Chapter 3From His Shadow To A Blackwood

That weekend, Sophie organized a "good riddance" party for me. Just a small group of our closest friends.

Halfway through the night, the party was crashed. Isabelle, pushed forward by her shrewd older sister, appeared before me to offer a timid thank you.

She still looked terrified of me.

"Olivia… about the other day… thank you."

The whole table went quiet. Everyone exchanged glances, waiting for the fireworks. They were all expecting me to tear her to shreds, just like I always did. I was famous for my public tirades against her, calling her a manipulative snake, accusing her of trying to steal Jackson.

But this time, I just calmly lifted my glass.

I looked at the woman my husband had spent a lifetime dreaming of and gave a small, wry smile. "Don't thank me. You were the one he wanted to save."

"If you want to thank someone, thank him."

Isabelle glanced up, studying my face, as if she couldn't believe I was letting her off so easily.

At that exact moment, a waiter rushed by with a tureen of steaming soup.

Isabelle and I were standing closest to his path.

There was a sudden, sharp gasp from her, and the entire contents of the tureen sloshed over her delicate arm and dress.

The room exploded into chaos.

Everyone looked at me, their expressions a mixture of suspicion and knowing confirmation.

I lowered my eyes.

Here we go again.

Always finding myself in these impossible situations because of her.

And just like always, Jackson appeared as if summoned.

He stormed into the private dining room, his face a thundercloud.

"Liv," he bit out, his voice dangerously low. "I thought what you said on the cliff was real. I thought you meant it."

In his arms, Isabelle was sobbing, on the verge of fainting from the pain. Her arm was already blistering, turning an angry red. It looked bad enough to scar.

I laughed.

I couldn't help it. The sheer absurdity of it all. The fact that Isabelle would go this far, would burn her own skin, just to frame me.

But to Jackson, my laugh must have sounded like the cruel cackle of a villain who’d just gotten away with it.

He stalked toward me, his hand shooting out to grab my wrist.

Sophie tried to intervene, but Jackson's security guard moved to block her.

A sharp, blinding pain shot up my arm.

My wrist was bent at an unnatural angle.

God, it hurts…

It felt dislocated.

I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out.

Sophie was shaking with fury. "Jackson! What the hell is wrong with you? Are you even a man?" she shrieked. "You let this venomous bitch play you like a fiddle over and over again!"

She scanned the room. "Did anyone see what happened? Does anyone here dare to say that Olivia was the one who spilled that soup?"

Silence. No one dared to get involved.

Jackson just sneered at Sophie. "I may not know Isabelle, but you think I don't know Olivia?"

I pulled Sophie back, stepping in front of Jackson myself.

I looked him straight in the eye. "What do you know about me, Jackson?"

"That I'm cruel?"

"That I'm incapable of letting anyone else have a sliver of happiness?"

These were the words he’d used to describe me in our last life. The epitaph he’d mentally written for me.

His eyes were filled with disgust. "Aren't you?" he shot back.

I shook my head.

My gaze shifted to the weeping Isabelle.

If my wrist didn't hurt so much, I would have applauded. Applauded this blind, lovesick fool who had managed to fall for the same trick in two separate lifetimes.

A dark curiosity sparked within me. I wondered what would happen if he ever saw the real Isabelle, the one behind the fragile, tear-stained mask.

Would he spend the rest of his life regretting what he was doing to me right now?

Jackson’s personal doctor arrived quickly. He had the doctor see to Isabelle first, completely ignoring me as I stood there, pale and sweating, cold sweat beading on my forehead.

Today, he was determined to teach me a lesson.

He stepped closer, his fingers brushing my cheek, a gesture he used to use when I was a child and had misbehaved.

But his eyes were ice.

"Liv," he said, his voice soft but lethal. "Has living with the Crofts made you so comfortable that you've forgotten your place?"

"If so, then I'll teach you myself. When you do something wrong, there are always consequences."