bChapter 183 /b

OLIVIA’S POV

Charlie was now grinning from ear to ear, clearly proud of his little stunt. “Are you mad at me, Mommy?” he asked with a hint of worry in his eyes, his voice still soft and cautious.

I shook my good.”

head slowly, offering him a warm smile to show that I wasn’t upset. “No, baby. You just scared me, that’s all. But I’m not mad. You got me

His eyes lit up with delight, and he sat up straighter in bed. “I promise I’ll get you even better next year,” he said with a cheeky grin, puffing his little chest like he had just pulled off the greatest mission of the year.

Iughed, a genuineugh this time. “We’ll see about that, prankster. You better be ready for some serious payback.”

He giggled, then leaned forward and blew me a kiss through the screen. I reached out dramatically and caught it, holding it to my cheek. “Mmmwahl Got it,” I teased.

“Okay! I’ll go eat now,” he said excitedly, still clearly th

his sessful prank. Rosa stepped back into view, gently taking the tablet from him.

“Thank you, Rosa,” I said, my voice full of warmth. “And good job helping him… even though you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Rosaughed softly. “I’m sorry, ma’am. He just really wanted to surprise you, and it was all in good fun.”

“I know. You two really teamed up on me,” I said, shaking my head in amusement. “Take care of him–and make sure he actually goes to school today.”

“Yes ma’am. He’ll be out the door in no time,” she assured me before ending the call.

As the screen went ck, I finally let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I turned to ra, who had been standing patiently nearby. “Well,” I said, cing my phone gently on the table, “looks like we don’t need to head back to Mexico after all.”

She gave a small chuckle, clearly relieved too. “I’ll tell the pilot to stand downb./b”

“Thank you,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “I swear, that little boy is going bto /bgive me gray hair before I even turn thirty–five.”

ra smiled knowingly. “He just missed you, that’s all. And wanted to make

you

smile.”

“Yeah, well, mission aplished,” I said, walking toward the dresser and picking up the ss of orange juice hadn’t touched earlier. I took a long sip, letting the coolness settle the nerves that had red up just moments ago.

With Charlie okay–and honestly, happier than ever–I could finally shift my focus back to the reason I came to New York. That auction. The one thing that brought me back to this city after five long years.

“Ma’am,” ra said again, interrupting my thoughts. “They’re here.”

I blinked. “Who?”

“The designers–and the dresses. From Armani.”

“Oh.” I nced at the clock. Right on time. “Perfect. Bring them up. And have my designers join us too. I want everything here. We don’t have time to wasteb./bb” /b

ra gave me a small nod and turned to leave, but I stopped her with onest instruction.

b“/bOh–and tell the hotel manager to have this bed changed,” I added, ncing back with a frown at the lumpy mattress that had btortured /bbmy /bbback /ball night. “If he wants me to stay here any longer, he’d better rece that sorry excuse for a bed before I get back from the auction.”

ra stifled ba /b/divugh but nodded again, then walked out quickly to get everything in motion.

b1/2 /b

12:54 Sat, 12 JOE ? G

Left alone, I looked around the room. My suitcase was half–open with dresses spilling out, my essories Box was still on the chairb, /band my shone ? my beautiful shoes were scattered across the floor like I had just run a marathon in heels. With a soft groan, I bent down and began folding van af dia items property.

It was a big day. I needed to show up looking like the powerhouse I was. There would be press at the auction,petitors, billionaires, collectors–arid worst of all, Adrian Westwood’s loyal dogs. If I walked in anything less than wless, it would be seen as a sign of weakness.

After a few minutes, I heard a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” I replied, adjusting my posture

The door opened slowly, and what followed took my breath away. Arge iron hanger rolled in, gliding silently across the marble floor like it was on a runway of its own. Draped over it wereyers of stunning designer dresses, each one encased in a clear stic bag but still managing to shine like stars behind ss. The sparkle and shimmer were so intense, I briefly wondered if some of them were encrusted with diamonds.

I had seen a lot of designer pieces over thest five years—being Olivia ke came with its fashion privileges but this was something else entirely. This wasn’t just wealth on disy; this was art, stitched with precision and meant tomand every room it entered.

I sat back in my chair and crossed my legs, my eyes locked on the collection like a queen evaluating treasuresid before her. I wasn’t just admiring dresses–I was choosing armor. Today was no ordinary day, and the outfit I would wear needed to make a statement that resonated through every corner of the auction hall

ra followed the rolling hanger inside, along with two other familiar faces–my personal stylists, Antonia and L. I only called them for the biggest asions, the type that determined headlines and shifted public perception. This event, this auction, it wasn’t just about a car. It was about who Clivia ke had be, and what she was about to take back.

They had arrived earlier this morning, taking amercial flight straight from Mexico the moment ra informed them of the assignment. That was part of our agreement. When I called, they dropped everything and came. No questions asked.

“Mrs. ke, it’s so good to see you again,i” /iAntonia said warmly, a soft smile lighting up her professional expression. “You look more beautiful each time we see you.”

“Thank you,” I replied with a gracious nod. “But we’re not here forpliments today.”

They chuckled softly, knowing exactly what I meant.

“This isn’t like the red carpet gs or corporate fundraisers I usually attend,” I continued, rising to my feet and slowly pacing toward the hanger. “This one’s different. This event carries weight–memories, pain, and power.”

The room quieted. Even ra stood a little straighter.

“I’m going there tomorrow not just as a billionaire bidding on a rare Rolls–Royce,” I said, my fingers brushing one of the stic–covered gowns. “I’m going as the woman who left this city in pieces and came back as a storm. I need to make a statement–financially, of course, which I’ll handle. But the rest? The visual impact? That’s on you.”

I turned to them with sharp but confident eyes. “I want an outfit that doesn’t whisper influence–it screams it, I want something that silences the room when I walk in. Something that says: Olivia ke is not just back… she’s untouchable.”

Antor

d for mor