Chapter: The Thin Line Between Deception and Truth
The Birmingham estate was cloaked in darkness, the grand halls and manicured gardens bathed in the silver light of a waning moon. The evening’s festivities had come to an end, and the last of the guests had trickled away, leaving the estate in eerie silence. The faint echo of heels on marble, the lingering scent of expensive perfume, and the distant clinking of glasses being cleared by the staff were the only remnants of the lavish gathering.
But Olivia and Ezra remained.
In the dimly lit bedroom, Olivia stood near the window, her slender frame outlined by the faint glow of the estate’s lanterns. She stared out at the expansive gardens below, her fingers absently tracing the cool glass. The evening had left a lingering tension in her chest—a suffocating weight she couldn’t shake.
She watched the garden path below, her gaze drawn to the faint outline of a figure in the shadows. Valerie. She was still there. Alone. Motionless. Her emerald gown now dull and lifeless beneath the pale moonlight.
Olivia let out a shuddering breath. The look in Valerie’s eyes from earlier still haunted her—the venom, the grief, the madness barely held at bay.
She felt Ezra’s presence before she heard him. His warmth, steady and unwavering, pressed against her back as his arms encircled her waist. He rested his chin lightly on her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.
Olivia closed her eyes, leaning back into him, seeking the comfort of his arms. For a moment, she simply let herself breathe him in. His scent—crisp cedar and something faintly smoky—was grounding. Steadying.
“I saw her,” Olivia whispered, her voice barely above a breath. She gestured toward the figure lingering by the hedgerow. “She hasn’t left.”
Ezra’s eyes narrowed slightly. He followed her gaze, his jaw clenching at the sight of Valerie’s lone figure.
“She’s unraveling,” he said softly, his voice dark with certainty. “She’s not going to stop.”
A chill swept over Olivia. She knew he was right. Valerie was breaking—splintering under the weight of her own obsession. And a woman with nothing to lose was dangerous.
Ezra’s grip on her tightened. He lowered his lips to her ear, his voice barely a murmur.
“We’ll be gone before she has the chance.”
An hour later, they sat side by side on the edge of their grand bed. The room was dimly lit by a single lamp on the nightstand, casting a warm amber glow over their faces. Papers were scattered across the bed—a blueprint of their escape.
Fake passports. Cash-stuffed envelopes. A meticulously forged marriage certificate under the name Selena Hartwell.
Olivia’s hands shook slightly as she smoothed out the edges of the forged marriage license. Her fingers traced the elegant, looping script of the false names, her eyes blurring slightly.
She suddenly let out a breathless, humorless laugh.
“Selena Hartwell,” she muttered, her voice thick with disbelief. “Married to Edward Bailey.” She glanced at Ezra, her lips twitching faintly. “We sound like characters in a bad soap opera.”
Ezra’s lips quirked slightly, but his eyes remained serious. He brushed his knuckles along her jawline, his touch slow and reverent.
“Would you prefer Olivia Birmingham?” he asked softly.
Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes lifted to his. For a moment, the mask slipped, and she saw something raw and unguarded in his gaze. It was more than just devotion—it was a silent plea.
“Don’t do that,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly, her voice barely audible.
“Do what?”
“Make it feel real.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Because it’s not. This is a lie. All of it.”
But the look in Ezra’s eyes didn’t waver. If anything, it hardened with conviction. His hand came up, gently cupping the side of her face.
“Tell me it doesn’t feel real,” he challenged softly, his eyes burning into hers. “Look at me and tell me you don’t feel it.”
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. She couldn’t say it. Because it was real. Somewhere along the way, the carefully constructed performance—the calculated touches, the lingering glances, the whispered promises—had bled into something neither of them could contain.
She stared into his eyes, and for once, she didn’t care that it was dangerous. She didn’t care that it was reckless. She just wanted to feel.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. She pressed her lips to his, slow and deliberate, her hands trembling slightly as she clung to him. Ezra responded instantly, his arms winding around her, anchoring her against him. His mouth was warm and insistent, his kiss slow but possessive, as though he were memorizing the taste of her, as though he were terrified she would slip away.
When they finally broke apart, Olivia pressed her forehead against his, her breath shaky and uneven.
“You’re right,” she whispered. Her voice was raw, barely audible. “I feel it.”
Just as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, Olivia stirred from her sleep. She stretched slightly, disoriented by the warmth pressed against her back. Ezra’s arms were still wrapped around her, his slow, steady breathing tickling her neck.
For a brief moment, she allowed herself the fantasy—that they were just a normal couple, waking up after a long night of love-making. She shut her eyes and let herself imagine it.
But the sharp knock at the door shattered the illusion.
Ezra stirred, immediately alert. His arms tightened protectively around Olivia, his eyes narrowing at the sound. Another knock. Louder. More insistent.
“Ezra!” Mr. Birmingham’s voice barked from the other side. “Open the door.”
Olivia tensed, her breath catching in her throat. She felt Ezra’s body go rigid against her, the warmth in his eyes immediately hardening into steel.
He slowly disentangled himself from her and climbed out of bed, pulling on a shirt. His expression was grim, unreadable.
“Stay here,” he whispered, his voice firm but gentle.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered fiercely. “I’m with you.”
His eyes softened slightly at her defiance, but he nodded. Taking her hand, he led her toward the door.
When he opened it, Mr. Birmingham stood in the hallway, his face taut with barely concealed rage. And behind him, Victoria. Immaculate in a silken robe, her lips curved in a cold, victorious smile.
“Father,” Ezra greeted coolly, his tone clipped. “It’s early. What’s this about?”
But Mr. Birmingham’s eyes weren’t on his son. They were on Olivia.
“You need to leave,” he spat at her, his voice shaking with fury. “You’ve done enough damage.”
Ezra’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He stepped in front of Olivia, blocking his father’s path.
“You’re out of line.” His voice was deathly calm, but there was a warning in it.
But Mr. Birmingham’s eyes never left Olivia. His face was red with barely restrained fury.
“You think you’ve won?” he sneered. “You think this farce of an engagement means anything?” He let out a harsh laugh. “You’ll be gone by morning, girl. I’ll make sure of it.”
Victoria stepped forward, her smile cool and razor-sharp. She lifted a manila folder in her hand and held it out.
“Your little fiancée,” she purred, her eyes glittering with malicious satisfaction, “has quite a few skeletons in her closet.”
Olivia’s blood ran cold. She stared at the folder as though it might burst into flames. She knew. She knows.
Victoria’s lips curved into a wicked smile. “Shall we show the press, darling?”
For a brief moment, the room stood still.
But then Ezra’s voice cut through the silence. Low. Dangerous.
“Burn it.”
Victoria’s smile faltered slightly, her eyes narrowing.
Ezra’s gaze was ice-cold, his expression deadly. “Whatever’s in there, burn it. You won’t touch her.”
The venom in his voice was unmistakable. His father’s face darkened with fury, but Ezra didn’t flinch. He turned to Olivia, his eyes dark with promise.
“We leave tonight,” he said firmly. His voice was quiet, but filled with unyielding resolve. “No more waiting. No more games.”
And in that moment, she knew. No matter the consequences, no matter the threats, he wasn’t going to let her go.