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OLIVIA

T he hallway outside the security office smells like disinfectant and burnt coffee. My heels echo on the linoleum as I walk out, trying to slow my breathing, trying to process the last forty-five minutes.

The teen sat in a folding chair like he owned the room. Rage wrapped around him like armor. He wasn’t sorry. Not for what he said. Not for how he said it. Definitely not for the ambush.

Took me a while, but I got his name—Timothy Durant. Sixteen. Stubborn. And angry like it was the only thing he had left.

He knew Sebastian would be at the charity event. Knew he’d speak. Volunteered to help a couple weeks ago. Spent hours folding t-shirts and stuffing gift bags and waiting for the moment to blow it all apart.

“He ruined everything and just moved on like it was nothing" he spat. "I wanted him to feel what that’s like. When your whole world’s screwed and no one even notices.”

His voice cracked only once—when he mentioned his mother. But mostly, he seemed high on adrenaline and self-righteous pain. No remorse. No fear. Just hurt, lashing out in every direction.

From the timeline he gave, the affair happened a little over a decade ago. Sebastian would've been barely twenty.

A kid himself.

My stomach twists.

It’s a mess. A brutal, public, deeply human mess. But through all of it, my thoughts keep circling back to one person.

Sebastian.

What this must have dredged up for him. The shame. The guilt. The ghosts he already drags behind him like chains.

I push open the doors to the main floor of the venue. The tables are half-cleared, centerpieces stacked by the exit. Volunteers move like shadows, stacking chairs, packing bins. Most of the guests are gone.

I search the room. He’s not here.

Then I see Kane.

He’s striding toward me, jaw tight, eyes scanning. Relief flickers across his face when he sees me.

"Have you seen him?"

I shake my head. "I was hoping you had."

Kane curses under his breath. Scrubs a hand through his hair.

"He walked out about twenty minutes ago. Tried to get him to stay, but he just...left."

Panic scrapes at my chest. "Did he say anything?"

Kane exhales hard. “Yeah. He…lost it. Said it was all true. Every word. Said he didn’t care who heard it anymore.”

My stomach drops.

“He told Coach to do whatever he had to. Suspend him, cut him, go public—he didn’t care. Just stood there, hands shaking, eyes wild, like he’d been waiting years for someone to drag it out of him.”

I close my eyes. Just for a second.

Of course he did.

Because if there’s one thing Sebastian Wilde knows how to do, it’s burn himself down before someone else can light the match.

“Figured as much,” I murmur, stomach knotting as I picture what this must be doing to him.

Kane's brow furrows. “Figured what?”

“That it was true.” My voice is even, but it scrapes coming out. “What the boy didn’t say is that it happened ten—maybe eleven years ago. Sebastian was barely twenty.”

Kane swears under his breath. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a heavy pause between us.

I can feel Kane watching me, waiting to see if I’ll flinch. I don’t.

Kane drops his voice. "He’s not gonna handle this well, Olivia. He’s been one inch from a cliff for years. This.. this could shove him off."

The knot in my chest pulls tighter.

"I tried calling a few minutes ago," I say. "Straight to voicemail."

Kane sighs. “If I hear from him, I’ll let you know.”

I nod. He gives my shoulder a squeeze then walks away.

My phone stays in my hand. I dial again. Straight to voicemail.

Please pick up.

I don’t realize Coach is calling my name until he’s standing in front of me, his expression unreadable.

"A minute Olivia."

I nod. Wordless. Heavy.

I nod, but Kane’s words won’t stop echoing— this could shove him off. And I’m scared it already has.