Chapter Four: The Decision

Olivia sat behind the wheel of her 1968 Stingray Corvette, fingers drumming restlessly against the leather. The car was black just like her clothes, her boots, her eyeliner. Like every accessory she owned.

She had poured years into this car, tinkering with it since college, learning every inch of its engine, every subtle growl of its exhaust. It was the one thing she had built and controlled entirely on her own, a machine fine-tuned to her hands, her rhythm. It was another quiet rebellion. A silent fuck you to the world, to expectations, to the polished, well-mannered woman her parents had tried to mold her into.

It was always like this, every choice, every sharp edge of her identity, a carefully curated act of defiance. The car. The clothes. The smirk she wore like armor.

But tonight, none of it made her feel in control.

She was still in the parking lot, still trying to figure out what she should do, the hotel keycard a lead weight in her pocket. She didn’t want to give him the pleasure, didn’t want to bend, but if she didn’t show up he would destroy her.

Olivia let out a long, slow breath, gripping the wheel tighter. She had always played the game on her own terms. Always found a way to get what she wanted, to maneuver, to win. But this? This wasn’t a game she could win. No matter what she did, she lost.

“Fuck,” she cursed again banging her head against the steering wheel. “Fuck,” she repeated like it was a mantra, like it would solve anything.

She had two choices.

One, she came clean to Marissa, tell her everything about her and Samantha, about what they’d done and how long it had gone on. And then watch her life implode on her.

Or two, She went to Daniel. To The Astoria. To his fucking penthouse hotel room and let him—

She squeezed her eyes shut, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. It was disgusting. Unthinkable. The idea made her skin crawl, made her feel trapped in her own body.

She could still hear his voice in her head, smooth and unshaken, the cold certainty in the way he had said it.

Olivia hated all of that, the way she felt, the way he’d spoken, and worst of all that she understood Daniel. That if their roles were reversed, if it had been Marissa in someone else’s bed, she might have wanted to destroy the world in return.

There was a third option. She could just… leave. Peel out of the parking lot, tires screaming against the pavement, disappear into the night like a ghost. Drive until she hit the coast, until the lights of the city blurred into nothing, until she was somewhere far enough that Daniel Reyes and his fucking ultimatum didn’t exist.

But she wouldn’t.

Because Olivia Langley did not run.

So, she made a choice. And god help her, she hoped it was the right one.

———

The Astoria was one of those old hotels in New York. the kind that had history soaked into its walls, that had seen decades of wealth, power, and quiet scandals unfold behind its heavy doors. It wasn’t flashy like the newer high-rises, not **** to prove itself with glass and chrome.

No, The Astoria didn’t need to beg for attention. It already had it.

It was elegance without excess. Ornate chandeliers hanging from vaulted ceilings, marble floors polished to perfection, bellhops dressed in crisp uniforms that hadn’t changed in fifty years. The kind of place where old money still booked the penthouse suites, where politicians conducted deals over whiskey, where mistresses had always been smuggled in through side entrances.

The kind of place women from her background were expected to frequent, where they sipped champagne and smiled politely at men they secretly despised. But not the kind of place she enjoyed.

Olivia had spent too long suffocating in rooms like this. Draped in expensive dresses, wearing her family’s wealth like a noose, nodding along to conversations she couldn’t care less about.

She didn’t belong here. Not in her leather jacket, scuffed boots, and piercings. She didn’t belong here even as she handed the keys of her prized possession to the valet. She didn’t belong here even as she strode in through the lobby and walked chin high as if she owned this place.

She passed right through the front lobby and to the elevator. She felt the weight of the keycard, the number burned into her mind already, room 1746, a number that would be burned into her mind now for eternity.

She stepped into the elevator, pressing the button with a steady hand that didn’t match the storm inside her. The doors slid shut, and the ascent began. Then, it hit her.

Maybe it was the way the elevator moved beneath her feet, or maybe it was just her own head spinning, but for a moment, it felt like the ground wasn’t solid. She was really doing this.

Going to Daniel’s hotel room. Walking into this trap with her eyes wide open. Choosing to—

No.

This wasn’t a decision. It was **** wrapped in a velvet threat. A game where the only rule was that Daniel won.

She tried to imagine it as the elevator made its way to the seventeenth floor, tried to imagine him. His hands, his mouth, the way he might touch her. Maybe to try to make this easier on herself. But every time she did, she just felt repulsed.

Olivia Langley was many things—reckless, arrogant, sometimes cruel—but uncertain of her own desires was not one of them.

She had spent years learning the curves of a woman’s body, the soft, electric thrill of lips meeting, of hands gripping, of whispered need against silk sheets. She knew exactly what made her ache, what set fire beneath her skin.

She had to keep telling herself that she was doing this to save herself, for Marissa, to spare her the knowledge.

Deep down she knew that was a lie, she was saving herself.