Fated To Not Just One, But Three-Chapter 141: Not Me

Olivia's POV

With trembling fingers, I reached into the envelope and pulled out the last paper.

It was folded neatly, like someone had taken their time with it. But the moment I touched it, I felt sick. Like something was wrong. Like my soul already knew this would hurt.

This was supposed to be my reply.

But I never wrote a reply.

Still, I unfolded it.

My eyes scanned the words.

And suddenly, I couldn't breathe.

No.

No, no, no.

This wasn't me. I didn't write this.

But the words… the words felt like knives. Every sentence hurt more than the former. They were mean. Cold. Cruel.

I couldn't believe anyone would say these things to Lennox. Not even someone who hated him.

But this letter—whoever wrote it—pretended to be me.

In this letter, I didn't just reject him. I hurt him… I tormented him. The words were words that could kill anyone… they were words that hit Lennox in all the wrong places. It was perfectly crafted to hurt him… perfectly crafted to kill and destroy him.

Tears filled my eyes.

I read it again, even though it broke my heart.

My hand started to shake. My knees felt weak. The letter slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor.

Lennox didn't move. He didn't say anything.

I couldn't believe he had carried this pain in silence for years.

I couldn't believe he got to read something like this—and worst of all, all these years, he thought it came from me. It could have been kinder if the person who wrote this letter had plainly rejected him, but he or she didn't do that. Rather, they did something worse than rejection.

They killed my loving Lennox.

A sob slipped out before I could stop it. I covered my mouth with my hand, trying to hold in the rest—but I couldn't.

The tears poured out fast.

Now I understood. Now I understood why Lennox became a monster to me, why he hated me… why he derived pleasure in causing me pain. All that was revenge—to get back at me for my supposed words. This was why he went for Anita, my best friend—to flirt with her in my face.

This letter was why he said he'd never want me—not even over his dead body.

I couldn't stop crying.

I felt like my heart had been ripped open, and now I was just bleeding all over the floor of his room.

That letter… it didn't just hurt me—it destroyed me.

Because for the first time, I truly understood what Lennox had been carrying all these years.

And even though I didn't write those words, even though I knew deep down they didn't come from me… they still had my name on them. My handwriting. My necklace. My memories of us.

That was enough to make him believe.

Enough to make him hate.

I looked up at Lennox, my vision blurry with tears.

He was standing there, cold and still, like all this didn't hurt him anymore. Like he'd already bled dry a long time ago. But I could feel it. I could feel his pain like it was echoing in my chest.

"You really believed she wrote that?" I whispered.

He flinched. Just slightly. But it was enough.

He believed I said those things to him?

That I could ever… ever say something like that to him?

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. I looked at him, my heart aching.

He was supposed to ask me.

He was supposed to come to me. If he really loved me like that letter said… he should have come.

I clenched my jaw, blinking fast as tears filled my eyes.

I was fourteen. I was a kid. And he decided I was a monster because of one letter?

I laughed bitterly inwardly, shaking my head. He didn't even give me a chance. He just hated me. Hurt me. Played games with my heart.

All because of this?

I held the letter up, my hand trembling. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

"What if she didn't write it?" I said. "What if it was someone else?"

Lennox scoffed. "It was her. That is her handwriting. And see what she said about the necklace," he snapped.

I frowned, my pity and pain for him turning into anger. I wished I could just snap out of this act and tell him the truth—that this was never me—but Lennox will never believe me. Rather, I will just expose myself and spoil my plan of leaving.

Lennox is so convinced that I did this and won't believe until I provide evidence that I didn't say all this.

So if I wanted him to believe me… if I wanted to prove myself not guilty, I have to give proof. Proof that it wasn't me… that I never opened that box, that it got missing. I have to gather enough evidence so that when I tell him it wasn't me, he will have no choice but to believe it.

So instead of screaming and crying at him, telling him I didn't write this, I composed myself and handed the envelope back to him. "I'm sorry she did this to you," I said simply, and Lennox nodded.

Just then, the door opened and Levi stepped in. The moment he did, I used that as an opportunity to simply walk away—and none of them stopped me.

As I left the room, I began listing out my tasks.

First, prove Father's innocence.

Second, expose Anita and her father.

Third, gather every shred of evidence that proves I didn't write that letter.

Fourth, leave this goddamn pack.

And these goddamn men.

I walked briskly toward my room, my thoughts still tangled in the storm Lennox had left behind. I felt the urge to run back to him and scream until my lungs gave out—but I kept walking. One step after another.

Until I saw Anita.

She was waiting right outside my door, arms crossed loosely, like she just happened to be passing by—but I knew better. Her eyes lit up when she saw me, like she'd been expecting me.

"Olivia," she said, her voice soft, like honey laced with something sharp. "Can we talk?"

I didn't respond right away. I didn't trust myself to speak without exploding. But she stepped forward anyway, like the silence didn't scare her.

"I have something to tell you," she added quickly, "something important. About tonight."

I narrowed my eyes but said nothing. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. She followed in like she was still my friend.

She closed the door behind her, then turned to face me.

"I can help you," she continued. "I know a way out. A real way. Safe. Clean. No one will stop you."

I turned slowly to face her, my frown deepening. "Go on."

Her eyes flicked to the door, then back to me. "Tonight, there's a route—through the east side of the border. Patrol is light. I have someone who owes me a favor. He's bringing a truck in for supply runs. He'll drive you out."

"To where?"

"To Alpha Gabriel," she said simply. "Your husband. You want to be with him, right?"