The coffee shop was cozy but open, with enough bustle to create a sense of anonymity. Olivia had chosen her spot deliberately—a small table near the window, where the light streamed in just enough to keep her grounded, but not so much that it made her feel exposed. Her fingers brushed over the rim of the sleek travel mug she'd brought with her, the smooth metal cool against her skin. She'd requested the barista fill it instead of opting for the standard ceramic cup, the decision as deliberate as the rest of her choices that day.
The travel mug wasn't just practical; it was a statement, a precaution. She'd splurged on it—insulated, modern, ridiculously overpriced—because it gave her an odd sense of control. The kind of person who could afford to carry good coffee on the go wasn't stuck. She wasn't tethered to one place or one situation. That was the feeling she wanted: something temporary, portable, disposable if need be. Silly as it sounded, holding the mug gave her an escape route, a way to take her coffee and leave quickly if things turned sour.
She stared down at it, her thoughts swirling as she rehearsed what she wanted to say. The edges of her determination were fraying, but she held on. Then, the bell over the door chimed, pulling her focus. Daniel strolled in with the ease of someone expecting a friendly encounter, his smile broad and casual as he waved to her.
"Hey, Liv," he said, sliding into the seat across from her. "Nice spot. You always pick the good ones."
She nodded, her expression neutral. "I figured it'd be a nice change of pace."
He didn't seem to notice her reserved tone. "How are you? I feel like it's been a while since we've had one of our deep talks. You've been busy with work, right?"
Olivia gave a small, tight smile. "Yeah."
Daniel chuckled, leaning back. "Well, I'm glad we could catch up today. I was starting to think you were avoiding me."
Her stomach clenched at how easily he brushed past the events of the other night, as if nothing had happened. She set her cup down and met his gaze. "That's actually why I asked you to meet."
The easy smile faltered slightly, replaced by a look of mild confusion. "Oh?"
For a moment, Olivia hesitated. He looked so much like the man she'd first been drawn to—confident, charming, with that easy grin that had made her feel special in the beginning. It was hard to reconcile this version of Daniel with the one who had shown up at her door uninvited, refused to leave, and pushed her boundaries. Part of her wanted to believe the confusion on his face was genuine, that maybe she'd misunderstood him somehow. It was easier to hold on to the version of him she'd admired, the dream she'd chased for so long, than to face the reality of how far things had strayed from what she wanted.
She took a breath, willing her voice to remain steady. "I wanted to talk about what happened the other night."
"What happened?" he asked, his brow furrowing as if he truly didn't know.
Her chest tightened. Maybe this was why she'd stayed as long as she had—because he could play this role so convincingly, make her doubt herself, make her question if she was overreacting. But she wasn't. She couldn't be.
"You know what happened, Daniel," she said, her tone sharpening, slicing through her hesitation. "I told you no. I told you I didn't want you to stay, and you didn't listen. You pushed past what I was comfortable with. That's not okay."
His expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Was it guilt? Anger? Indifference? It didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that she'd said it. For the first time, she hadn't excused it away.
His face shifted—still calm, but with a faint undercurrent of defensiveness. "Liv, come on. You know I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just thought...I don't know, I thought you were being coy, or testing me or something. I didn't think you really meant it like that."
Her hands tightened around the edge of the table. "But I did mean it. I wasn't being coy, and I wasn't testing you. I was serious, and you ignored me. Do you know how that made me feel? Like my words didn't matter. Like what I wanted didn't matter."
Daniel leaned forward, his expression softening into something almost pitying. "I'm sorry if I made you feel that way. Honestly, I didn't realize. But Liv, you've got to understand—it's not easy to read between the lines when you've been working with someone like Elliot for so long."
Her brow furrowed. The way he said Elliot's name sent a ripple of unease through her, as if he were trying to plant seeds of doubt. "What does Elliot have to do with this?"
Daniel tilted his head, his smile faintly rueful, as if he were trying to soothe her while delivering a hard truth. "Well, come on. You know how he is. Overbearing. Controlling. The way he hovers over you—any guy would feel like he had to push a little harder to get through to you. You're so used to being guarded with him, it's like you see every man the same way."
The audacity of the statement stole her breath for a moment. She stared at him, disbelief and anger swirling in equal measure. Was this what he had been thinking all along? That Elliot—someone who had been nothing but steady and supportive—was somehow to blame for Daniel's own inability to respect boundaries?
"This isn't about Elliot," she said firmly, her voice sharper than she intended. "This is about you, Daniel. About how you didn't respect me."
But Daniel wasn't deterred. His tone grew softer, almost patronizing, as though he were explaining something to a child who simply couldn't grasp the obvious. "I'm not saying it's your fault, Liv. I just think maybe he's got you so wound up you don't even know how to let go."
Let go. The phrase landed like a slap. He said it so casually, as if she were being unreasonable, uptight, incapable of handling herself without Elliot's supposed influence. She clenched her fists under the table, her nails biting into her palms.
"And hey," Daniel continued, his voice taking on a conspiratorial edge, "you know he's been digging into me, right? I mean, come on, that's not exactly normal behaviour for someone who's just 'a friend.'" He added air quotes around the last words, his smirk widening as if he'd finally laid out some undeniable truth.
Olivia stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. It wasn't just anger now—it was something colder, deeper. A clarity she hadn't felt before. She knew what he was trying to do. He was deflecting, shifting blame, twisting the narrative into something that suited him. He wanted her to doubt Elliot, to question her own instincts. It was manipulation in its rawest form, dressed up as concern and understanding.
She inhaled deeply, forcing herself to hold his gaze. "You think this is about Elliot? About me being 'guarded'? This is about you crossing lines you had no right to cross. Don't try to make this about someone else."
For a moment, his expression faltered, the mask slipping just enough for her to see the irritation simmering underneath. But then it was back, the pitying smile, the gentle tone. "I just think you need to see how he's affecting you, that's all. You don't even realize it, Liv, but he's—"
"Stop." She cut him off, her voice sharp enough to make him pause. "Stop trying to rewrite this. You're the one who didn't respect me. You're the one who overstepped. And now, instead of owning up to it, you're sitting here trying to manipulate me. I see exactly what you're doing, and it's not going to work."
Her words hung in the air between them, heavy and final. For the first time, Daniel seemed at a loss for what to say. His mouth opened as if to argue, but no words came out. She could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out his next move.
She stood.
"Wait," he said quickly, rising to his feet. "Liv, come on. Don't do this. Can't we just...talk about this? Work it out?"
She stared at him, her gaze unwavering. "You've already shown me who you are, Daniel. And I believe you."
Olivia gripped her travel mug as she gathered her resolve. "We're done here," she said, her voice steady and final. Daniel's eyes darkened for a moment before he forced a tight smile, but she didn't wait for a response. Turning on her heel, she headed for the door, each step fuelled by the clarity she'd found during their conversation. She deserved better.
As she pushed open the café door, the cold air rushed against her. She exhaled slowly.
Across the street, Elliot watched from his car. He sat low in the driver's seat, his hand resting lightly on the steering wheel. He had told himself he wouldn't interfere unless she needed him. He trusted and admired her strength as he watched her walk out of the café, her expression steely.
The moment of calm shattered when Daniel burst out of the café behind her. "Liv!" he called, his tone insistent, as if nothing had just transpired.
She froze for a split second, caught off guard by his persistence. Without turning, she started to walk toward the curb, her grip tightening on her mug.
"Liv, wait!" His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, halting her. Her coffee sloshed violently, spilling over the rim and splattering onto the sidewalk.
"Let go of me, Daniel," she said sharply, yanking her arm back, but his grip held firm.
Elliot tensed, his gaze locked on them. His instincts screamed at him to get out of the car, but he stayed put, watching carefully. He wanted to give her the chance to handle it—until she couldn't.
"Don't do this," Daniel pleaded, his voice dropping into an almost-whisper that didn't match the intensity of his grip. "Just talk to me. We can fix this."
"There's nothing to fix," Olivia shot back, her voice rising. She tried to wrench her wrist free again, her heart racing as his grip tightened further. Her eyes darted instinctively across the street—and froze when she saw Elliot sitting in his car.
Her surprise was mirrored in Daniel's expression when he followed her gaze and suddenly released her. His face twisted into something ugly, his voice dripping with venom. "Oh, I see. He's just waiting to swoop in, isn't he? Your knight in shining armour." He sneered, his lips curling cruelly. "Do you think this is some kind of fairy tale, Liv? That he's going to save you and make it all better?"
"Daniel, stop," she said firmly, her voice trembling slightly.
But he didn't. "You really are pathetic, you know that? Running to him like some lovesick slut. Is that what you do? String guys along until someone better shows up?"
The words cut through her like shards of ice, but she forced herself to keep moving. "I'm done with this," she said through gritted teeth.
"Like hell you are," Daniel spat. His hand shot out again, this time grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her roughly. Her head snapped back from the force of the shake, her thoughts scrambled, dizzy from the sudden surge of fear and anger. Her coffee tipped, the warm liquid spilling down her front in a sticky rush.
"Stop it!" she screamed, her voice cracking with fury and fear.
In the car, Elliot's fingers had tightened on the steering wheel as he watched the interaction escalate. The sight of Daniel's hands on Olivia sent a bolt of rage through him. The moment she screamed, he shoved the door open with enough force to rattle it on its hinges and stepped out.
As he crossed the street, each step was deliberate, his broad shoulders squared, tension radiating from him. His sharp gaze was locked on Daniel, his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle in his cheek twitched. Adrenaline surged through him, but his years of training kept him focused.
In the back of his mind, a wave of guilt roiled beneath the anger. He'd waited too long, second-guessing whether he should intervene. He told himself it was to let Olivia handle it, to respect her independence, but now he realized he'd been wrong.
Daniel's head whipped toward him, his expression twisting into a sneer. "Mind your own damn business, Batman," he snapped, releasing Olivia's shoulders as she stumbled back toward the safety of Elliot's shadow.
Elliot didn't miss a beat. His voice was low but resolute, carrying a calm authority. "It is my business."
Daniel let out a humourless laugh, his mouth curling into a smug grin. "Oh, I get it now. This is about you, isn't it?" He pointed a finger between Elliot and Olivia, his eyes narrowing. "Whatever sick little thing you two have going on...Jesus, man. What kind of sick pleasure do you get out of digging into your colleague's love life?"
Elliot didn't flinch, his expression unreadable as he stepped closer, placing himself firmly between Olivia and Daniel. "You need to leave. Now."
But Daniel wasn't done. His voice grew louder, more venomous. "You're wasting your time, you know that?" He gestured at Olivia, his smile growing cruel. "She'll never put out for you. Barely let me touch her, the little prude. Timid as a mouse. You think she's gonna give you anything different?"
Elliot's eyes darkened, but his voice remained steady, cutting through Daniel's tirade like a blade. "Forcing a woman to do something she doesn't want doesn't exactly spell romance, Daniel."
The jab landed squarely, and Daniel's face flushed red with fury. His gaze darted to Olivia, then back to Elliot, suspicion blooming in his expression. "Wait...did she tell you I raped her? Is that what this is?" He pointed an accusing finger at Olivia, his voice pitching higher with anger and panic. "What is this, huh? Some kind of psycho sting operation? You dirty cops trying to entrap me or something?"
Olivia recoiled at his words, her stomach twisting with nausea, but she didn't retreat.
Daniel continued, his tone growing frantic and defensive. "For it to be rape, I'd have actually had to have sex with her. But she wouldn't even give me that. Too much of a goddamn fuckin' prude," he repeated.
Elliot's hand flexed at his side, his restraint palpable. He took one slow step forward, his gaze never wavering from Daniel. "Go."
For a moment, Daniel stood frozen, his chest heaving, his face twisted with rage and something that looked like fear. Then, with a sharp curse under his breath, he turned and stormed off, shoving his way down the sidewalk without a backward glance.
Elliot turned to Olivia, his features softening immediately as he took her in. She was trembling, her coffee-soaked shirt clinging to her, her breath shallow and uneven.
"Come on," he said gently. He opened the passenger door to his car, and she climbed in without hesitation, her movements shaky but determined.
As Elliot slid into the driver's seat, he glanced at her. "You handled that better than I would have," he said, his tone filled with quiet admiration.
Olivia let out a shaky breath, her hands twisting around the travel mug she still clutched like a lifeline. "I don't feel like I handled it," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You did," he reassured her proudly, starting the engine.
Elliot pulled up to Olivia's apartment and cut the engine. The car settled into silence, save for the faint ticking of the cooling engine. He turned to her, his expression unreadable in the dim light from the streetlamp.
"Thanks for driving me home," Olivia murmured, clutching the strap of her bag like a lifeline.
Elliot's lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. "Anytime."
She hesitated, her gaze flitting from him to the door of her building. "Do you...want to come in? I've got, um, tea? Or...I don't know. Something." Her words spilled out awkwardly, and she winced inwardly at her own invitation.
Elliot nodded once, his voice steady. "Sure."
They walked up in silence, Olivia's keys jingling faintly as she unlocked the door and pushed it open. She glanced back at him, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. "Just...give me a second to change," she said, gesturing to the coffee-stained shirt clinging to her. "Make yourself at home."
Elliot nodded, stepping inside and letting the door close softly behind him. She disappeared down the hallway, her steps quiet against the floor, and he stood there awkwardly for a moment, unsure where to place himself.
His gaze drifted around the living room. It was small and neat, but there was a sense of impermanence about it. The furniture was functional but mismatched, the walls largely bare except for a single framed photograph and a calendar that hung slightly askew. A throw blanket was folded neatly over the arm of the couch, and a small stack of books sat on the coffee table—half-read, judging by the bookmarks poking out.
It struck him as the kind of place someone lived in, but not fully. Like she hadn't allowed herself to claim it, to make it hers. He wondered if that was a reflection of her life right now—a careful, tentative existence, like she wasn't sure where she fit or whether she even deserved to take up space. The thought made his chest ache.
He moved to sit on the edge of the couch, his hands clasped loosely between his knees, but the muffled sound of running water caught his attention. The shower. His brows furrowed. She'd gone to change, but he hadn't realized she meant—
The image came unbidden, flashing across his mind before he could stop it: Olivia, the coffee-stained clothes stripped away, her skin glistening under the spray of hot water, hair slicked back—
Elliot's jaw clenched, and he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head sharply as if to dispel the thought. He was mortified by himself, the heat of shame prickling at his neck. Get it together, he chastised silently. She's your partner. Your friend. She's been through enough tonight without you adding...that.
He forced his gaze back to the room, trying to anchor himself in the mundane details. The stack of books caught his attention again, and he leaned forward slightly, scanning the titles. A mix of crime thrillers, a dog-eared poetry collection, and a journal with a pen resting atop it. He could imagine her sitting here, curled up with one of them, her brow furrowed in that way it always did when she was focused.
The sparseness of the space gnawed at him again. Was it simply a matter of taste, or did it say something about her? Olivia wasn't someone who let people in easily—he knew that much. Was the apartment an extension of that? A place kept deliberately neutral, like she didn't want to leave too much of herself behind, didn't want to risk being vulnerable?
The water shut off, and he tensed slightly, the earlier shame lingering like a ghost. He rubbed his hands together, forcing his mind to clear. When Olivia reappeared moments later, she was dressed in jeans and a plain T-shirt, her hair damp. She rubbed a towel absently over it as she walked toward him.
His gaze landed on her wrist, and his stomach churned at the sight. The skin where Daniel had grabbed her was already purpling, the faint bruises stark against her pale skin.
"You're bruising," he said softly, the words heavy with guilt and frustration.
Olivia glanced down at her wrist, her lips pressing into a thin line. "It's fine," she said dismissively, though her tone was tight.
"It's not fine," Elliot countered, his voice firmer this time as he stood. The tension in his shoulders mirrored the anger he felt—at Daniel, at himself. "I should've stepped in sooner."
Her eyes darted away, and she shrugged, a small, brittle gesture. "I was handling it."
The unspoken question hung in the air between them: Were you? Neither of them seemed entirely convinced.
Olivia felt the heat of embarrassment creep up her neck. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling exposed. "I should've seen it sooner. What kind of person doesn't realize she's—" She broke off, shaking her head.
"Abused," Elliot said, his voice low but steady.
Her head snapped up, startled, and then a nervous chuckle escaped her lips. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'settling,' Elliot," she said, the laughter hollow and dry as she cradled her wrist. "But I guess these bruises tell a different story."
Elliot's expression didn't shift; it remained sorrowful, his eyes dark with something that looked like guilt. "Liv," he said quietly, his voice weighed down with emotion. She felt her laughter die, leaving a brittle silence between them.
His gaze softened, the hard edges of his expression giving way to something warmer, steadier. "It's not your fault. None of this is. Daniel...what he said about you, about me—" His jaw tightened, and she saw the muscle there twitch. His frustration simmered just beneath the surface, but when he spoke again, his tone was measured, deliberate. "You know it wasn't true, right?"
Olivia bit her lip, the faint taste of coffee lingering there as her arms tightened around her torso. She hated how small she felt, how every word from Daniel earlier seemed to echo in her mind like a mocking refrain. "I know," she said, her voice barely audible. Then, more forcefully, as if saying it louder might make it stick: "I know. But...it still stung. What if—"
"Nope." Elliot's interruption was swift, his tone sharp but not unkind. He took a step closer, his eyes fixed on hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "There's no 'what if.' You're not what he said. You're not timid, or a prude, or anything else he threw at you to make himself feel bigger."
Her throat tightened, and she dropped her gaze, staring down at her feet as her vision blurred. The sting of Daniel's words had cut deep, leaving behind a lingering ache she couldn't shake. "Maybe I made it easy for him to think that," she whispered. "Maybe I—"
"Liv." His voice was firm, yet there was a tenderness that wrapped around her like a safety net. She looked up, startled by the raw emotion etched into his face. Frustration warred in Elliot with something gentler, something protective and unyielding. "Don't do that. Don't let him make you question yourself."
She swallowed hard, her pulse thrumming in her ears. His words, his tone—they hit something inside her that she hadn't realized was still intact.
Elliot's gaze drifted to her wrist again, and Olivia instinctively shifted, folding her arms as though to hide it. But he stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "Liv," he said softly, his voice drawing her attention.
Before she could say anything, he reached out, pausing just short of her hand. "May I?" he asked, his tone careful, almost tentative.
She hesitated, her heart pounding, but nodded. Slowly, he took her wrist in his hand, his fingers gentle as they encircled the delicate skin. His thumb brushed over the faint purple marks.
He didn't say anything at first, just stared at the mottled discolouration as though willing it to fade. His jaw tightened, and she saw something raw flash in his eyes—anger, not at her, but at the situation. At Daniel.
His thumb moved in slow, deliberate strokes, tracing the edges of each bruise with an almost reverent care. The tenderness in the gesture sent a strange, disorienting warmth through her chest.
"I hate this," he murmured, his voice rough, more to himself than to her.
She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with her bruised wrist. "It's not your fault," she said quietly, her voice wavering despite her effort to keep it steady.
"No," he said, his grip tightening slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to feel solid, grounding. "But I still hate that he did this to you. That he got close enough to do this to you."
Olivia looked away, a lump forming in her throat. The vulnerability in his tone, the fierce protectiveness in his touch, was almost too much to bear.
His thumb stilled, but he didn't let go. "You deserve so much better, Liv. Better than him. Better than..." His voice trailed off, and she thought she saw his throat work as he swallowed.
Her lips parted, but the words she wanted to say—words to reassure him, to thank him, to acknowledge the unspoken tension between them—caught in her throat. Instead, she let herself meet his gaze, hoping he could see what she couldn't say.
For a moment, the room seemed impossibly still, the air between them charged with something fragile but undeniable. Then, slowly, he released her wrist, his fingers lingering for the briefest of seconds before he stepped back.
The absence of his touch left her feeling untethered, and she wrapped her arms around herself again, unsure of what to do with the swell of emotions crashing through her. But as her eyes met his once more, she thought she saw the same turbulence mirrored there.