Chapter <b>75 </b>


    I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. Not even Ava. I just


    wanted solitude. No familiar faces. No expectations. No


    whispers behind my back.


    I merged onto the freeway, my ylist low in the background.


    For the first time in weeks, the silence felt like mine.


    Little did I know, I had left New York unaware that two cars


    were following me.


    Olivia’s POV


    The sun in Jersey wasn’t as harsh as in New York. Or maybe I


    just liked it better here. The wind carried the scent of tomatoes


    and old soil, and the rocking chair on my grandmother’s porch


    creaked like it belonged to a gentler time.


    But my phone was a portal to hell.


    I stared at it as the screen refreshed–another thread, another


    video, another faceless stranger dissecting my life.


    @citylegalbuzz: “Olivia Whitmore’s rebuttal seems rehearsed.


    Who even talks like that unless they’re hiding something?”


    @sweetvengeance22: “Not defending Chole but… if Olivia was so


    innocent, why does she have hotel surveince to clear her name? Sounds prepared ”


    @truthhuntNY: “Still remember how Ethan broke down


    captured on a video saying he loved his wife. Now it’s all scandal and smoke. Who’s lying?”


    @jadebw: “As awyer, this is textbook gaslighting. Olivia’s video held back way too much. She knows more than she’s


    saying. Why?”


    @hearthawthorne: “Let’s not forget she pped a woman to unconsciousness at an airport. That’s not the behavior of a


    victim.”


    I turned the screen off.


    Then turned it on again.


    Support still came in waves. There were people who remembered the charity g. People who remembered Chole’s pathetic little performance. And those who had caught the inconsistencies in Amelia’s press conference.


    But others… others were far more ruthless.


    I closed my eyes and tossed the phone onto the small metal table beside me. It ttered too loud for the soft air around us.


    The sound of cicadas filled the silence. I leaned back in my yard


    chair, resting my forehead on the back of my wrist. I didn’t


    want to go inside. Not yet. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.


    Then I heard voices upstairs.


    I didn’t mean to listen. The windows were open and the wind


    had carried their words to me.


    “Linda, we’ve talked about this,” Grandma Angelina said sternly.


    “You’re not bringing the Caters into this.””


    My mother’s voice was taut. “She’s not safe anymore, Ma. Look


    at her. She’s barely sleeping. That girl’s husband tried to force


    her into a car like a goddamn prisoner, and the press? The


    Windsors? They’re ripping her apart.”


    “Still not a reason to drag in demons from the past.”


    “She’s already being hunted,” Mom snapped. “If not by ws,


    then by headlines. And this could get a lot worse. Don’t you


    think?”


    A beat of silence. The creak of floorboards.


    “We are here to protect her no matter what,” Grandma said


    bitterly. “And you know that.”


    “And that’s why I’m saying she needs the Cater name now more


    than ever.”


    <b>I </b>stiffened in my seat.


    Cater?


    Grandma’s voice lowered. “You want her to go back there?”


    “She doesn’t need to go back. Just let it be known that she


    belongs to them. Do you know what would happen if the Windsors realized they were ying games with one of theirs?”


    “They’d start a war,” Grandma whispered.


    “Exactly.”


    Another pause. A softer voice now, but I could still hear.


    “She’s my daughter, Ma. You raised her like a Whitmore, I gave


    her my name, but she was born with more than that.”


    “No,” Grandma said firmly. “That’s where this ends. Olivia


    doesn’t know, and we’re not going to put that on her now. She’s


    already fighting battles we can’t win. We’re not giving her new


    ones. We’re not dragging her back to blood and dynasties and all


    that poison!”


    “But-<b>” </b>


    “No,” Grandma repeated. “Don’t bring this up in front of Olivia


    again!”


    I blinked hard, eyes stinging.


    The Cater family?


    Who… who exactly am I?


    Is there more to my identity?


    After a short while, my mother descend the stairs–her red- rimmed eyes surprisingly striking in the midday light.


    Something softened in me. I gestured toward the kitchen. “Hey, Mom. Want to help me make lunch?”


    She paused, then gave a small nod. Grandma Angelina followed,


    eyes shadowed but her posture steady. The tension of the


    upstairs conversation seemed to linger, but something in the air


    had shifted.


    “I’ll cook your favorite,” I said, pulling out the ingredients.


    “Penne arrabbiata.”


    “You never used to like spice,” Mom teased, drying her eyes


    quickly.


    “Past me didn’t know good food,” I winked. I handed her the


    garlic for chopping, Grandma tied an apron around her waist-


    an evocative sh of nostalgia..