Chapter 3 – The Clock Starts Now
OLIVIA
The world tilted as I stood there, staring at him. I felt dizzy. Like I was watching a nightmare happen from outside my own body.
"Caroline is pregnant," Ethan said again, slower this time, like he was speaking to someone stupid. "And I'm not repeating myself. It's time for you to leave."
I blinked, hoping he was just angry—just saying things he didn't mean.
But his eyes were stone.
"Ethan…" My voice cracked. "You know I don't have anywhere to go."
He shrugged like I'd told him I lost a sock. "That's not my concern."
I stared at him, waiting for a flicker of guilt. Of kindness. Anything. But he just buttoned his shirt like I wasn't even standing there.
"You have twenty minutes to get your things and go," he added casually. "You're suffocating the air for my beautiful fiancée."
That was the moment my heart shattered.
He didn't even look back as he grabbed his phone and strolled out of the room.
"The clock starts now," he said over his shoulder.
The door clicked shut behind him.
I stood there frozen. My knees gave a small shake. My throat felt like it was closing. My heart? I don't even know where it went.
Then the tears came.
Hot, fast, and painful.
I forced myself to move.
I walked to the bedroom—our bedroom—and started packing. My hands were trembling. Every time I touched a shirt or folded a sweater, it was like touching memories I wasn't ready to let go of.
This was the room he used to kiss me in. Hold me. Whisper promises that turned out to be nothing but lies.
I threw a pair of shoes into the bag too hard and one bounced out.
I didn't even care.
I just wanted to leave before my legs gave out completely.
When I finished packing, I zipped the suitcase shut, wiped my wet face on my sleeve, and dragged it toward the stairs.
My chest ached. My head throbbed. And every part of me felt heavier than it had ever felt before.
Then I saw her.
Caroline.
She was standing at the top of the stairs like a villain out of some twisted movie. Arms crossed. That smug little smile glued to her lips.
"Excuse me," I muttered. My voice was dry and low. "I need to pass."
She didn't move.
She stepped in front of me and grabbed the handle of my suitcase like she owned it.
"Not so fast," she said, tilting her head. "You in a rush to run back to the hole you crawled out of?"
I looked at her, exhausted. "Caroline, please. Just let me go."
She smirked. "Not until I check your bag."
"What?"
She leaned in, her breath sweet but sour. "You heard me. Who knows what a desperate little leech like you might try to steal?"
I felt something rise in my throat—anger, disgust, heartbreak, all at once.
"I'm not a thief," I said, tightening my grip on the suitcase.
She laughed. A cold, mean laugh that made my skin crawl. "You're right. You're worse. You're a clingy little parasite. You thought you could trap him with your fake tears and fake baby."
My jaw clenched. "I'm not faking anything."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Do you think he ever really wanted you? He told me everything. How easy you were. How needy."
I felt my face heat up with shame.
She yanked the suitcase hard before I could react. It fell open at her feet—clothes spilling out everywhere. My underwear. My socks.
She looked down and sneered.
"What is this? A fashion show for beggars?" She kicked one of my blouses down the stairs with the point of her expensive heel. "Even charity bins would reject this trash."
"Stop it," I whispered. My voice was shaking.
She kicked another pile. "Why are you even crying? You should be thanking me. I saved Ethan from a mistake."
I dropped to my knees and tried to gather my things with trembling hands, but she kept kicking them away.
"Don't bother," she said. "People like you don't belong in houses like this."
Caroline's laughter cut through me like glass. Loud. Cruel.
She stood at the top of the stairs like a queen mocking a beggar, using the pointed toe of her heel to kick my clothes around like they were garbage.
"What is this?" she sneered. "Rags? Wow, Ethan really went slumming."
She kicked a blouse down the steps, and it landed with a soft, wet thud.
"Stop it!" I shouted, dropping to my knees to gather my things. My voice cracked, but I didn't care. I just needed to leave.
She took another step down and kicked again, this time scattering my underwear and socks like dust in the wind.
"Don't bother, Olivia," she said, her tone fake sweet and full of venom. "Trash belongs outside. Isn't that where you came from anyway?"
I kept picking up my clothes, even though my hands were shaking and my heart was falling apart piece by piece.
"I'm not trash," I whispered. I wasn't sure if I was saying it to her or to myself.
She bent down slightly, staring at me with that twisted smile on her face.
"Oh, honey," she said. "You're worse than trash. At least trash gets picked up. You? You just get left behind."
That one stung. Hard.
But I said nothing. No comeback. No scream. No fight. I was too tired.
So I dragged my half-packed suitcase down the stairs, the wheels thumping. Caroline followed behind like a shadow that wouldn't leave.
"Ethan should've kicked you out sooner," she muttered. "Pathetic, clinging little thing. You thought you could play house with a man like him? Please. He used you. Just like everyone else probably has."
I swallowed hard and kept walking.
Outside, the sky had turned dark—thick clouds rumbling low. Thunder cracked in the distance.
As I stepped out the door, the first drop of rain hit my shoulder. Then another. Then a downpour.
Within seconds, I was drenched. My suitcase broke open again, spilling everything I had left onto the soaked pavement.
"No," I whispered, falling to my knees.
I tried to grab my things—shirts, a book, my only good heels—but the mud swallowed them fast. Everything I touched slipped from my hands, soaked and ruined.
I pressed my forehead to my knees and let the sobs come.
"I can't take this," I whispered through the storm. "I can't do this anymore."
The rain didn't care. It just kept pouring.
I looked up to the sky, the water mixing with the tears on my face. "Why?" I choked. "Why is my life like this? What did I ever do to deserve this kind of pain?"
No answer. Just thunder.
No hand reached for mine. No voice said, "I'm sorry."
I was alone.
Pregnant. Broke. Homeless. And hated by the only man I ever loved.
My body shook. My fingers were numb. And still, I tried to stuff the wet clothes back into my suitcase, as if saving them would somehow save me.
I didn't even hear the footsteps.
But suddenly, the rain stopped—just above me.
I looked up, squinting through the fog in my eyes.
An umbrella.
A large one. Black. Blocking the rain.
There was someone standing over me.
I blinked, trying to see their face. But everything was spinning—like the world was twisting and tilting out of control. All I could make out was the outline of a tall figure, and the soft sound of a voice.
"You shouldn't be out here,"
"Come on now. You're not safe like this."
I wanted to speak. I really did.
But my lips wouldn't move.
My head felt too heavy. My arms too weak.
I swayed once. Twice.
Then everything faded.