YELLOW

PART 5

"Welcome back, Marcus," the psychologist said as I entered the room, wearing my Prada sunglasses and feeling half-drunk.

"You intentionally skipped therapy for two weeks. How do you expect us to make any progress if you continue to resist the work we're doing here?" He continued speaking, but my mind felt too foggy to engage. I sank into the leather chair, staring at the chandelier above. It sparkled like a million diamonds, maybe even more.

"Marcus," he called again, and this time I turned slightly to give him my attention. "What exactly happened?" I removed my sunglasses, revealing my red, tired eyes.

"Everything. Everything happened, and that's the problem." I meant it both broadly and vaguely. Sometimes, I wish the past could simply remain in the past; if it had to exist, I wish it could be less painful.

"Look, Marcus, my job is to help you. But right now, you're a self-destructive force. What brought you here? What made you this way? Let's start from where we left off. Tell me whatever you feel comfortable sharing; I'm here to listen. Help me understand," he encouraged.

Once again, I was pulled back into a trance.

I could see Olivia laughing, her joy infectious. There I was, goofing around in my underwear, carefree and happy. We were finally in the house we had both always dreamed of—a beautiful space filled with large windows and lush green plants, a modern setup that felt like a sanctuary. We had worked hard to achieve this, and it was all thanks to having the most incredible woman by my side.

I felt my hand tremble in hers. "Don't worry, we'll find a way," she said softly, bringing my hand to her lips. I looked up into her eyes, filled with warmth and reassurance.

We were at one of the events I had organized to attract new clients for my insurance company. It was crucial for our business to bring in new clients so that we could afford the house she had always wanted.

"Marcus, are you listening?" she whispered as she leaned closer to me. I could feel my foot tapping nervously against the floor, my hands still shaking. That's when I intertwined my fingers with hers, seeking comfort.

"My sister has everything ready—the little buffets are set up, and the catering is going wonderfully. Everything is going to work out," she reassured me, her confidence infectious. In that moment, I believed her, too.

"Mr. Baker," Emilio Hawks said, his voice smooth and confident. He was the client we desperately needed. He approached me, extending his hand for a handshake as a waiter glided past, offering champagne. I turned slightly to glance at Olivia, who pretended to take a sip before discreetly pouring the drink into the plant beside us. I couldn't help but stifle a laugh at her antics.

"This year's project looks intriguing. We're genuinely considering joining forces. What can you offer us?" Emilio inquired, his eyes gleaming with interest.

I turned back to him, but as Olivia's gaze met mine, I sensed her silent urging—she wanted me to take charge and speak up. So, I did. However, I couldn't shake the irritation that bubbled within me as I noticed Emilio's attention drifting toward Olivia's stunning dress. It was infuriating to see him so captivated by her appearance while I was trying to navigate this important conversation.

I excused myself and pulled Olivia aside, lowering my voice. "You need to take control of this situation. He only has eyes for you. Make him drink, get him tipsy. I'll figure out the rest."

"What am I supposed to do after that?" she protested, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. I placed my hand gently on her arm, trying to convey my seriousness. "Take him to the bedroom," I said, locking my gaze with hers.