His Billions Can't Buy Her Forgiveness Now

Olivia POV His grip was unyielding, bands of iron against my skin. My brain stuttered to a halt. The physical sensation of him—the heat of his chest, the overwhelming strength of his arms—warred with the reality of who he was. "Marcus, stop," I said, my voice trembling. He buried his face in the crook of my neck. His breath was hot, scorching my skin and reeking of whiskey. He wasn't just tired; he was obliterated. "You smell so good," he mumbled. "Better than her." *Her.* He kissed the sensitive spot under my ear. My body stiffened, rejecting him on a cellular level. This wasn't affection. This was consumption. "Izzy," he whispered against my skin. "I love you, Izzy." The name was a knife twisting in my gut. He wasn't holding me. He was holding a projection. He was holding the idea of a woman, and he didn't even know which one it was. "I am not Izzy!" I screamed, shoving hard against his chest. He didn't hear me. Or he didn't care. He swept me up into his arms, his movements clumsy but forceful. "Let's go upstairs," he slurred. "To the suite." He carried me out of my apartment. I kicked. I scratched at his shoulders. But he was six-foot-two and fueled by adrenaline and alcohol. He carried me into the elevator like I was nothing more than a rag doll. He took me to the penthouse. *His* penthouse. The one he shared with her. He kicked the door open and stumbled into the bedroom. He dropped me onto the bed—the bed they shared. I scrambled backward, hitting the headboard with a dull thud. "Marcus, look at me!" I yelled. "It's Olivia!" He blinked. For a second, the fog in his eyes seemed to lift. He looked at me, *really* looked at me, and confusion clouded his face. "Olivia?" he whispered. Then his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the bed beside me, passing out cold. I sat there, shaking. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would explode against my ribs. I was trapped. If I left now, the doorman would see me. If I stayed... Exhaustion, heavy and black, pulled me down. I curled into a ball on the furthest edge of the bed, as far away from him as I could get without falling off. I cried silently until my eyes burned dry. Eventually, the adrenaline crashed, and darkness took me. Sunlight streaming through the curtains and the sound of a door slamming woke me. "What the hell is going on here?" I shot up. Izzy was standing in the doorway. She was wearing tennis whites, a racket in her hand. Her face was twisted in ugly, naked rage. "I..." I started, my voice raspy from sleep. "You slut!" she screeched. "I knew it! I knew you were trying to claw your way back in!" Marcus groaned and stirred beside me. "Izzy? Keep it down." "Keep it down?" She threw the racket. It hit the wall with a deafening crack. "You have your ex-mistress in our bed!" "I'm not his mistress," I said, sliding off the bed, my legs wobbling beneath me. "He brought me here. He was drunk. He called me by your name." "Liar!" Izzy marched over and got in my face. "You are obsessed with him. You're pathetic. You're trying to ruin my wedding because you can't stand that he chose me." "He didn't choose you," I said quietly, finding my voice. "He chose your father's bank account." Izzy’s hand flew up. She didn't hit me. She stopped herself, a cruel smile spreading across her face. "Get out," she hissed. "Get out before I call security and have you dragged out like the trash you are. You will never be part of this world, Olivia. You are nothing." I grabbed my shoes. I didn't look at Marcus. He was sitting up now, holding his head, looking between us with bleary, useless eyes. He didn't defend me. I ran. I ran out of the penthouse, down the hall, to the elevator. The doors opened in the lobby. I practically collided with my father. David Hayes caught me by the shoulders. "Olivia? What happened? You look like..." He saw my disheveled hair. The terror in my eyes. "Did he hurt you?" David’s voice was low, dangerous. Before I could answer, Izzy came storming out of the second elevator behind me. "She tried to seduce him, David!" she shouted, playing the victim for the lobby to see. "I caught her in our bed!" My father looked at Izzy, then at me. He saw the truth in my shattered expression. "Is that true?" he asked me. "No," I whispered. "He thought I was her. He doesn't even know who I am anymore." I sank to the floor. The marble was cold against my legs. "I want to go," I sobbed into my hands. "I just want to go." My father wrapped his arms around me. "We're going. Now."