“For ten years, I believed I was your partner,” she said.
“I thought we were building something together. I thought love meant standing beside someone when things were difficult.”
She paused, her eyes steady on his.
“I didn’t realize I was just… convenient.”
Connor shook his head.
“That’s not true.”
But his voice lacked conviction.
“Then what was I?” she asked.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Looked away.
Because the answer was sitting right there.
In the space between them.
In the memory of everything he had done.
The attorney shifted slightly, clearly uncomfortable.
“This discussion may not be productive,” he said carefully.
But Olivia wasn’t finished.
Not yet.
“You asked me about the will while your father was still alive,” she continued. “Do you remember that?”
Connor’s expression darkened.
“That was—”
“Strategic?” she offered.
“Efficient?”
He didn’t respond.
Olivia nodded slowly.
“I kept telling myself it was stress. That you were overwhelmed. That deep down, you cared.”
Her voice softened slightly.
“But I was wrong.”
The room felt smaller now.
Tighter.
As if the truth itself was taking up space.
“You didn’t lose me when the will was read,” she said.
“You lost me the moment you decided I was no longer useful.”
Connor stepped closer.
For the first time, there was no arrogance.
No performance.
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