Chapter 5

Olivia's POV

Before I could say anything, a shriek from Vivian Hayes rang out behind us.

"Sean! My hand is bleeding! It hurts so much!"

Sean immediately let go of me and hurried back.

"How could you be so careless? Let me see!"

He cradled Vivian's hand, inspecting it closely, his brows knit tightly together.

A smirk pulled at the corner of my lips as I walked out of the restaurant.

A drone show lit up the night sky, dense clusters of light forming a sentence:

[Happy Birthday, Olivia Vance]

This was another part of Sean Foster's birthday celebration plan, visible across half of New York.

My phone buzzed right on cue with a breaking news alert. The headline read:

[Foster Group CEO Sean Foster Buys Out The Lantana for Olivia Vance's Birthday: Tycoon Couple as In Love as Ever.]

The accompanying photo showed him approaching me with the bouquet earlier, capturing an image oozing with devotion.

I swiped the notification away. Right on cue, rain began to fall from the sky.

I ordered an Uber, but the downpour was so heavy that I was soaked through while waiting.

A new message popped up on WeChat from Sean:

[Vivian's hand is bleeding, and I'm taking her to the hospital. Head back on your own first.]

I let out a soft scoff.

I had caught a glimpse of Vivian's cut earlier from a distance.

He really needed to rush her to the hospital—any later, and the scratch might have healed on its own.

Yet I suddenly realized that I no longer loved him.

Seeing how meticulously he fussed over Vivian Hayes, I felt nothing but mockery.

I backed out of the chat and unpinned Sean Foster from the top of my messages.

The car arrived. I slipped into the backseat, shivering violently as my soaked clothes clung to my skin.

Seeing me huddled and trembling, the driver couldn't help speaking up.

"It's pouring like crazy out there. Didn't your family come pick you up? Why are you hailing a ride alone?"

I smiled faintly.

"My family is out of town. I'm all alone in this city."

The driver sighed, gazing up at the drones in the sky.

"Look at that Mr. Foster up there. Nobody spoils his wife like he does. Mrs. Foster must be the happiest woman alive!"

I didn't reply. Looking down, I dialed Audrey Vance's number.

"Audrey, when will the project wrap up? I want to come home early..."

"I'm speeding things up. It'll be done within a week."

"Olivia, you can come home whenever you want. Forget about the project. Our family doesn't need a business deal badly enough to let you suffer."

"Yeah, I know."

Returning to the villa, I took a hot bath until the warmth finally returned to my body.

I crawled into bed and soon drifted off to sleep.

Waking up the next morning, I discovered Sean Foster had returned at some point, asleep beside me.

A new text message sat on my phone, sent by Vivian Hayes.

Vivian had sent me a photo.

In the photo, Sean was staring with heartbreak at the tiny nick on Vivian's fingertip.

[Pitiful loser, who do you think you are? Now that you know Sean only has eyes for me, get lost!]

I didn't reply, simply taking a screenshot and saving it.

Then, I pulled a pair of scissors from the drawer and went to town hacking away at Sean's hair.

Sean stirred, groggily waking up.

"Olivia, what's wrong?"

He opened his eyes, saw the scissors in my hand, and bolted upright.

"What are you doing!"

I waved the scissors.

"You said it yourself last time: if it really makes me feel better, I could cut your hair."

"You!"

Sean's face flushed crimson with rage, but the words choked in his throat.

Since those words had come straight out of his own mouth, he couldn't vent his fury, his face burning red with anger.

Watching him seethe in speechless frustration, I spoke in a slow, deliberate tone.

"I'm only twenty-six. Still young, and I don't know any better. You wouldn't be petty with me, would you?"

"If you're not satisfied, we can get a divorce."

"Olivia!"

Sean cut me off in a heavy voice, his brows locked in a deep frown.

"Stop throwing the word 'divorce' around!"

"Then put up with my temper."

Sean was silenced, trapped with his anger unable to erupt or subside.

He glared at me for a long time before snatching up his phone and angrily dialing Julian Ward.

"Get a wig and bring it over right now."

On the other end, Julian asked in confusion, "Mr. Foster, who is it for?"

Sean stayed silent for several long moments before squeezing out a single word through gritted teeth.

"Me."

Then he promptly hung up.

The following day was the weekend. As was custom, we were to return to the Foster mansion to have a meal with Eleanor Hall.

Foster Group was originally the Hall family's enterprise.

In her youth, Eleanor Hall had taken Henry Foster, a man of humble background, as her husband, even installing him in the chairman's seat while she stepped back to care for the home and raise their child.

Later, Henry Foster had an affair, and Eleanor divorced him without hesitation.

Not only was Henry Foster forced to forfeit all assets, but he was also ousted from Foster Group, allowing Eleanor Hall to retake the helm.

After the divorce, Henry Foster sank into oblivion and disappeared without a trace.

When the Vance and Foster families formed their marriage alliance years ago, it was Eleanor Hall who had taken a liking to me first and initiated the matchmaking.

After the marriage, she treated me like her own daughter.

So even if I were to divorce Sean, I would never burn bridges with Eleanor Hall.

The two of us arrived at the mansion on schedule.

The dining table was laden with all of my favorite dishes.

Eleanor Hall kept beaming as she continuously dished food onto my plate.

Sean Foster was as attentive as usual, handing me napkins and pouring milk.

I responded with gentle smiles.

Both of us acted before Eleanor Hall as if nothing had happened.

I speared a piece of roast chicken garnished with cilantro and put it in my mouth.

Sean casually asked, "Don't you dislike cilantro?"

The one who didn't eat cilantro wasn't me—it was Vivian Hayes.

"You remembered wrong. I love cilantro."

Sean froze. Realizing his blunder a moment later, his expression turned stiff and awkward.

Before he could gather his thoughts, Eleanor Hall slammed her hand onto the table.

"Enough!"

She snatched the milk away from in front of me and glared furiously at her son.

"Don't you know Olivia is lactose intolerant? If your head isn't clear, get outside and clear it before you come back in!"

Sean frowned, caught at a loss for words, and remained silent.

Just as I was about to speak, a sudden wave of nausea surged up.

Covering my mouth, I dashed into the bathroom.