CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

**OLIVER**
The farm was a refuge, a place where I could escape the suffocating weight of everything—of Gabriel, of Carrie’s departure, of the memories that refused to stop clawing at my chest. The sun was high, its golden light spreading warmth across the rows of neat crops and the rich, dark soil beneath my boots. I sank my hands into the dirt, letting the coolness ground me as I tended to the young plants.
The repetitive motion of pulling weeds, checking the soil, and ensuring the rows were straight usually calmed me. But today, my thoughts were a restless storm. I tried not to think about Gabriel, tried not to replay the tension that still lingered between us, the walls I hadn’t been able to lower, not even when he tried so hard to reach me.
A voice broke through the hum of my thoughts. “Oliver.”
I froze, my fingers digging into the dirt as though it could somehow tether me in place. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Her voice was unmistakable, familiar, yet filled with a softness I didn’t want to confront.
“Shanice,” I said, still crouched over the rows of seedlings. “What are you doing here?”
Footsteps crunched against the gravel path, growing closer. “I came to talk to you. It’s been a while.”
I stood slowly, brushing the dirt from my hands onto my jeans before turning to face her. She looked the same—poised, confident, as if she had never been touched by the chaos she so often created. Her hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail, and she wore a flowing white ceremonial gown that had more or less become her signature look. Her blank, bright eyes seemingly piercing into me.
“It has been a while,” I said evenly, my tone guarded. “And yet, here you are. Why?”
Shanice smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I came to check on you. You’ve been… avoiding me.”
“That’s a bit of an understatement, don’t you think?” I crossed my arms, tilting my head. “What do you want, Shanice? You don’t just stop by for a chat.”
Her smile faltered, and she let out a quiet sigh. “I came because I’m worried about you, Oliver. And because Gabriel is worried too. He—”
I held up a hand, cutting her off. “Don’t. Don’t start with Gabriel.”
She blinked, taken aback by the sharpness in my tone. “He’s trying, Oliver. He really is. I know you’re hurt, but maybe it’s time to—”
“To what?” I interrupted, my voice rising. “To let it go? To forgive and forget? Is that what you’re going to tell me?”
“Yes,” she said simply, stepping closer. “Because holding onto this anger—it’s not helping anyone. Gabriel already left once. He came back, Oliver. He’s trying to make things right. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
I stared at her, my chest tightening as her words sank in. The nerve she had to come here, to stand in my sanctuary and lecture me about forgiveness.
“It means nothing to me,” I said coldly.
“Oliver.”
“No,” I snapped, my voice cutting through the stillness of the farm. “Don’t stand here and preach to me, Shanice. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to tell me how to feel or how to deal with this. Not after everything you’ve done.”
Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. “What are you talking about?”
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t play dumb. You’ve always been manipulative, Shanice. Always. Twisting people, pulling strings, getting exactly what you want without ever caring about the fallout.”
Her mouth opened as if to protest, but I didn’t let her. The words poured out, years of frustration and resentment spilling over like a dam breaking.
“You encouraged me,” I said, my voice trembling with anger. “You pushed me toward her. You made it so easy to make that mistake with Carrie. You planted the damn seed, Shanice, and then you stood back and watched it grow. Watched me ruin myself.”
She shook her head, her expression hardening. “That’s not true. You’re blaming me for your choices, Oliver. You’re blaming me because it’s easier than taking responsibility for what you did.”
“Don’t you dare,” I hissed, stepping closer to her. “Don’t you dare turn this around on me. You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew how vulnerable I was, how much I was struggling. And you used it.”
Her eyes narrowed, a spark of anger flaring in them. “I didn’t use you. I did what the goddess wanted. I pushed you toward Carrie because it was what had to happen, Oliver. That’s not manipulation, that’s just fate.”
“Fate,” I spat, the word tasting like ash on my tongue. “Is that what you’re going to call it now? You pushed me toward her because the goddess wanted it, and I’m supposed to believe it was all part of some grand plan? I don’t care about fate. I care about the mess I’m left with.”
Her face flushed, and for a second, I saw the faintest flicker of guilt, though it was quickly masked by her usual cool demeanor. “It wasn’t just about you, Oliver. It was about all of us. About everyone involved.”
“Stop,” I growled. “Just stop. You’ve always had a way of twisting everything. The goddess wanted me to be with Carrie, but you made sure I followed through. You made sure I believed it was my choice. You manipulated me.”
Shanice’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re not being fair.”
“Fair?” I barked out a humorless laugh. “You want to talk about fair? None of this is fair, Shanice. Not what happened with Carrie, not what’s happening with Gabriel, and certainly not you standing here acting like you’re some voice of reason.”
She crossed her arms, her stance rigid. “I came here to help you, Oliver. To tell you that holding onto all this anger isn’t going to change what happened. You’re just hurting yourself.”
“And what about you?” I shot back. “When are you going to take responsibility for your part in all of this? When are you going to stop pretending like you’re some innocent bystander? You’re just as guilty as I am.”
Shanice’s lips tightened. “I did what I had to do. You made your choices, Oliver. And now it’s time to own up to them.”
My hands balled into fists at my sides. “Get out.”
“What?”
“I said, get out,” I repeated, my voice low and dangerous. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want to hear your excuses or your lectures. Just leave.”
Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, she didn’t move. But then her eyes hardened, and she squared her shoulders.
“Fine,” she said curtly. “If that’s what you want.”
She turned on her heel, marching away down the path toward the house. I stood there, watching her go, my chest heaving with the weight of everything I hadn’t said.
I didn’t call after her. I didn’t apologize.
And I didn’t regret it.