The General's Replacement Doctor Wife

Chapter Thirty-Eight

They hadn't seen each other in a while, and something about him seemed different. Mellow wasn't quite the right word, but it was close enough to describe his demeanor.

"Can I have a moment with you?" Clayton asked in a gentle, almost pleading tone. He positioned himself in front of her, blocking her path, afraid that she might walk away at the slightest sliver of opportunity.

Her thick lashes arched as she regarded him with stubborn irritation. "We have nothing to talk about."

He seemed unfazed by her words and took another step until the small space between them disappeared.

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Olivia instinctively stepped back, only to stop when the tall ornamental plant behind her blocked her path.

"I don't have time for this, Clayton. Move."

"I'm not moving unless you give me a chance to talk," he murmured.

With so little space between them, the familiar scent of his cologne permeated her nostrils. Her stomach lurched. She wrinkled her nose and swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to throw up right there.

She gave him a look of pure disgust.

"You reek."

Before she could stop herself, she covered her nose with her hand, but it did little to keep the scent away.

Clayton's brows drew together. He glanced down at his clothes and lifted the collar of his shirt, bringing it closer to his nose for a quick sniff. Apparently finding nothing unusual, he released it and sniffed the air around them, his straight, well-defined nose wrinkling slightly. Still, he seemed unable to detect anything out of the ordinary.

After a moment, he let it go and turned his attention back to her.

"There must be something wrong with your nose," he remarked. His gaze swept over her face, and his confusion changed to concern when he noticed the color slowly draining from her cheeks. "Are you alright?"

Olivia could have said she was moments ago, but the scent of his cologne was becoming unbearable. The moment she caught another breath of it, her stomach lurched violently, as though she had just stepped off a spinning carnival ride.

Clayton lifted an arm and pressed his palm to her forehead, but she slapped his hand away before she could stop herself. The reaction startled them both. Olivia stared at him, almost as surprised by her own actions as he was.

"Don't touch me."

"I was only checking if you had a fever," he replied, looking even more confused than he did moments ago.

Olivia opened her mouth to reply, but another wave of nausea rolled through her stomach. She pressed a hand over her mouth.

Oh, no.

Without another word, she pushed past him and hurried toward the nearest bathroom.

"Olivia?"

Clayton called after her, but she ignored him.

The moment she reached the bathroom, she pushed the door open and rushed inside. She barely made it to the first stall before she dropped to her knees and threw up.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Of all the days she could have gotten sick, it had to be today. At the charity event of all places.

Damn Clayton.

She had no idea what was wrong with her today, but somehow everything about him seemed determined to push her buttons. His face. His cologne. Even the sound of his voice. She hated all of it.

Why did he have to show up tonight?

She retched again, but nothing came up. There was nothing left in her stomach after she had already thrown up everything she had eaten. When the nausea finally subsided, Olivia slowly got to her feet.

She pushed open the cubicle door and stepped out at the same moment the door beside hers opened. The woman inside emerged, and for what felt like an eternity, they simply stared at each other.

The color that had just returned to Olivia's face drained away again. Her fingers turned cold. Of all the people at the hotel, why did it have to be Mrs. Hilton?

Her adoptive mother stared back at her, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide with shock. A gloved hand rose to cover her lips.

"No... No... You can't possibly be..." Mrs. Hilton couldn't seem to finish the sentence. Moving as though she were in a daze, she slowly crossed the small distance between them.

Her hands suddenly shot forward and clamped around Olivia's slender shoulders, the sharp points of her long nails digging into the soft skin even through the glove.

Olivia swallowed hard. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. Mrs. Hilton shook her by the shoulder, her carefully composed appearance beginning to crumble.

"Why?" she whispered in between gritted teeth. "Everything was going according to plan. Why do you have to make everything so complicated?"

Mrs. Hilton's chest rose and fell rapidly as she continued. "You knew what you had to do. You were supposed to leave Clayton quietly and let Caroline have the life that should have been hers."

Her eyes immediately dropped to Olivia's still flat belly. Her anger slowly twisted into a sinister gleam. "You cannot have this baby. You have to get rid of it!"

Olivia instinctively covered her stomach with both hands. She stepped backward, feeling as though someone had suddenly poured a bucket of ice water over her. The fear that had gripped her moments ago disappeared, replaced by a fierce protectiveness she had never felt before.

Her eyes shifted to Mrs. Hilton's face, and for the first time, Olivia looked at the woman she had called her mother for years and saw her differently. This woman was no longer her mother.

She had given Mrs. Hilton everything. She had followed her every word. She had spent so many years being obedient that she had almost forgotten what it felt like to make a choice for herself. But after all the years she had devoted to her, Olivia felt she had already repaid whatever debt she owed the Hilton family.

She lifted her chin and spoke without batting an eye. "I'm no longer your daughter, Mrs. Hilton. It's my life and my decision. I'm keeping the baby."

"How dare you!" Mrs. Hilton's hand came down hard across her face.

Olivia's head snapped to the side. Her cheek burned, then slowly went numb. Slowly, her fingers curled into tight fists at her side until her knuckles turned white.

She thought about the years she had spent trying to please this woman. Every time she had swallowed her tears, every moment she had been made to feel as though she was never good enough. She thought of the loneliness, the humiliation, the grief, and the emotional pain she had endured just to remain the epitome of a perfect daughter.

Olivia raised her hand, imagining all the pain she had carried for years gathered there. Then she swung.

Smack!

Her palm struck Mrs. Hilton's cheek with enough force to send her stumbling backward.