HIS

Chapter 5

Olivia's POV

Apparently, I forgot to close my curtains last night, because the sun took it upon itself to slap me awake at the crack of dawn—6:00 a.m., to be exact. Way too early for my liking, but oddly enough, I felt refreshed.

I let out a groan as I stretched my stiff legs. Nothing beats a good stretch first thing in the morning.

It's my day off, but I've got a full to-do list. First up: groceries. I won't be eating at the diner for the next few days, and unless I plan on surviving off ramen and some very questionable vegetables, I need to restock.

Then there's the apartment—it's long overdue for a proper cleaning. Once that's done, I'll finally get a chance to relax a bit before getting ready for dinner with the girls tonight.

Might as well get the day going—once my sleep's interrupted, there's no going back. I figured I'd squeeze in a gym session since it's still too early to head out for groceries.

One of the main reasons I chose this apartment was the gym downstairs—and the fact that it's close to campus didn't hurt either.

I'd already taken a hot shower last night, so I just washed my face, brushed my teeth, and threw my hair into a bun. I pulled on a pair of grey leggings, an oversized tee, and my go-to hoodie. The hoodie's not just for warmth—it's my shield. I've put on a bit of weight since moving here, and while I finally have the freedom to eat what I want, when I want, that freedom came with a few extra pounds.

It's hard not to feel self-conscious when you're constantly surrounded by effortlessly gorgeous, sculpted girls on campus. Even if no one says anything, you feel it.

I grabbed the last bottle of water from the fridge, slung a towel over my shoulder, and took the elevator down to the gym. After a quick stretch, I hopped on the treadmill—ten minutes of running, followed by twenty minutes of weights. I don't think I'll ever get used to that machine; it always feels like it's trying to throw me off. I pushed through another thirty minutes of various exercises before finally calling it. By the time I left, sweat was dripping down my body and into places I'd rather not mention.

After tidying up the apartment, I treated myself to a long, indulgent shower—the kind that makes time feel like it's standing still. The hot water cascaded over me, and for a moment, it felt like I was floating, wrapped in a rare sense of peace. It was the closest I'd come to comfort since my mother passed.

But even in that quiet, my mind wandered—to those two men.

One of them, in particular, haunted me. Silver eyes that burned into memory like a brand. Tattoos that crept up his neck and down to his hands. I didn't know why my thoughts kept circling back to him, replaying the brief glimpse I'd caught. I hadn't seen him since that day, but he lingered in my mind like a fever I couldn't shake.

I'd never admit it out loud—not to anyone—but I couldn't stop thinking about a man who wouldn't even shake my hand. And yet, I clung to the image of him, selfishly comforted by how striking he was.

Both of them looked dangerous. But Marco didn't. He was kind, gentle even. Still... they were family.

Did that mean Marco was dangerous too?

No. He couldn't be. Not Marco.

Ugh, whatever. It's not like I'll ever see those two again, so who cares?

I reminded myself to get out of the shower—I still had a long list of things to tackle.

I styled my hair into a high ponytail and got dressed: high-waisted black jeans, a black cropped top, black Air Force 1s, and my favorite black NYU jacket with the white lettering. Did I mention black is my favorite color? Because it is. Even my underwear drawer is a sea of black. Sure, I own a few pieces in other colors, but my wardrobe is basically a monochrome mood board.