"I miss you so much," I choked out. "I still wake up expecting to hear your little footsteps running down the hall. I still think I’ll turn around and see your smile."

Tears spilled down my cheeks, dripping onto the ground. "I should have protected you," I whispered. "I should have been there. But I promise, Celeste... I won’t let them get away with this."

I wiped my tears, my voice firm. "I’ll find the truth. No matter what it takes. But for now, I need to leave you for a while. But promise, I'll be back…”

For a long time, I sat there in silence, letting my grief wash over me when my phone rang.

Damian.

I exhaled and answered. "Yeah?"

"You still wanna leave the city?" His voice was steady, no nonsense. He wasn’t asking because he doubted me—he was asking because he was making it happen.

I clenched my jaw. "Yes."

"Good," he said. "I booked another flight. Marco thinks he’s got you cornered, but he’s wrong. This isn’t running. This is you taking your life back."

Damn right.

The airport was alive with noise—announcements echoing, people moving, the hum of conversations blending into one. But I didn’t hear any of it. I walked with my head high, using my real name, my real passport. No more fake IDs, no more disguises. Marco had taken those, thinking he could control me.

Let him think that. Because the truth was, I wasn’t sneaking away like some shameful secret. I was leaving as Olivia Carter—wronged, betrayed, but undefeated.

And just as I settled into my seat, just as the final boarding call rang through the speakers, my phone vibrated. Marco.

I stared at the screen for a second before answering. "What do you want?"

"Where the fuck are you?" His voice was sharp, demanding.

I smirked. "We’re divorced, Marco. Why do you care?"

"Olivia, don’t play games with me."

I chuckled. "Games? That’s rich, coming from you." I leaned back in my seat, crossing my legs. "If you must know, I’m with my man, Damian. Isn’t that nice?"

Silence. Then, a low, dangerous growl. "You think this is funny?"

"I think it’s hilarious," I shot back. "The great Marco DeLuca, losing control. Must be a first for you, huh?"

"Get off that fucking plane."

"Make me."

"Grandfather is awake," he snapped. "He’s asking for you."

I scoffed. "And that’s supposed to make me care?"

"He stood by you," Marco pushed, his voice tight. "You owe him that much."