His eyes bore into mine, a mixture of surprise and something I couldn't quite place. "I'll ask you again," he said, his voice low and controlled, "where are you coming from?" 

I yanked my hand out of his grip, glaring at him. "That's none of your business." 

I turned to leave again, but his next words stopped me cold. 

"Block her," he commanded, his voice steady and unyielding. 

I turned slowly, my heart hammering in my chest as I stared at him. Two men from the security team stepped forward, their expressions unreadable. 

"What are you doing, Christopher?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. 

He didn't answer. His gaze remained locked on mine, his expression unreadable. 

For a moment, it felt like the entire room had gone still, the air thick with tension. 

And then I realized something. 

He wasn't going to let me leave.