bChapter /bb180 /b

OLIVIA’S POV

We both stood up from the chair, ra following behind us.

As I stepped out of the ne, New York air hit me in the face—and even that air made me want to puke.

It smelled like gasoline, noise, and bad memories. I closed my eyes for a moment, steadying my breath. Thest time I inhaled this air, I wasn’t the person I am now. That Olivia was broken, betrayed, and afraid. This one? She was armored in elegance, power, and the lessons pain had btaught /bher.

I had already hired security who were standing outside the jet waiting for me–tall men in tailored ck suits and dark sunsses, earpieces tucked into their cors. Three ck SUVS idled behind them, their engines humming lowi. /iThere was no way I was going to stay in this country without protection. Not after what happened here.

Damien stepped ahead, his hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the surroundings like a child seeing Times Square for the first time.

“So this is New York,” he said, awe and amusement in his voice.

“Yeah. Wee to New York, USA,” I replied, voice dry.

Without wasting any more time, we entered the car and drove out of the airport.

By the time we arrived at the hotel I had booked, my nerves had slightly calmed. It was one of the most luxurious in the cityb, /btucked away from the noise but still central enough to overlook the skyline. ra had already sent ahead our room requests, so the check–in was seamless.

Our suite was expansive, with floor–to–ceiling windows and a view of the Hudson River. The silence inside was a contrast to the city’s chaos outside. I dropped my bag on the nearest couch and kicked off my heels.

“I’ll have lunch brought up from the kitchen,” ra said, tapping quickly on her tablet. “You’ll want to eat before the meeting prep.”

I nodded, barely acknowledging her as I wandered to the window. This city hadn’t changed–still fastb, /bstill ruthless–but I had. Now, I was no longer running from the ghosts. I was walking back into their territory with my chin high.

Lunch arrived momentster–simple but elegant. Grilled chicken over wild rice with a ss of freshly squeezed juice. I took a few bites, just enough to keep my body functioning. As usual, my appetite faded faster than I wanted it to.

“ra,” I said, dabbing my lips with a napkin, “prepare the bidding funds. I want the transaction team ready tonight. The auction starts early tomorrow,

and I don’t want any mistakes.”

“Already on it,” she said with a nod, typing as she walked out of the room.

Damien sat by the window, flipping through a local magazine with a faint air of boredom. Thete afternoon sun filtered in through the hotel room casting golden reflections across the polished floor.

“So,” he said, ncing up at me with a boyish smile, “now that we’re here, how about a tour?”

I raised a brow. “A tour?”

“Yeah. I mean–it’s my first time in New York. Might as well see what the hype’s about.”

bI /bcrossed my arms. “You do remember we’re here for business, right? The auction? Meetingsb?/bb” /b

“I know,” he said, still grinning. “But even CEOS need to breathe. You might even enjoy yourself.”

I hesitated. The idea of blending into the chaos of the city, of loosening the tight grip I kept on myself, felt foreign. Dangerous, even. But something bin /bbhis /bexpression–so rxed, so free–cracked through the wall I’d carefully rebuilt since returning.

I sighed. “Fine. Just a short one.”

Before we left, ra handed me my sunsses and a hoodie, wordlessly reminding me that even a ‘short tour‘ could bturn /binto a media frenzy biif /i/bI wasn careful. I tucked my hair under the hood, slipping on the ssesb, /bDamien, on the other hand, lookedpletely at ease in ba /bfitted bnavy /bbcoat/b, his scari tossed over one shoulder like he belonged on the cover of a winter issue of GQ.

Two ck SUVS rolled out of the hotel driveway momentster. Ours took the lead, with security following closely behind. Their presence was bsubtle /bbbut /bunmistakable, earpieces glinting beneath wool caps.

Our first stop was Central Park.

“Let’s walk,” Damien said before the driver could ask. He was already out of the car and rounding it to open my door before I could protest. I sighed and stepped out.

Even though the wind carried a slight chill, the park was alive with its usual vibrancy. Joggers moved along winding trails, children squealed withughter near the ygrounds, and couples strolled hand in hand. It felt like another world–ione /iuntouched by the sharp edges of boardrooms band /bbillion–dor deals.

We walked slowly, our footsteps quiet on the gravel paths. ra trailed behind, fingers flying over her phone. The security team gave us distance bbut /bnever disappeared from my peripheral vision. Despite the hoodie and sunsses, a few people nced our way–some with curiosity, bothers /bwith ba /bvague sense of recognition. But no one approached.

For once, I didn’t feel like Olivia ke, the calcted and feared chairwoman of ke Enterprises. I was just… another woman in the park.

Damien bought roasted nuts from a vendor and handed me a warm paper cone, the scent nostalgic.

“They’re better when you don’t think about what’s in themb,/bb” /bhe joked.

Iughed softly. “Isn’t that true of most street food?”

We continued past the carousel and into a small arcade section set up near the park’s edge. To my surprise, Damien pulled me toward one of the shooting games.

“Come on,” he grinned. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I rolled my eyes but humored him. A few minutes and two back–to–back winster, he was staring at me in mock disbelief.

“I didn’t know you had aim like that,” he said, clutching a small plush bear I’d handed him.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I replied, smirking.

Afterward, we wandered down Fifth Avenue. The chaos of city life enveloped usb, /bbut Damien moved through it with ease, making casualments about fashion disys, mimicking runway poses to make meugh. I tried not to–but failed.

We paused at ba /bcorner where a street artist was painting a skyline in bold, messy strokes.

“It’s abstract,” Damien whispered, nudging me. “Like my ability to understand art.”

I chuckled again, and it hit me–I hadn’tughed like this in a long time. Not since before… everything.

Eventually, we ended up downtownb, /bstanding beneath the glow of a neon–lit food truck. I ordered a hot dogb–/bthe kind I hadn’t tasted in over bsix /bbyears/bb. /b

Damien went for the tacos.

“You know,” he said, taking a bite and wiping a dab of sauce off his chin, “for a billionaire, you eat street food like ba /bbpro/bb./bb” /b

bI /bstared down at my half–eaten hot dog, the taste oddlyforting. “I used to be just ba /bbgirl /bin Brooklyn once,” I said quietly. b“/bbBefore /bbthe /bbpower/bb. /bbBefore /bCharlie. Before everything.”

He looked at me–really looked at me–and his usual yful demeanor softened. “I like this version of you.”

14:44 bMon/b,bu /b

bI /bnced baway/bb, /bfeeling warmth stir in my chest, unexpected and unwee.

bFor /bba /bmoment, I wasn’t Olivia ke, the ruthless strategist. I wasn’t the woman feared across conference tables or whispered babout /bin bhigh /bbcircles/b. I was

justb… /bba /bwoman walking beside a man who didn’t seem to want anything from her except herughter.

bBut /bthat illusion couldn’tst.

“Alright,” I said, brushing my hands together and standing. “Let’s head back. Big day itomorrow/i.”

bAD /b