Chapter 2 — Cracks Behind Closed Doors
Olivia
The cavernous halls of the Hudson Estate were eerily quiet after the gala, the muffled hum of the remaining guests fading into the distance as Olivia ascended the grand staircase. Her emerald gown brushed softly against the cold marble steps, the faint swish of fabric an understated echo in the stillness. She clutched the silver locket at her chest, her thumb tracing the familiar floral engravings. It was her tether, a reminder of the self she was fighting to keep alive amidst the relentless suffocation of the Hudson world.
She paused at the double doors to her and Ryan’s private quarters, her hand hovering just above the polished brass handle. The intricate carvings on the wood gleamed under the chandelier’s soft light, a flawless facade much like the life she inhabited. Beyond the doors, she could feel the tension waiting for her, heavy and palpable. Drawing in a deliberate breath, she braced herself and pushed them open.
Inside, Ryan stood silhouetted against the floor-to-ceiling windows, his tall frame outlined by the silvery glow of the winter moon. His hands were buried in the pockets of his tailored trousers, his posture rigid, his squared shoulders unyielding. The air was taut, laden with the weight of words left unsaid and expectations unmet. Olivia stepped inside, her heels clicking softly on the floor as the door clicked shut behind her.
“Ryan,” she began, her voice calm but edged with weariness. “You left the gala early.”
He turned slowly, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers. Even in the dim light, they burned with cold accusation. “And you stayed longer than necessary,” he replied, his tone clipped and sharp. “With Pete, no less. Do you have any idea how that looked?”
Her fingers instinctively tightened around the locket, seeking solace in its cool surface. “I stayed because Evelyn asked me to,” she said evenly, her voice measured. “I spoke with the Andersons, did exactly what she expected. Pete was hardly my choice. He’s a distraction, nothing more.”
“A distraction?” Ryan let out a hollow laugh, the sound devoid of warmth. “He’s been circling you like a vulture for months. Don’t tell me you’re naïve enough not to see that.”
Olivia’s lips pressed into a thin line. Frustration simmered beneath her calm exterior, threatening to boil over. “And this is what bothers you?” she asked, her voice hardening. “Not Evelyn’s demands, not the way she uses me to secure her plans, but Pete? This isn’t about him, Ryan. It’s about you. About your desperate need to control every piece of this carefully constructed charade. You’re afraid I embarrassed you, aren’t you? That I stepped outside the lines Evelyn has drawn for me.”
His jaw tightened, and he glanced away, his posture stiffening further. The crack in his composure was fleeting but telling. “This is about the family’s reputation,” he said, his voice a forced calm that barely concealed his frustration. “Something you clearly don’t care enough about.”
“The family’s reputation,” she repeated softly, a bitter edge creeping into her tone. “You mean Evelyn’s reputation. That’s what you’re really afraid of, isn’t it? That her wrath will fall on you for every word I say and every step I take that doesn’t fit her perfect vision.”
Ryan’s silence spoke volumes. His fingers curled into fists, then relaxed, the only sign of the internal struggle he refused to voice. When he finally spoke, his words were low and deliberate. “You knew what this life would demand of you when you married me. You agreed to this.”
A bitter laugh escaped Olivia, sharp and unrestrained. “Agreed?” she repeated, stepping forward, her hazel eyes flashing with a fire she no longer cared to contain. “I don’t recall agreeing to become a pawn in your mother’s games. I don’t recall agreeing to fade into the background of this house, to be a trophy on display but never truly seen. Did I agree to be invisible, Ryan? Did I agree to be nothing more than a shadow of who I was?”
“You’ve benefited from this life just as much as I have,” he said coldly, his voice rising. “Don’t act like you’re a victim. You wanted security. You wanted stability. And you got it.”
“Security?” she shot back, her voice cracking under the weight of her anger and despair. “You call this security? Being paraded around for appearances, living under the watchful eye of a woman who sees me as an obstacle? Being married to someone who doesn’t even see me, much less care about me? If this is your idea of stability, Ryan, I want no part of it.”
Something flickered in his expression—a glimpse of pain, quickly buried beneath layers of practiced detachment. “I’ve given you everything,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “What more do you want from me?”
“I want freedom,” Olivia said, her voice steady, resolute. “I want to breathe without worrying about every step I take. I want to feel like more than a title, more than an accessory to your life. I want to matter, Ryan. I want to matter to myself.”
His gaze faltered, dropping to the floor as his hands tightened into fists at his sides. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost to himself. “You don’t understand the pressure I’m under.”
“I understand it perfectly,” she replied, her tone softer but no less firm. “Because it’s the same pressure Evelyn has placed on me since the day I walked into this house. But unlike you, I refuse to let it define me.”
The silence that followed was deafening, the distance between them vast and unbridgeable. Olivia’s chest rose and fell with the force of her emotions, her heart pounding as she searched his face for any sign of the man she had once hoped he could be. But when he finally broke the silence, his voice was distant, final.
“Goodnight, Olivia.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. A sharp ache burned in her chest, but she swallowed it down, lifting her chin. Without another glance, she turned and walked to the door, her steps deliberate, her shoulders straight. She wouldn’t let him see the tears threatening to spill. Not tonight.
The cold sterility of the hallway greeted her, the endless corridors stretching before her like a labyrinth. Her feet moved on their own, carrying her through the estate’s oppressive grandeur. She didn’t stop until she found herself at the greenhouse doors, her grip tightening around the small brass key she had pocketed months ago.
She stared at the key for a long moment, her fingers trembling. It wasn’t just a tool—it was a choice, a small act of defiance she hadn’t allowed herself to recognize until now. With a deep breath, she slid the key into the lock and turned it. The soft click of the mechanism sounded louder than it should have in the stillness.
The greenhouse welcomed her with the scent of damp earth and greenery, its air alive and untamed. Moonlight filtered through the glass walls, casting dappled patterns on the stone floor. Here, surrounded by wild, unchecked growth, the weight of the evening began to lift. Olivia stepped inside, letting the door close softly behind her.
She wandered deeper into the space, her fingers trailing over the leaves of a fern. The cool, dewy texture grounded her, soothing the raw edges of her emotions. In the heart of the greenhouse, she found a bench overgrown with ivy and sat down, her locket warm in her palm. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and allowed herself to breathe.
Her hand brushed against a small pot beside her, and she noticed a single bloom—a pale, delicate flower pushing through the tangle of overgrowth. It was imperfect, struggling, but alive despite everything working against it. Olivia reached out, her fingers lightly brushing its petals. A faint smile tugged at her lips.
For the first time in years, she felt a glimmer of hope, fragile but undeniable. The cracks were forming, and someday soon, she would break free.
