Desire Chapter 42, a scandal fanfic

Chapter 42

Olivia steps gracefully down the wide stone steps of the bed and breakfast, her bare feet softly tapping on the cool, worn concrete. The inviting aroma of sizzling bacon, fluffy eggs, and warm, maple-sweet pancakes mingles in the crisp morning air, gently nudging her towards the heart of the home—the small, sunlit kitchen. Inside, Maya works diligently, artfully plating the food with a care that speaks of love, while Monica moves purposefully between the kitchen and the dining room, artfully carrying the freshly prepared dishes to the awaiting guests.

Just the previous night, Olivia and Fitz had arrived amid a quiet urgency. Olivia had insisted that Monica and Gregory join her without delay, well aware that the shattering news of Edison's involvement in Callie's tragic death could overwhelm Maya. As Olivia's eyes glisten with unshed tears, she gazes tenderly at Maya and crosses the room to embrace her with a fierce, protective hug.

"I'm so glad you're here. I've missed you," she whispers softly.

Maya nods in quiet acknowledgment, her eyes too full of emotion for words.

After a moment of gentle silence, Olivia speaks again, her voice steady yet laced with underlying concern. "Once everyone is served, Fitz and I need to talk to you."

A quiver of vulnerability colors Maya's tone as she asks, "Is everything ok between you and Fitz?"

Olivia's response is firm and resolute, "Yes." With a plate carefully balanced in her hand, Olivia moves towards the dining room, placing the dish neatly on a table set for one of the guests. A warm, reassuring smile plays on her lips as she steps out onto the expansive balcony at the back of the house. There, leaning casually against the balustrade, is Gregory.

"Hey Uncle Gregory," Olivia calls out gently.

"Hello," he replies, his tone understated yet warm.

After a brief pause, she adds with a note of delicate sorrow, "It's going to be hard for me to try and call you dad."

Gregory chuckles ruefully. "I don't deserve that title, Olivia. I'm simply a sperm donor."

Olivia winces inwardly at his self-deprecating humor, knowing that she had used that very term for him herself once before. With a pained vulnerability, Gregory continues, "I'm sorry I didn't have the opportunity to get to know you the way you deserved—to hold you close, to shower you with kisses when you started preschool. I'm sorry I missed your first stumble, or the moment a boy hurt you. Though I carry the title of your biological father, Eli is your real father, Olivia. I saw how his eyes lit up when he saw you last night. I don't know what the future holds, but I do know that his love for you and Maya is boundless."

At that moment, the door opens and Fitz appears, his presence radiating both strength and tenderness. "Sweetheart," he says, stepping forward. Without hesitation, he wraps his strong arms around Olivia's waist and murmurs, "I reached for you and you were gone."

A soft chuckle escapes Olivia as she replies, "I needed to come downstairs and check on Maya."

Monica appears on the balcony, her expression a blend of gentle sorrow and concern. "The guests are finishing up. Do you want to talk now?" she asks softly. Olivia's heart tightens as she recalls the heavy secret she had kept from Maya, Eli, Monica, and Gregory. Her insistence on this conversation had been born from necessity—the urgency of matters that weighed heavily on her soul. Her night-time arrival with Fitz had been carefully orchestrated to evade the prying eyes of Maya and Eli, while Monica and Gregory had already been there. So far, Olivia felt a delicate balance between Maya and Monica, and for that, she was grateful.

With a tender kiss placed on Fitz's cheek, Olivia instructs him, "Can you make sure everyone is in the main living room?"

"Yeah," Fitz replies, his lips momentarily gracing hers in a silent promise.

Turning to Monica, Olivia says softly, "Auntie Monica, can I talk to you?"

"Sure," Monica agrees, her eyes empathetic.

Olivia's voice trembles slightly as she confesses, "I wish it were easy for me to flip a switch and start calling you mom, but I can't. It's going to take time."

Monica's response is full of gentle acceptance, "I understand, Olivia. I don't expect it to happen anytime soon."

A smile tugs at Olivia's lips as she adds, "Laura told me about the dress. Thank you." She wraps Monica in a grateful hug.

After a deep, heavy sigh, Olivia retreats back inside, with Monica following close behind. Settling on the couch next to Fitz, she turns to him and pleads, "Can you do it?" before quietly confessing, "I can't."

Fitz nods solemnly, intertwining his fingers with hers, his throat tight as he swallows hard. "We know who killed Callie."

At that revelation, Maya gasps, "Dear God, who?" Meanwhile, Eli sits up straighter, tension evident in every line of his face.

"Edison," Olivia breathed quietly, her voice almost lost in the low hum of the room. Then, in a slow, deliberate manner, she repeated his name with a bit more volume, ensuring her words reached everyone nearby.

Maya's eyes widened. "Edison?" she asked, tilting her head in disbelief. "It can't be. He was there that night, always so supportive of all of us. He even sang at her funeral—God knows how much that meant. I just refuse to believe it."

Fitz carefully opened the laptop that rested on his lap, its glossy screen reflecting the tense expressions on the four faces gathered around, and pressed play on the video. The room fell silent except for the soft whir of the machine, as if time itself was holding its breath.

Without warning, Eli's voice cut through the hush like a burst of static. "Shut it off!" he shouted, his tone raw with anguish and frustration.

Maya's head crumpled into her hands, her fingers trembling as they tried to shield her eyes from the painful cascade of emotions. Monica scooted closer, wrapping her arms tightly around Maya in a silent attempt to offer comfort.

Gregory's tone broke the heavy pause as he asked, "How did you obtain this?" His words were laced with equal parts curiosity and cautious concern.

"Gracie," Olivia replied, her voice steady despite the gravity of the situation, the name hanging in the air with all the weight it carried.

Maya's tear-streaked face turned towards Olivia. "How?" she asked, a mix of hope and fear shadowing her eyes.

Olivia shook her head slowly, her expression somber. "She discovered it on Edison's computer, completely by accident."

"My security team was incredibly thorough in extracting the information from Edison's computer." Fitz's words resonated with the gravity of the situation—a meticulous operation that left no detail overlooked.

Through her tears, Maya's voice rose, raw and desperate. "I want justice. I want Edison locked up, and the same fate for his father if that's what it takes!"

"Mom, it won't work that way," Olivia said gently, coming closer to Maya. Her tone was calm, even as the storm of emotions raged in her eyes. "Edison's father is the chief of police. He'll claim the video was doctored, say it isn't true. And besides, we got the footage illegally from Edison's computer. Someone was using it to blackmail him. He was sending money to ensure it never got released."

With an air of quiet determination, Olivia stepped beside Maya and knelt in front of her. "Fitz has a solution," she added, her words layered with both reassurance and resignation.

Maya's gaze shifted to Fitz, whose eyes held an unreadable mixture of secrets and resolve. "I'll handle this my own way," he insisted, his voice trembling with a mix of determination and sorrow.

Her tone softened into a questioning murmur, "What exactly does that mean?"

Olivia interjected calmly, "Fitz has contacts—people who can make things happen behind the scenes."

Gregory's eyes narrowed as they met Fitz's steady stare. Fitz gave a curt nod, his expression troubled. "I can't linger in this conversation anymore," he said, his official tone unmistakable. "I'm a judge, after all." With that, Gregory rose and walked out of the room, leaving Monica still clinging to Maya.

"What will happen to Edison?" Eli asked, his voice surprisingly calm as if trying to muster a quiet reason amidst chaos.

"I'll give the order to the head of my security detail," Fitz replied, his tone measured and authoritative. "He will determine what needs to be done."

"And what about Olivia?" Eli pressed further, his concern intermingled with a bitter edge.

"Whatever fate befalls Edison and his father, it won't rest on her shoulders," Fitz answered firmly. "The orders will come straight from me."

"Do it," Eli groaned, his voice a low mix of anger and helplessness. "He took my daughter from me. Just do it."

In that moment, Monica and Olivia moved in further to embrace Maya, their arms offering solid, quiet support in a sea of chaos. Olivia then stepped over to Eli and wrapped him in a comforting hug. Moving toward Olivia, Fitz approached gently and placed a soft kiss on her forehead—a silent promise of protection—before turning and leaving the room.

Moments later, as Fitz disappeared into another room with his phone clutched in hand, Gregory's murmured voice reached him, "A word."

Fitz paused, turned back, and replied, "Yeah?" His expression hardened slightly, wary of what might come next.

With a tone laden with reluctant confession, Gregory said, "Hollis Doyle is convinced that you killed his son. He wants you to pay for his death. I thought you should know."

Fitz let out a long sigh, his eyes briefly showing the burden of his responsibilities. "Good to know," he replied evenly, "but right now, Olivia is my top priority. I simply don't have time to deal with Hollis Doyle."

Gregory pressed on, "Did you kill his son?"

A wry smile crept over Fitz's face as he replied lightly, "I recall you mentioning you were a judge. It would be foolish of me to have this conversation with you." And with that, Fitz turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the questions hanging in the charged air.

Fitz sat up on the bed as Olivia entered the room, her presence a breath of fresh air. He understood her need to spend time with her family, having spent most of the day on the phone with Rebekah, delving into the intricacies of Grant Industries. Despite dedicating his attention to Olivia and her family, the demands of his business loomed ever-present in the background, like shadows that never faded. He placed his phone on the polished mahogany bedside table, his gaze rising to meet his beautiful wife. Her hair cascaded down in long, sleek strands, framing her face with an elegance that captivated him. Her jeans clung to every curve, and the white t-shirt she wore accentuated her supple, round breasts, completing the picture of grace and allure.

"Hi," she greeted him, her smile warm and inviting.

"Hi," he replied, rising from the bed and making his way over to her. "How is Maya?" he inquired, his hands gently massaging her shoulders, coaxing the tension from them.

Olivia slipped out of her shoes, her toes sinking into the plush, fluffy brown carpet that covered the floor like a soft, welcoming embrace. This room was a sanctuary, a cherished retreat she held dear. Her parents fondly referred to it as the honeymoon suite, one of the more spacious and inviting bedrooms in the bed and breakfast. It featured a balcony adorned with two wicker chairs, inviting moments of serenity and contemplation. Olivia leaned into her husband's touch, feeling the soothing comfort it brought. "She finally took a nap," Olivia said, turning into his embrace, her voice a mixture of relief and affection. "I need to stay for a couple of days, Fitz. I can't just leave."

Fitz tipped her chin upward gently, his touch tender and reassuring. "I know. I'm not going anywhere."

"What about work?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"Work is being handled," he responded with quiet confidence. "I can work from here, take calls, and make deals right from this very spot."

"You won't have the amenities you're accustomed to," she pointed out, her eyes searching his.

"I have you. That's all I need, Olivia," he said, his voice filled with conviction.

"I love you," Olivia murmured softly, her voice tender as a whisper.

"I love you more," he replied, his words a gentle caress.

"And Mellie?" Olivia asked, pulling her shirt over her head to reveal a blue lacy bra, then slipping out of her jeans, her movements fluid and graceful.

"It's being handled," he assured her, raising an eyebrow with playful curiosity. "What are you doing?"

"I want you," she declared, her voice resolute and filled with longing.

"Liv, we can't. The walls are paper-thin, and you like to..." Fitz began to protest, his voice a mix of hesitation and desire.

She silenced him with a finger against his lips, her touch a tender command. "I am not the only one who is loud. I just... this house… Edison has been here. I have memories with him here. Erase them for me," she implored, her eyes pleading for solace in his embrace.

He gently removes her finger from his lips, then crashes his own onto hers in a fervent collision, igniting a spark that seems to illuminate the room. Olivia melts into him, her body molding perfectly against his as his hands begin their exploration, tracing every curve with an intensity that speaks volumes of his desire. His fingers slip beneath the delicate fabric of her panties, the lace whispering against her skin as he slides them down over her hips with a deft touch. "Is the door locked?" he breathes softly, his words a warm caress against the sensitive skin of her neck. Olivia steps out of her panties, her movements fluid and graceful as she glides over to the door, ensuring the lock is secure with a soft click. "Locked," she confirms, her voice sultry and full of promise as she returns to him.

Fitz drops to his knees with urgency, his face disappearing into her intimate folds, his tongue dancing and teasing with expert precision. Olivia bites down gently on her finger, stifling a moan as she watches him devour her with a hunger that mirrors her own. "Yes, baby," she murmurs, her voice a breathy whisper, as she tangles her fingers in his thick, brown curls. Her knees threaten to give way as her climax builds, an unstoppable force gathering strength within her. She clutches his shirt, her grip tightening as her orgasm crashes over her like a powerful wave, leaving her breathless and trembling.

Fitz savors every last drop before rising to his feet once more. He captures her lips in a deep, lingering kiss, then gently guides her toward the bed. Olivia inches her way up the mattress, her eyes fixed on Fitz as he sheds his clothes, each movement hypnotic and deliberate, setting her every nerve alight. Her desire surges within her as he removes his boxer briefs, revealing his arousal standing proud and ready. Fitz leans over her, capturing her in another passionate kiss, and with one deep, deliberate thrust, he fills her completely, sending a shiver of pleasure cascading through her entire being.

"Sweetheart, I need the apple tarts for table 3," Fitz calls in a warm yet professional tone, tucking a pencil behind his ear as if it were a secret charm.

Olivia glances up from her station, where she carefully pours fresh, bright orange juice into waiting glasses. A gentle smile plays on her lips, her bottom lip curling inward in a flirtatious way. Since arriving in Georgia a week ago, Fitz had transformed right before her eyes. The moody, brooding CEO of Grant Industries was all but gone. In the soft mornings at the bed and breakfast, he emerged as a devoted helper—assisting with breakfast, waiting tables, scrubbing dishes, and dusting corners—tasks that Olivia had never seen him handle before. By afternoon into the cool evening, he'd revert to the sharp mind of a businessman, tackling endless calls from his newly established office nestled in their suite. Yet, through it all, he never strayed far from her side. Tonight marked their final evening in this idyllic retreat.

"Come here," Olivia beckons, her finger delicately signaling him to join her at the counter.

"Sweetheart, the tarts," Fitz reminds, nodding toward the table cluttered with various ingredients and half-prepared dishes.

With a graceful stride, Olivia approaches the oven, gently lifting a batch of perfectly golden apple tarts from the heat. Placing them carefully on the table, she notes aloud, "They need to cool." In a swift motion, she removes the oven mitt resting on her hand and draws Fitz close, entwining her fingers behind his neck as if to capture a fleeting moment. "Can we go upstairs?" she pleads softly.

Fitz chuckles and shakes his head, his eyes dancing with mischief. "There is no time for a lunchtime quickie."

"But I want one," Olivia protests in a playful whine, pressing her soft lips against his in a teasing kiss.

With a teasing smirk, Fitz pulls back slightly before giving her ass a light, affectionate slap. "Later. I need three tarts," he declares, deftly picking up the warm pastries and placing them on a tray. After a tender kiss on her cheek, he turns and strides out of the kitchen, leaving the lingering aroma of baked apples and cinnamon behind him.

At that very moment, Monica steps into the room, her arms busy as she rubs her hands along the fabric of her well-worn apron. "It's so good to see you happy," she remarks, her voice imbued with both pride and a touch of wistfulness.

"Thank you," Olivia replies warmly, pausing her work to meet Monica's concerned gaze. "How was your session with the therapist?"

Monica exhales slowly before responding, "It was hard. Maya and I have so many things to discuss, but I think it's for the best. We need these conversations. I'm grateful you recommended it."

"I believe in therapy—it's helped me so much," Olivia confides, her tone soft with understanding.

Monica's eyes well up as she speaks, "I want you to know that I always wanted you, Olivia. I just…I never knew quite how to take care of you. I'm sorry. I wish more than anything that I could travel back in time and make things right."

"All we have is now, Auntie Monica," Olivia says gently, opening her arms in a heartfelt embrace.

Monica, with a hint of melancholy, adds, "I don't expect you to call me mom, Liv. I know Gregory is struggling with everything right now."

Olivia brushes away a stray tear, her voice tender as she offers, "In due time, maybe."

With warmth and reassurance, Monica squeezes Olivia's hand before sharing news that sparkles with both hope and risk. "I've put the house in New York on the market. I'm transitioning the boutique to an online-only business model. Georgia is where I need to be right now."

Olivia's eyes widen in surprise. "Are you sure?"

At that moment, Maya steps into the kitchen, her curiosity evident as she asks, "Monica, is that really true?"

Monica smiles softly, a mix of determination and vulnerability in her expression. "I know it's a risk. I'm unfamiliar with this town and its people, but all I want is to be close to family. I want to mend our relationship, Maya."

Concern knitting her brow, Maya presses further, "What about Gregory?"

"He's planning to return to New York to continue his work as a judge," Monica explains, choosing her words carefully. "We have some things to work out; we need a little separation for now. He's going to take your old apartment, Liv."

Before Olivia can protest, Monica continues gently, "This isn't about you, Liv. He needs to find a way to forgive me—and I hold onto the hope that one day he will."

A heavy silence fills the room for a moment before Maya reaches out tenderly. "I'm so sorry, sis," she murmurs, extending her arms into a welcoming hug.

In that quiet kitchen awash with the scents of baked apples, citrus, and heartfelt reconciliation, Olivia steps into the embrace, feeling the shared weight and unspoken promises of new beginnings.

"Is this it?" Fitz asks, guiding the blue truck slowly into the parking lot as the engine purrs and the evening air grows heavy with the scent of approaching twilight.

"Yes, baby," Olivia replies, hopping out of Eli's truck with a graceful urgency. She tilts her head upward, admiring the vibrant red sign aglow with neon lights that proudly spells out 'Gravy and Glory.' This restaurant, brims with nostalgia—run by the parents of an old high school friend, it holds countless cherished memories. With an affectionate smile, she interlaces her fingers with Fitz's and tugs him gently through the door.

The rich aroma of freshly baked cornbread mingles with the savory scent of fried chicken and the sweet allure of candied yams, enveloping the space in a warm, inviting glow. The hostess strides purposefully to the podium, her steps echoing softly over the polished floor.

"Aries!" Olivia squeals, delight dancing in her eyes.

A booming voice greets her, "Oh. My. God. Olivia Pope. Where the hell have you been? I heard you moved to New York," Aries exclaims, her tone a mix of shock and playful reproach.

Olivia brushes a stray lock of hair from her face as she introduces, "I did. And this is my husband, Fitzgerald Grant."

Aries' eyes widen in genuine surprise. "Well, I'll be damned. You went and got yourself a hunk of a man. Damn, ain't nothing changed around here though—the same old same old shit." Her voice reverberates warmly with years of shared history.

Olivia chuckles softly, her laughter blending with the hum of the bustling restaurant. "I'm going to sit you in the front. We've got a really nice jazz singer about to perform." Her tone is light yet laced with affectionate mischief.

"Nice to meet you, Fitzgerald. Right this way," Aries says with an enthusiastic air, ushering them toward a table that promises both comfort and lively conversation.

As they approach, Aries adds with a wink, "Girl, make sure you get the yams. My momma's in the kitchen tonight, and you know she never disappoints."

Soon after, a waitress in a crisp uniform glides over and takes their order while the jazz singer steps gracefully onto the stage. With her band in tow, she unleashes a cascade of sultry, soft croons that fill the restaurant—a melodic balm to the soul. As the venue gradually fills with the warm murmur of old friends and new faces, Olivia feels transported back to the golden days of Georgia, each note stirring memories of laughter, dancing, and revelry.

Olivia bops her head lightly in time with the seductive jazz, her eyes alight with delight as she watches Fitz sample the candied yams and cornbread. He offers a satisfied thumbs-up, his smile wide and genuine despite traces of greasy marks from the crispy fried chicken. Overcome with tenderness, Olivia leans forward and kisses him softly.

"So good," Fitz murmurs with a broad grin.

Moments later, as Olivia settles back into her chair and lowers her head in a brief moment of introspection, Fitz's eyes narrow with concern. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice gentle as he notices a sudden shift in her demeanor.

Olivia's gaze shifts toward the entrance. "Edison's father is walking over here."

A heavy stillness falls over Fitz's features. He wipes the corner of his mouth with a crisp napkin, his fingers clenching into determined fists. At that moment, Edison's father, dressed in a sharply tailored suit with an air of authority, stops at their table and greets them with feigned cordiality.

"Olivia, it's so good to see you," he declares, his smile thin and calculated.

"Hello," Olivia replies coolly, deliberately avoiding his gaze.

With a pointed look directed at Fitz, Edison's father inquires, "And who might this be?"

"My husband," Olivia responds evenly, her words ringing with quiet resolve.

A sneer twists Edison's father's lips as he retorts, "You married a white boy instead of my son?" He idly twirls a toothpick around his tongue, his eyes glinting with disdain.

Fitz abruptly stands, his demeanor firm and protective as Edison's father flashes his badge with a dismissive gesture. "I'll have you arrested before you get a chance to gas up your private jet," he threats with a dark chuckle before casting his attention back to Olivia. "My son told me you married a rich prick. Big mistake, Olivia."

"Shut up," Olivia snaps, her voice loud and defiant amidst the clatter of cutlery and murmurs of nearby diners.

"This is my town and my people," Edison's father declares with an imperious tone, his words dripping with condescension.

"Not for long," Olivia groans, her tone edged with sorrow and fierce determination.

Without hesitation, Fitz moves between Edison's father and Olivia, positioning himself as a steadfast shield. "Let's go," he commands softly yet firmly to Olivia.

"No, I'm leaving," Edison's father insists, his voice rising in a futile warning. "I just came for a home-cooked meal. I understand Gracie is still in New York—don't try to corrupt her. She belongs back here, not in the big city. I can't have her falling in love with some rich white man."

Fitz, his eyes burning with a mixture of anger and protectiveness, extracts his phone from his pocket and reclines back into his chair. "Huck, make it happen. Right away," he orders, his tone final and laced with the promise of retribution as the jazz music swells in the background, contrasting sharply with the unsettling tension at the table.

Olivia cradles her glass of ruby red wine as she sits back, her eyes scanning her friends with quiet intensity. Their gazes bore into her, hanging on every syllable that she dared to utter. In this intimate circle, she felt safe enough to confide the whirlwind of events from the past week. She knew she had to reveal the dark truth about Edison.

"How was your time in Georgia?" Abby's voice was gentle yet probing, drawing Olivia from her reverie.

Olivia's fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass as she paused to swallow hard. "It wasn't a pleasant visit," she began solemnly, "I had some news to share with my family."

Before she could add more, Mona's eyes widened and she blurted, "You're pregnant?"

The tension broke momentarily as Abby let out a soft chuckle, "Locked him down quick, huh?"

Olivia's lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm not pregnant," she declared, placing her glass firmly on the table. "I discovered who killed my sister, and I needed to tell my family."

The room fell silent before Josh's voice cut through the stillness, heavy with disbelief. "Oh shit, so who do I need to kill?"

"Edison," Olivia replied without hesitating, her tone laced with a firm resolve as she lifted her glass for another sip. She glanced toward the top of the stairs and continued, "Gracie is staying with us, and she was the one who found the evidence on his computer."

Mona recoiled in shock, leaning back further into the couch as if physically distancing herself from the revelation.

"She told me about it," Olivia explained, her voice firm despite the pain lingering in her eyes. "And Fitz had his security team confirm it." She guzzled the remainder of her wine before reaching for the bottle to refill her glass, the liquid a temporary solace for her turbulent thoughts.

Josh's voice trembled with a mixture of anger and regret. "Shit. I was helping this asshole with his career," he confessed, swiftly filling his shot glass with vodka and downing it in one bitter gulp.

Olivia's gaze dropped to her wine glass as she continued in a raw tone, "No one knew. His father is the sheriff and helped him. I didn't even see it coming. He manipulated me too—assisted in arranging Callie's funeral with my mom. He even sang at the service. I hate him with every fiber of my being."

Abby reached across the table, squeezing Olivia's hand with unmistakable concern. "Do you want me to get Turner to kick his ass?" she asked, a mixture of protective fierceness and gentle humor in her tone.

"No," Olivia replied softly, glancing again toward the staircase as if dreading Gracie's descent. "Fitz is taking care of it," she added, the words heavy with resignation.

"Oh, shit!" Josh exclaimed, his voice thick with anger. "I hope Fitz makes him pay for everything."

"Good riddance to his sorry ass," Mona declared, raising her glass in a toast to swift justice.

Abby wrapped Olivia in a comforting embrace. "I'm sorry, Liv."

"Thanks, Abs," Olivia whispered as she returned the hug, gratitude mingled with sorrow in her eyes.

After a pause, Abby admitted quietly, "I'm dating Turner."

Olivia's response was a curt, "Oh," trailing off as if processing the new piece of information.

Josh rolled his eyes, his tone light but edged with sarcasm. "Don't you think it's too soon to be falling for another man?"

"For your information," Abby countered firmly, "we haven't slept together. I feel safe with him. I like him… a lot," her voice gained strength as she declared her newfound confidence.

Turning the conversation back to the past, Olivia inquired, "Any word on Brian?"

"He calls sometimes, but I let him speak to Autumn. I don't deal with him unless it's about Autumn," Abby explained with a touch of finality.

"Good," Mona interjected, a sharp nod of approval accompanying her brief comment.

Abby sighed deeply, the tension easing slightly as she added, "I wish you'd cut me some slack, Josh. I know I made a mistakes with Brian. I know that now."

Josh's tone softened as he turned to her. "Take things slow with Turner, Abby. I promise to stay out of your business this time."

A heavy silence filled the room until the sound of footsteps signaled another arrival. Olivia's head lifted toward the staircase, and she called out as Gracie appeared, saying lightly, "Sorry if I'm interrupting—I just came to get a glass of water."

With a warm smile, Olivia invited, "Come join us."

Fitz held the cigar delicately between his fingers, carefully igniting the end until it glowed a fiery orange. He brought it to his lips, inhaling deeply, allowing the rich, earthy smoke to fill his lungs before exhaling slowly, watching the wisps of smoke curl and dance upward. He repeated the ritual, savoring the action, before turning his gaze towards Chase. "Am I a good person?" he asked, his voice heavy with introspection.

Chase, enveloped in his own cloud of smoke, tilted his head slightly and repeated the question, "Why do you ask?" His eyes were fixed on the ceiling as he let out another stream of smoke, adding to the hazy atmosphere around them.

"I killed Axel. I gave the order for Huck to eliminate Victoria and Edison. I bear the same guilt," Fitz confessed, his voice tinged with a mix of remorse and justification.

Drew chuckled softly, the sound like gravel underfoot, as he twirled his cigar with nimble fingers before lighting it. "Axel had it coming. Victoria would have shattered your relationship with Olivia. In my book, all's fair in love and war," he remarked casually, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief.

"Edison got what he deserved," Chase agreed, releasing another puff of smoke that drifted lazily into the air.

"Is my desire for Olivia too deep?" Fitz questioned, a note of vulnerability creeping into his voice.

"No," both men affirmed simultaneously, their voices firm and unwavering.

"Loving a woman comes with its risks and rewards, Fitzgerald Grant," Chase said, offering a reassuring pat on Fitz's back. "There isn't anything I wouldn't do for Natasha."

"I'm just grateful to be back in the brotherhood," Drew added, his voice carrying a sense of relief and belonging.

Fitz nodded, absorbing the camaraderie that surrounded him.

"We've all done something to keep this brotherhood intact…am I right?" Chase asked, his gaze shifting between the others, seeking confirmation.

"True," Drew responded, his voice steady and resolute.

"I have a surprise for you," Fitz announces, his voice warm yet laced with anticipation as he strides purposefully into the richly paneled library where Olivia sits, completely absorbed in the pages of her book.

"You do? What new adventures have you been concocting, Mr. Grant?" she inquires, her tone playful and eyes alight with both mischief and genuine curiosity.

"You'll see," he replies, a mysterious smile creeping onto his lips as he extends his hand toward her. Olivia delicately places her hand in his, the gentle warmth of his touch igniting a comforting spark as he softly presses a kiss to the back of her palm. With a reassuring look, he guides her away from the quiet recesses of the library, their footsteps resonating softly against the polished marble of the grand staircase.

Emerging into the fresh evening air, they proceed to the backyard where, against a backdrop of lush, verdant grass, a vibrant blue camping tent commands attention. "Fitz, baby, what's all this?" Olivia asks, her voice a mixture of surprise, delight, and tender astonishment as she nears the tent. Peering inside, she discovers a scene meticulously arranged: a beautifully inflated mattress adorned with an assortment of plush pillows that beckon for relaxation, a small table elegantly set with a delicate vase of pristine Calla Lilies, and a charming wicker picnic basket overflowing with a medley of culinary delights. With a natural curiosity, Olivia lifts the lid of the basket, her eyes lighting up with joy as she finds all her favorite foods neatly packed and waiting for her.

Stepping out from the tent, she turns to gaze at Fitz, who is lost in thought as he watches wisps of clouds meander slowly across the twilight sky. "I remember when you took me camping, and the storm caught us off guard. I know it meant a great deal for you to share that piece of your world, so I thought tonight we could finally experience camping in its truest form—under the shimmering blanket of stars, with the open sky as our roof."

A soft ripple of laughter escapes Olivia's lips as she teases, "You do realize this isn't real camping, it's more like glamping, isn't it?"

Fitz's laughter joins hers—warm and genuine. "It doesn't matter what we call it, Liv. All I want is for you to know that you are the love of my life. I'd move mountains for you. Ever since the very moment I first met you, my heart has been set on loving you. I am completely, irrevocably yours, Olivia. I hope you feel it in every moment we share."

Her voice, filled with earnest affection, responds softly, "I am yours, Fitzgerald Grant."

Gently, Fitz squeezes her hand, the tender pressure conveying the weight of memories and the promise of tomorrow. At that very moment, surrounded by the serenade of the nocturnal world—the rustling whispers of the wind, the subtle chorus of crickets echoing in the distance—the bond between them deepens into something profoundly unbreakable. They embraced the perfection of the night, knowing in their hearts that they were exactly where they were meant to be: together, enveloped in love, and bathed in peace.

With a contented sigh, Olivia snuggles closer to Fitz, feeling his protective, embracing warmth like a soft, comforting shield. As they gradually drift off to sleep under the vast, starlit sky, their hearts seamlessly entwined in a love resilient enough to brave any storm, both silently understand that they had found in each other a forever—a timeless bond destined to endure indefinitely.

Mellie begins to stir, her senses gradually awakening. She attempts to lift her hands, only to find them bound securely to the arms of the chair. Her ankles are similarly restrained, a harsh reminder of her captivity. The room around her is cloaked in darkness, an oppressive void that presses in from all sides. "Where am I?" she calls out, her voice echoing faintly in the stillness. A shadowy figure shifts in the obscurity, and a soft click signals the illumination of a small lamp, casting a pool of light that fights against the surrounding gloom.

"Hollis?" Mellie squints against the sudden brightness. "Where am I? Why are you here?"

Hollis steps into the light, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable. "Turns out, you're the person who killed my son?" The accusation hangs heavy in the air, a palpable tension crackling between them.

"What, no, I didn't—it wasn't just me," Mellie protests, her head whipping from side to side, eyes wide with panic.

"Oh, Mellie," a familiar voice cuts through the tension like a knife, and a woman steps into the light, her features coming into focus.

"Laura," Mellie breathes, her voice a mix of surprise and dread. "Fitz was with me the night Axel was shot."

Laura chuckles, a sound devoid of warmth. "My son wasn't there. You acted alone, Mellie."

"I…I didn't," Mellie insists, her voice trembling with desperation.

Laura reaches into her pocket and hands Hollis a syringe, its barrel filled with a clear, ominous liquid. "This is from Huck," she announces with a chilling calm.

"Wait…What is that?" Mellie asks, her voice rising with fear.

"A little something to make you visit your father," Laura replies coldly.

"No, no…it wasn't me," Mellie pleads, her voice breaking.

Laura leans over and kisses Hollis on the cheek, a grotesque display of affection against the backdrop of impending violence. "I'll see you at dinner," she says, her tone casual, as if discussing mundane plans.

"Don't be late," Hollis smiles, turning his attention back to Mellie, the syringe glinting in the lamplight. "Time to say hello to your father." With deliberate steps, Hollis approaches Mellie, the syringe poised in his hand, ready to deliver its sinister promise.

Monica flicks the television on, the room illuminated by the soft glow of the screen. Maya settles beside her on the couch, cradling a large bowl of buttery popcorn in her lap, its aroma filling the air. "What are we watching tonight?" she asks, her voice light and expectant.

"I was thinking we could watch a few episodes of the Golden Girls," Maya replies, a hint of nostalgia in her tone as she reaches for the remote. She begins flipping through the channels, her finger pausing over the button as the name Edison catches her eye, stark and bold against the scrolling news ticker at the bottom of the screen.

The news anchor's voice is somber: "Singer Edison Davis found dead inside his hotel room from an apparent drug overdose. More information to follow."

A heavy silence blankets the room as Maya and Monica exchange quick, knowing glances. "It's over," Maya whispers, her voice barely audible over the hum of the television.

"Samuel was arrested last week and now this. Such a shame," Monica remarks with a touch of sarcasm, the corners of her mouth twitching into a brief, ironic smile as she decisively changes the channel to the Golden Girls, the familiar theme song breaking the tension in the room.