Goodbye Forever Ex-Husband (Olivia and Adrian) novel Chapter 176

Chapter 176

Chapter 176

OLIVIA’S POV

My table knife slid effortlessly through the tender roasted chicken on my plate. The meat was juicy, perfectly seasoned–an explosion of rich flavors that danced on my tongue the moment I placed a piece in my mouth. I closed my eyes to savor it, letting the taste linger. No matter how many times I ate this particular dish, it always managed to surprise me. I had hired the best chefs in the country for this exact reason–every meal was an experience. A reminder of how far I had come.

But after just a few bites, I slowly lowered my fork. A strange sensation crept into my stomach–fullness. Not the satisfied kind that came after a hearty meal, but an abrupt, unexplained fullness, like my appetite had been switched off entirely. I stared down at the plate, half–full and still warm. A soft sigh escaped my lips.

Funny.

I used to hate watching rich people leave their plates half–eaten on television. When I was younger–just a girl with big dreams and an empty stomach–it infuriated me. Watching wealthy characters take two or three bites of gourmet food before walking away, wasting good meals like they were nothing, felt so unfair. Back then, I would have gladly licked every last bit of sauce off their plates if it meant having a taste of what they did.

And now here I was–living that life. Only now did I understand. Power came with its own kind of emptiness. Sometimes, food loses its taste. Sometimes, silence grew too loud. And sometimes, no matter how much you filled your plate, something inside you still felt hollow.

I lifted my glass and took a sip of juice, the chilled liquid briefly soothing the dry ache in my throat. Damien had already left a while ago. He said he needed to prepare for our upcoming trip. We were scheduled to leave in two days, and Clara had handled most of the arrangements. All the clothes were packed, security had been briefed, and the private jet was already fueled and standing by.

I was ready.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

Because I wasn’t the same girl I was five years

ago.

Back then, I had been trusting. Too trusting. I believed love could fix anything, that loyalty was rewarded, and that people only hurt you if they were hurt themselves. But I was wrong. People didn’t need a reason to betray you. Sometimes they just did.

Now, I was sharper. Stronger. No longer the naïve girl who cried herself to sleep in a cold apartment. I was a woman who commanded boardrooms, who led empires, and whose name turned heads in every business circle across Mexico–and soon, again, in New York.

But there was still one part of me that hadn’t healed. A wound that time hadn’t been able to close.

Adrian Westwood.

The moment his name echoed in my thoughts, I froze, the grip on my juice glass tightening. It had been five years, and I still hadn’t let myself say his name out loud in my home. I had built walls around that part of my past so high even I couldn’t see over them. But now, with the trip approaching, those walls were trembling.

I was still going to let Damien know sooner or later, there’s a reason why I haven’t gotten into a relationship for the past four years now.

After what Adrian did to me, my heart just can’t seem to open up for another man again

I tried. I even went on dates, downloaded apps, and let friends set me up. But every time, something was missing. That spark, that trust, that desire to be vulnerable again. It just wasn’t there.

Would I ever be able to love someone again?

I didn’t know. But I still held on to hope. One day, I wanted to walk down the aisle–not for the fairy tale, but to build a family. For Charlie to have sibling, someone to grow up with, to laugh with, to lean on when I wasn’t there. But right now, all of that felt far away. I needed more time. More space to keep healing.

1/3

My eyes drifted to the large bay window that overlooked the driveway. The gravel crunched softly under the weight of tires as Charlie’s convoy pulled in. His school day was over.

A tender smile played on my lips, followed by a pang of dread. He was back–and now I had to do the hardest thing I’d done all week.

Just for seven days, I reminded myself. But Charlie had never spent a day without seeing me, hugging me, hearing my voice in person. How would he

“Charlie, how was school today?” I asked with a warm smile, tucking a stray curl behind his ear.

He reached into his backpack with a sense of urgency and pulled out a slightly crumpled notebook, flipping it open to show me the marked page. His small finger pointed at the bright red “A” circled at the top of the test paper, his face glowing with pride.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise as I took the notebook from his hands. My eyes scanned the page and my head nodded slowly, clearly impressed.

“This is impressive, Charlie,” I said, still focused on the neat answers and the big, bold grade. “You did so well, I’m proud of you.”

He beamed at my praise, his little legs swinging back and forth as he sat on my lap.

“And you’re right,” I continued, setting the notebook down gently on the table. “I will hold up to my end of the deal. But first…” I paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,”

He tilted his head, curiosity filling his wide, innocent eyes. “Okay,” he said softly.

“Alright, but let’s get some food in your tummy first,” I said, stroking his hair.

emaids right behind I gave Clara a subtle nod, and she understood immediately. She disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, then returned v her. They were carrying a large silver tray, carefully balanced, and from it came the mouthwatering aroma of freshly made pasta and grilled chicken- Charlie’s favorite.

As the tray was set on the table, Charlie’s eyes widened with delight. He quickly slid off my lap and rushed to his special seat, the one we had made just for him so he could reach the table easily.

The moment he climbed onto it, his eyes sparkled as he took in the sight of the colorful meal. That excitement when food was involved–he definitely got that from me.

“Wow! Aunt Clara told the chefs to make the smiley potatoes too!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands.

I watched him dig in with the kind of enthusiasm only a child could have, and despite the heaviness that still lingered in my chest, a smile crept across my lips.

There was so much I had to explain to him–about the trip, about why I had to leave for a few days–but seeing him so happy and carefree, I decided let him eat first.