YELLOW

PART 17

"You always do this, Marcus! You always leave!" Olivia shouted at me, her voice echoing through the living room as the clock struck midnight. The flickering light of the fireplace cast a warm glow on our tense faces, contrasting sharply with the charged atmosphere between us.

I stood there with my hands on my hips, feeling the weight of her words. "Don't you dare pin this on me! It's like every time you find someone who can offer you something better, you forget all about me!" I replied, my words tumbling out in a flurry, barely making sense.

"Do you even hear what you're saying?" she shot back, her frustration palpable. "For crying out loud, I only have eyes for you! I always have! But you keep doubting me. You fight against us every single time!" As she spoke, she pounded her fist into her palm, stepping closer, her anger radiating like heat from the flames.

"You keep leaving, but let me tell you something. This time, you're right. I give up. You won, Marcus. You've killed me. You've killed us. I'm done fighting. I'm done with this game. I'm finished with all of it!" With those words, she threw her hands into the air in exasperation and stormed toward the door, grabbing the handle of her luggage by the entrance before stepping out into the night.

Anastasia stepped aside, allowing me to enter the house. I walked in with my head down, my eyes scanning the cozy little space that needed some work. The wooden floor creaked beneath my feet, adding to the sense of neglect that hung in the air.

She closed the door behind us and locked it, leaning against it for a moment as she regarded me. The old television played in the background, its flickering screen showing a news report about a woman injured in a shooting. The unsettling imagery blended with the tension that still lingered in the room, leaving a heavy silence between us.

"What on earth happened, Marcus?" she asked, her voice steady and curious. I could sense no fear in her tone; instead, she seemed genuinely concerned. After all, she had allowed me into her home.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. I stood there, stammering, feeling a rush of emotions. Anastasia kept her gaze fixed on me, her expression imploring. "Please."

Taking a deep breath, I pressed my lips together. "I did nothing," I whispered, my voice barely audible as her eyes fell to my bloodied hands. Her reaction was immediate; she rushed toward the kitchen. I turned to follow her, watching as she closed every door and window in the house, securing our surroundings.

She grabbed a cloth, rinsing it under cold water before walking back to me, where I still stood, frozen. Gently, she began to clean my hands. "Honestly, I think it's best not to wash these right now," she said, glancing at the blood. "With your hands looking like this, your words wouldn't exactly make sense. Nobody would believe you."

I didn't know how to respond, so I let her continue cleaning, feeling the cool water wash over my skin as I sank onto a kitchen stool. She moved to the counter, beginning to prepare something to eat—probably a sandwich. "You look like a skeleton," she whispered, adding cheese and ham to the toast.

"All I know is it wasn't me, Anastasia. I would never do something like that. It's just not in me," I insisted, trying to convey the depth of my conviction. She turned to face me, placing the sandwich on a plate with a nod. "Look, Marcus, you may be a bit odd and antisocial, but I would never think of you as a murderer."

As her words sank in, my gaze drifted to the television in the background. There was no news about Olivia, and a swell of anxiety gripped me. I needed to know if she was still alive.

"But you can't keep running from the law just because someone says they'll find you," she insisted, her voice firm. "Running only makes it look like you have something to hide." I turned to face her, feeling the weight of her words.

"Then I'm going to turn myself in," I replied, desperation creeping into my voice. "But I need to know if Olivia is alive."

Anastasia's hand connected with my cheek in a sharp slap, the sound echoing through the room. "I didn't mean for you to just give yourself up! We need to prove your innocence!" she said, her tone a mix of frustration and determination. "So stop wallowing in misery and let's come up with a plan."

I was taken aback. Why would she help me? Here she was, sheltering someone wanted by the police, and it didn't seem to faze her at all.

"We need someone you can trust. Is there anyone in your life you can rely on?" Her hazel eyes locked onto mine as I pondered her question.

"Garrett," I finally said, relief flooding through me at the thought of having someone in my corner.

---

I found myself seated at a long, imposing table, dressed in a grey suit, the atmosphere heavy with tension. Olivia's lawyer sat across from me, the air thick with unspoken words as we discussed the details of the divorce. Throughout the negotiation, Olivia's gaze remained locked onto mine, an electric connection that neither of us could break.

"Half of the assets will be equally split between Mr. Baker and Mrs. Baker, who will henceforth be legally referred to as Miss Bourgeois," the lawyer announced, flipping through the documents.

"She can have them all," I said, my voice steady despite the emotional turmoil churning inside me. I was willing to sacrifice everything just to see her free and safe.

My lawyer turned to me, shock evident on his face. "Mr. Baker, this isn't what we discussed," he whispered urgently, leaning in closer.

"I said she can have them all," I repeated firmly, my resolve unshaken.

"Change of plan," I added, my voice steady. In that moment, Olivia's lawyer slid the signed divorce papers across the table, a clear indication that this was happening, whether I was ready or not.

I took the pen in my hand, glancing up at Olivia, struggling to recognize the woman sitting across from me. The person I once knew seemed distant and unfamiliar now. I looked back down at the paper, my heart racing, before clicking the pen open and signing my name beneath hers.

She remained silent, offering me no acknowledgment. Instead, she gathered her purse and stood up, walking toward the door without a word. I stayed seated, watching her walk away, feeling the weight of our history and the finality of this moment settle heavily in the room.

"I do," I said confidently, slipping the ring onto her finger. Our families filled the church, their faces beaming with joy. Olivia had been escorted to the altar by her father, a proud moment that resonated with everyone present.

My aunt was crying, her tears flowing like a fountain, adding to the emotional atmosphere. The church was adorned with red roses, a symbol of our first encounter, while yellow petals were scattered everywhere, enhancing the beauty of the setting.

"I do," Olivia echoed softly, sliding the ring onto my finger. In that moment, I truly believed that a happily ever after awaited us.

---

"Marcus!" Anastasia's voice broke through my reverie, shaking me from the memories. I blinked and met her concerned gaze, still seated on the stool.

"Who's Garrett?" she asked, her eyes searching mine for answers.

"He's my driver," I replied, my voice steadier now. "He was the one who took me there and probably helped pull me out of that situation. I couldn't tell exactly what happened when the fire alarm went off; everything went dark in the building."

"Is there a way to contact him?" she pressed, her urgency evident. It took me a moment to realize that I still had my phone on me.

"I think I do," I said, reaching into my jacket pocket. I pulled out my BlackBerry and placed it on the kitchen counter.

We both leaned over it, staring at the device, hoping for some sign of life. Yet, there was still no news about Olivia's condition. The television droned in the background, its news report a constant reminder of the uncertainties we faced.

"Well, in this situation, I believe Operation Anastasia will really come to Marcus's rescue," she said with a playful smile. I gazed into her eyes, unsure of how to respond. Yet, her unwavering determination was exactly what I needed at that moment to help me survive.