Filed to story: Watch Me Win Alpha (Olivia & Ethan)
@jadebylaw: “As a lawyer, this is textbook gaslighting. Olivia’s video held back way too much. She knows more than she’s saying. Why?”
@hearthawthorne: “Let’s not forget she slapped a woman to unconsciousness at an airport. That’s not the behavior of a victim.”
I turned the screen off.
Then turned it on again.
Support still came in waves. There were people who remembered the charity gala. People who remembered Chole’s pathetic little performance. And those who had caught the inconsistencies in Amelia’s press conference.
But others… others were far more ruthless.
I closed my eyes and tossed the phone onto the small metal table beside me. It clattered too loud for the soft air around us.
The sound of cicadas filled the silence. I leaned back in my yard chair, resting my forehead on the back of my wrist. I didn’t want to go inside. Not yet. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
Then I heard voices upstairs.
I didn’t mean to listen. The windows were open and the wind had carried their words to me.
“Linda, we’ve talked about this,” Grandma Angelina said sternly.
“You’re not bringing the Caters into this.””
My mother’s voice was taut. “She’s not safe anymore, Ma. Look at her. She’s barely sleeping. That girl’s husband tried to force her into a car like a goddamn prisoner, and the press? The
Windsors? They’re ripping her apart.”
“Still not a reason to drag in demons from the past.”
“She’s already being hunted,” Mom snapped. “If not by claws, then by headlines. And this could get a lot worse. Don’t you think?”
A beat of silence. The creak of floorboards.
“We are here to protect her no matter what,” Grandma said bitterly. “And you know that.”
“And that’s why I’m saying she needs the Cater name now more than ever.”
I stiffened in my seat.
Cater?
Grandma’s voice lowered. “You want her to go back there?”
“She doesn’t need to go back. Just let it be known that she belongs to them. Do you know what would happen if the Windsors realized they were playing games with one of theirs?”
“They’d start a war,” Grandma whispered.
“Exactly.”
Another pause. A softer voice now, but I could still hear.
“She’s my daughter, Ma. You raised her like a Whitmore, I gave her my name, but she was born with more than that.”
“No,” Grandma said firmly. “That’s where this ends. Olivia doesn’t know, and we’re not going to put that on her now. She’s already fighting battles we can’t win. We’re not giving her new ones. We’re not dragging her back to blood and dynasties and all that poison!”
“But-“
“No,” Grandma repeated. “Don’t bring this up in front of Olivia again!”
I blinked hard, eyes stinging.
The Cater family?
Who… who exactly am I?
Is there more to my identity?
After a short while, my mother descend the stairs-her red- rimmed eyes surprisingly striking in the midday light.
Something softened in me. I gestured toward the kitchen. “Hey, Mom. Want to help me make lunch?”
She paused, then gave a small nod. Grandma Angelina followed, eyes shadowed but her posture steady. The tension of the upstairs conversation seemed to linger, but something in the air had shifted.
“I’ll cook your favorite,” I said, pulling out the ingredients.
“Penne arrabbiata.”
“You never used to like spice,” Mom teased, drying her eyes quickly.
“Past me didn’t know good food,” I winked. I handed her the garlic for chopping, Grandma tied an apron around her waist- an evocative flash of nostalgia..
As Mom diced garlic with practiced ease, Grandma hummed a tune I recognized from my childhood. It was the same lullaby she used to sing when I scraped my knee after falling off my bike.
I squeezed my chest. “Remember when I insisted I could ride without training wheels?”
Grandma chuckled. “And promptly crashed into that hydrangea bush.”
Mom laughed-first genuine laughter I’d heard in days. “You came inside, shrub in hand.”
We set the pot on the burner, the spicy aroma filling the kitchen. The chemistry between us felt different-like we’d all stepped back into a version of home I hadn’t realized I missed.
Over the simmering sauce, I took a steadying breath. “So… I need to tell you both something.”
Grandma glanced at me, eyebrows knitting. Mom stopped stirring pasta water.
“I’ve decided to finalize the divorce,” I said firmly, though my heart fluttered. “I want it. I’m done with the Hawthrone drama.”
Mom set down her spoon, reaching out to grasp my hand. “You’re doing what’s best for you, Liv.”
Grandma, stirring sauce, murmured, “Best for your head and heart.”
I lifted a spoonful of sauce to taste it. It was perfect-my version of home. “I’ll leave for New York in three days.”
Mom wrapped her free arm around me. “We’ll miss you, sweetheart. But you’re strong.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Lunch was warm-literal and emotional. We shared memories:
Grandma’s funny stories about my childhood teeth-brushing rebellion, Mom’s half-remembered college adventures when she first dreamt of motherhood. My worry melted with each anecdote.
Between bites, Mom sipped water thoughtfully. “Are you sure,
New Book: Veiled Desires of the Alpha King Novel
Dayson was the alpha of the largest pack in North America. Powerful figures from other packs sought to offer gorgeous girls as potential mates for Dayson. He steadfastly rejected these advances, he was not a pawn to be manipulated. But eventually there came a mysterious girl he could hardly say No. Who was she?