Chapter 3

When I walked through the front door, the entryway light was on, but the air hit me thick and sharp with the smell of liquor.

The living room was a wreck when I walked in. Olivia was struggling to prop up a blackout-drunk Jonathan and trying to wrestle him onto the couch.

His full weight sagged against her, and he mumbled something I couldn't make out.

The moment she saw me, Olivia didn't pull back. She pressed herself even tighter against him.

She tilted her chin up, her voice dripping with open challenge.

She smirked and drawled, "Well, well. Look who finally decided to show up. If it isn't Mrs. Sterling herself.

"Rolling in this late? Guess you never really cared about Jonathan after all. But the two of you are divorced, and this isn't your house anymore. So kindly show yourself out."

She laid heavy emphasis on "Mrs. Sterling," and her eyes raked over me with pure contempt.

She clicked her tongue and added, "Tsk. Age really does change a woman. Can't even take care of her own husband."

Jonathan lifted his head and squinted at me through the haze.

Then he waved Olivia off, and a flicker of irritated defensiveness crept into his voice. He muttered, "Olivia, knock it off."

The words came out flat and toothless, more like a reflex than any real scolding.

Olivia puffed her lips into a pout and shoved at his chest, her voice cracking into a whine.

She wailed, "You're yelling at me! Jonathan, you're yelling at me over this washed-up hag! I don't care. Make her leave. I can't stand the sight of her!"

Jonathan swayed from the shove and turned his bleary eyes on me.

His face was a wreck of exhaustion and impatience, and he looked like a man desperate to wash his hands of the whole mess.

He flapped a hand in my direction and slurred, "Evelyn, go pack your things."

He hiccupped and nearly collapsed onto Olivia. Then he mumbled an afterthought, "Once you're done, head out. Stay at a hotel tonight."

Olivia shot me a smug glance and preened like a peacock in full display. She melted against Jonathan and cooed, "Now that's more like it."

Jonathan laughed drunkenly and cinched his arm tight around her waist. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and nuzzled against her skin. His breath rolled out hot and thick with liquor, and he murmured, "Baby, happy now?"

His hands wandered freely across her back, and his voice came out syrupy as he pressed on.

He asked, "So when are you gonna make me happy? Hm? I divorced my wife for you. Least you can do is show a little gratitude."

As he spoke, he leaned in to kiss her neck, his hands roaming greedily over her back.

Olivia pouted and jabbed a finger into Jonathan's chest, her voice sliding into a syrupy whine.

She complained, "You've got some nerve. A minute ago you were defending her and snapping at me, and now you think you can ask me for something?"

She turned her body away and put on a show of being upset, but she tracked his reaction from the corner of her eye.

Jonathan broke into a quick, placating smile, and his hands wandered restlessly along the inside of her thigh.

He coaxed, "Come on, baby, I wasn't defending her. I just didn't want you working yourself up over nothing. How could she ever compare to you? You're young and gorgeous, and she's a cold, lifeless piece of wood. She dried up years ago."

Under the weight of his sweet talk and roaming hands, Olivia's anger melted into delight, and she broke into a string of giggles.

Jonathan and Olivia tangled together on the couch, and her body pressed flush against his.

Jonathan's breathing grew heavy and ragged.

He leaned close to her ear, his voice thick with whiskey and unchecked hunger. He murmured, "Baby, forget about her. She signed the divorce papers. She's nothing to me now."

His hand slipped beneath the neckline of her blouse, and every word carried a clear invitation. He whispered, "Stay tonight. Give yourself to me. Just the two of us. Let me make this up to you. What do you say?"

Olivia gave his chest a playful thump, and her voice came out soft and coaxing. She pouted, "You're terrible. Is that all you ever think about? I'm not even ready yet."

Her words refused him, but her body betrayed every syllable. She melted into Jonathan like she'd lost every bone in her frame, and she lifted her red lips to meet his.

Jonathan let out a smug, low laugh and kissed her hungrily, unable to wait a second longer.

They tangled even tighter on the couch, and the sounds between them were obscene enough to make anyone blush.

I picked up my luggage and walked past them with a blank face, heading straight for the front door.

Behind me, Olivia's voice floated over, sugary and sharp with deliberate triumph. She said, "Jonathan, you're taking her to file those divorce papers first thing tomorrow. No dragging your feet."

Jonathan was pressed down on top of her, his breathing ragged and his hands never stopping for a second. He mumbled without even thinking, "Yeah. Tomorrow. Whatever you want, baby."

Getting the answer she wanted only made Olivia smugger.

She turned her head, looked at me over Jonathan's shoulder, and shot me the smile of a woman who had already won.

Then she purred in that sickly-sweet voice of hers, "So tell me, honey. Who do you like more? Me or her?"

Her fingers wandered over Jonathan's body, restless and teasing, and she asked, "Who do you actually wanna be with?"

Jonathan had lost every last ounce of reason by then. He yanked at her collar and slurred, "You, obviously. Always you."

Olivia wasn't done. Her fingertip drew slow circles on his chest, and she whispered, "Spell it out for me, baby. Who makes you happier? Me or her?"

Jonathan's hand had already slid up under her skirt, and he groaned, "You do, you little minx."