Episode 2 - Repressed Love
1019 Words
Adrian Whitmore remained close to Olivia Carter in the days following Ethan Whitmore’s presumed death. He never hovered, never intruded, but he was always there. At the wake, he stood just behind her shoulder, quietly stepping forward when guests approached, offering subtle support without drawing attention to himself. He watched her delicate fingers tremble around crystal tumblers, her voice steady even as exhaustion shadowed her eyes.
She held herself together in front of everyone.
Only when she slipped away down the hallway did Adrian allow himself to follow at a distance. He stopped outside the ladies’ room, hearing the faint rush of water and the sharp inhale she tried to swallow. His chest tightened. She was breaking, but only where no one could see.
When she emerged moments later, she had composed herself again. Perfect. Controlled. Untouchable.
“You holding up?” he asked softly.
She offered a small smile. “I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t. Adrian saw the strain in her posture, the subtle tension in her shoulders. And being near her again stirred something he had spent years trying to bury.
Memories surfaced uninvited.
He remembered the first time he saw her during their university years. She had been crossing the campus lawn, sunlight catching in her chestnut hair as she laughed with a friend. The sound of it had drawn him in instantly, something quiet and certain settling in his chest. He had watched her from across the quad, already knowing she was someone he wouldn’t easily forget.
Then Ethan had stepped beside her.
Confident. Effortless. The older twin stepping into the light as Adrian lingered at the edges. When Ethan began pursuing Olivia, Adrian stepped aside without hesitation. It had never felt like a choice. Ethan was his brother, and Adrian had always been the one who yielded.
Still, the feelings never truly disappeared.
Over the years, he watched from a distance. Family dinners. Holidays. Weekend gatherings. He listened as Ethan casually mentioned small details about their life together, never realizing how carefully Adrian absorbed every word.
Olivia preferred tea over coffee.
She slept with one foot outside the covers.
She hummed quietly when she read.
Each detail stayed with him, tucked away where he tried not to linger too long.
Now, with Ethan gone, those buried feelings surfaced with unexpected force. Adrian found himself noticing everything again. The scent of her perfume. The quiet strength in her posture. The vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.
After the wake, he found her standing alone on the terrace overlooking the estate pond. Autumn leaves drifted across the water in slow, silent clusters.
“You should rest,” he said gently.
“I will,” she answered softly, wrapping her arms around herself.
Her platinum wedding band caught the fading light. The sight grounded him immediately. She was still his brother’s wife. The thought should have ended whatever fragile hope had begun to form inside him.
But it didn’t.
Instead, he turned away, restless energy tightening in his chest. He needed something to occupy the storm building inside him. The study door stood halfway open, Eathan’s desk. It had remained untouched since the news of the crash.
Adrain stepped inside.
The room smelled faintly of leather and cedar, familiar and painful all at once. He told himself he was only looking for paperwork. Something practical. Something helpful. Oliva had mentioned needing insurance information earlier.
He slid open the top drawer.
Files sat neatly arranged, just like Ethan always kept them. Flight logs, business documents, and bank statements.
Then he noticed the envelope.
Olivia’s handwriting.
His fingers stilled.
He shouldn’t open it.
But the corner had already been torn, as if someone had opened it and then hesitated. The paper inside shifted slightly when he picked it up.
He pulled it free.
Divorce Petition.
The words hit him like a physical blow.
Adrain stared down at the document, his pulse roaring in his ears. Olivia’s name. Ethan’s name. The filing date from two weeks ago.
Two weeks.
She had been planning to leave him.
His chest tightened as he read the first few lines, each word sinking deeper. There was no anger in the document. No bitterness. Just quiet finality. A marriage ending not with explosion, but with exhaustion.
Adrain exhaled slowly, his hand tightening around the paper.
She hadn’t loved him anymore.
Or at least…not the way she once had.
Carefully, he folded the document and slipped it back into the envelope, placing it exactly where he had found it.
But something had shifted.
If she had already been planning on leaving Ethan…
Then what did that make this?
His heart pounded harder now, the fragile idea growing stronger.
She wasn’t stealing someone else’s life.
She had already been walking away from it.
And for the first time, the thought of stepping into Ethan’s place didn’t feel entirely impossible.
He knew Ethan’s voice.
His mannerisms.
The way he moved, the way he spoke.
He knew Olivia, too. Better, perhaps, than Ethan ever had.
The realization unsettled him.
What if…
The idea formed slowly, dangerously.
What if he became his brother?
Adrian pushed the thought away immediately, guilt settling heavily in his chest. It was wrong. A betrayal of everything he owed Ethan. Yet the idea lingered, refusing to disappear.
Because for the first time, Adrian realized something he had never allowed himself to consider before.
If Ethan never came back… there would be nothing left standing between him and Olivia except the truth.
And truth, he thought quietly, could sometimes be rewritten.
That night, Adrian lay awake in his darkened room, the idea returning again and again. He tried to dismiss it, but the thought refused to release him. Eventually, he rose and walked to his study, restless and unable to sleep.
He pulled out a sheet of paper and picked up a pen.
Without fully deciding to, he wrote Ethan Whitmore’s name.
The first attempt looked wrong.
He tried again.
And again.
By dawn, the desk was scattered with pages bearing Ethan’s signature.
The lie had begun.
And Adrian wasn’t sure he could stop.
- Writer
