Page 49 of His To Unravel (His & Hers Duet #1)

“And your family?” he continues, his fork resting neatly against the edge of his plate. “Tell me about them.”

Olivia doesn’t hesitate. “It’s just me, my parents, and my younger twin brothers. They keep me on my toes. My family runs a diner—it’s been in the family for years.”

I keep my expression neutral, though my grip tightens around my knife. She says it with such ease. But I know my father, and I brace myself for a dismissive remark or veiled critique.

“A family business,” my father says after a pause, leaning back in his chair. “That’s admirable. It takes a certain discipline to manage something like that. And you’ve made it to Halford—also an admirable achievement.”

The approval in his tone surprises me. I glance at him, trying to discern any hidden meaning in his words, but his expression remains impassive.

Olivia offers a small smile. “Thank you. It wasn’t easy, but Halford has definitely been worth the effort.”

My father inclines his head slightly, a rare acknowledgment.

I exhale slowly through my nose, a flicker of relief coursing through me. Whatever he thinks of her modest background, Olivia’s poise manages to shift his perspective, at least for now.

“Halford has always maintained rigorous standards,” he continues, his tone steady but probing. “Especially for its scholarships. If I’m not mistaken, you’re on one, aren’t you?”

Olivia nods. “That’s correct. I was fortunate enough to be awarded one.”

“Fortunate, yes,” my father says, his gaze unwavering. “But also well-earned. The selection process is thorough; I’ve been on the board long enough to know that.”

Her posture remains composed, her expression polite yet confident. “I’ve certainly learned a lot during my time there. It’s been an incredible opportunity.”

I watch the exchange closely, my focus split between her calm demeanor and my father’s reactions. He isn’t an easy man to impress, but there’s a faint trace of respect in his tone now.

“And what do you plan to do after Halford?” he asks, shifting the conversation. “The world opens up considerably for those with its name behind them.”

Olivia doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m pursuing management consulting,” she replies.

“A competitive field,” he remarks. “Have you done any internships?”

“Yes,” she says. “I’ve had the chance to intern with Boston Consulting Group and Castor & Wyatt. Both experiences were invaluable, though I’m leaning toward Castor & Wyatt for the long term.”

“Both are excellent firms,” my father acknowledges. “Castor & Wyatt has a reputation for its selectivity, doesn’t it? What makes you lean toward them?”

Olivia meets his gaze directly. “Their focus on innovation and strategic problem-solving aligns closely with my interests. I admire how they emphasize understanding the unique challenges of each client rather than applying a one-size-fits-all solution.”

My father is quiet for a moment, then nods. “A discerning perspective. It speaks well of your judgment.”

Pride swells in my chest as I watch her, but the sensation is quickly tempered by a sense of indignation. While she handles his scrutiny well, I hate that he feels entitled to examine her like she’s another business acquisition.

My father isn’t finished—not with her, and certainly not with me.

I can feel it in the way he leans back in his chair, his expression measured, the deliberate pause before he speaks again. Charles Caldwell never engages in idle conversation—there is always a calculated purpose in every exchange.

His gaze shifts between Olivia and me before settling on her once more. “It seems Nathaniel has chosen well.”

Olivia, ever composed, merely offers a polite smile, but I stiffen at the wording. Chosen well. As if she was a stock investment, something to be analyzed for long-term viability.

“I wonder what Alexander would’ve thought of you, Olivia,” my father continues, swirling the dark amber liquid in his glass. “He had such a keen sense of people’s character. He would’ve admired someone as poised as you.”

The air freezes in my lungs.

Of course he would bring up Alexander now. My father’s approval—even when granted—always comes with a price.

Olivia tilts her head, unruffled. “That’s very kind of you to say, Mr. Caldwell.”

I fight the urge to reach for her hand beneath the table. Instead, I hold still, my fingers curling into my palm as my father continues.

“He had remarkable instincts,” he muses wistfully. “A rare quality. It’s a pity the two of you never had the chance to meet. I imagine he would have been quite…taken with you.”

I feel the words like a slow, dull blade pressed against my ribs.

I stare at the flickering candlelight reflected in the polished surface of the dining table, feeling the phantom weight of my father’s expectations settle onto my shoulders like an old, familiar coat.

“You would have made a striking pair,” he continues, his voice light, but the meaning beneath it heavy. “Intelligence, ambition, drive. He valued those traits in a partner.” A pause. “He would have chosen well too.”

I exhale slowly. There it is.

The unspoken truth that has followed me my entire life. That no matter what I do, what I become, I am still the lesser choice. If my father had any say in which of us remained, it wouldn’t be me sitting at this table.

Across from me, my mother reaches for her wine, her expression carefully neutral. She won’t stop him. She never does .

Olivia, however, straightens as she addresses my father.

“I don’t doubt Alexander was an incredible person, but Nathaniel is one of the best men I’ve ever known.”

Something in my chest clenches.

“He’s thoughtful and intentional,” she continues. “He doesn’t do anything halfway, giving all his energy, time, and attention to everything he touches. That kind of dedication is rare.”

My father says nothing, but I catch the slight narrowing of his gaze, as if he’s reevaluating her entirely.

“And while I’m sure Alexander was remarkable,” Olivia adds, still looking at me, “nobody compares to Nathaniel.”

My pulse thunders in my ears.

She has no idea what she’s just done.

No one has ever spoken of me like that before. No one has ever seen me like that. Like I alone am enough. Like I’m worthy .

Under the table, her hand squeezes mine—a silent gesture reassuring me that she’s in this with me.

My father finally breaks the silence with an amused hum. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

It should be a relief to hear him relent, even slightly. But I’m too caught in the words that Olivia just said as though they are fact.

The rest of the dinner is an exercise in restraint. I force myself to stay seated by Olivia’s side because I won’t leave her to navigate my family alone. But my body is taut with the need to escape.

I barely speak. How can I when I’ve just experienced something so monumental?

For the first time in my life, someone counters the comparisons. Not out of obligation or politeness. Not to pacify me or pretend I’m something more than I am. She means every word.

While my father never fails to pull me backward into a state of inadequacy, Olivia sees me as neither second best nor a shadow cast in someone else’s brilliance. Just…me .

When the meal finally ends, I push back my chair decisively, standing before anyone can request another second of our time. I take Olivia’s hand and she offers polite farewells as I lead her out of the dining room.

My mother’s voice calls out behind us. “Stay the night, won’t you?” she asks, but I barely acknowledge it.

I just know I need to get away.

My feet carry me forward on instinct, the halls familiar despite how long it’s been since I’ve walked them. Olivia follows without question, matching my stride, her presence steadying me.

I don’t realize where I’m taking her until I stop in front of my childhood room. I haven’t been inside in years. Not since…

I exhale sharply and force the thought away.

The door creaks as I push it open, revealing a space frozen in time. Everything is precisely as I left it, yet the room feels foreign, as if stepping inside will collapse the years between then and now.

The neatly made bed, the sleek, dark furniture my mother insisted suited me better than the warm tones of my brother’s room.

And there it is.

The door that leads to Alexander’s room.

Locked.

The key sits in the desk drawer. I know it without checking. I placed it there myself the last time I was in this room, when I decided I would never open it again.

I swallow hard, dragging my gaze away and focusing instead on Olivia as she steps inside, her eyes scanning the space with quiet curiosity.

Her fingers drift along the shelves, pausing at the incomplete set of books where half the volumes are missing.

Her attention shifts to the chessboard by the window, its pieces frozen mid-game—the last game we played. I haven’t touched it since .

Then, her gaze lands on the picture frame lying face-down on the nightstand.

I don’t move to stop her as she reaches for it, pausing before turning it over.

The image stares back at me. A memory suspended in time. Alexander and I stand side by side, identical in appearance but completely different in presence. He’s grinning, effortless and confident, while I… I’m simply there. Watching. Existing in his orbit.

I turn away before Olivia can see the expression on my face.

My fingers brush against my closet door, catching on fabric. An old jacket. His.

I clench my jaw, inhaling through my nose as the scent of aged leather and something distantly familiar lingers. I should have thrown it out. I’ve considered it so many times.

And yet…

My fingers curl around the material, gripping tightly before forcing myself to let go.

“Nathaniel.”

Olivia’s soft voice pulls me back.

I turn to her, exhaling slowly. She’s still holding the photo, but her eyes are on me now—searching, patient.

I can feel it building—the moment I’ve been avoiding, the truth pressing against my ribs, clawing its way up my throat.

I’ve spent years keeping Alexander locked behind a door in my mind, one I refused to open. But Olivia deserves to know.

I step closer, reaching out to take the photo from her hands. My fingers brush hers, and I hold on to that touch as if it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I murmur, my voice rough, low. My gaze meets hers, steady despite the storm raging inside me.

I set the photo back on the nightstand.

“About my brother.”