The Billionaire's Silent Wife (Ryan and Eve) novel Chapter 80

80 THE LAST EVENING IN WESTWOOD

Eve’s POV

The restaurant hummed with its usual evening rhythm, warm lights, clattering plates, conversations weaving like threads, Camila’s voice floating from the kitchen, and the familiar scent of garlic and seared beef drifting through the air. It was comforting. Healing. A world Eve had lived in, breathed in, survived in, and rebuilt herself in.

Their last night in Westwood felt almost bittersweet.

Ryan and Eve sat across from each other at a small corner table, the same table where she and Camila once used to take late dinner breaks after long shifts. Ryan looked strangely peaceful, almost boyish in the dim lighting. He had been helping in the kitchen earlier, sleeves rolled up, hair untamed, laughing more than Eve had ever seen him laugh in three years of marriage. The Rodrigos adored him. The staff adored him.

Some women in the dining room adored him a little too much.

Eve didn’t mind. For once, she wasn’t anxious, waiting for Ryan’s mood to turn cold or distant. For once, she wasn’t overthinking. He had kept close to her all day, touching her lower back, brushing his thumb across her cheek, helping her wash dishes, asking her every twenty minutes if she needed to rest.

It was an unfamiliar version of Ryan, softer, grounded, human.

“Be right back,” Ryan murmured, brushing her cheek with his fingertips before heading to the restroom.

Eve nodded and smiled faintly, watching him walk away. The moment he disappeared down the hallway, she breathed out, relaxing back in her chair.

That was when she heard it, a low voice behind her.

“Eve?”

Her stomach dropped.

She froze.

Slowly, she turned around.

Oliver Macintire stood a few feet away, tall, handsome in that clean-cut corporate way, wearing a pale-blue shirt rolled at the sleeves. He had a small plastic takeaway cup of ice in his hand, something he did when he was nervous, crunching ice to calm his nerves.

His eyes softened the moment they met hers.

“Dios mío…” Tiff whispered from across the room, grabbing another waitress by the arm. “It’s Oliver.”

Eve swallowed.

Of all nights. Of all moments. Now?

Oliver walked closer, confusion and relief warring on his face.

“Eve,” he said again, more breathlessly this time. “You’re here.”

Her pulse skittered wildly. She forced her hands to stay still on the table.

Eve offered a strained smile. “Oliver… hi.”

He blinked. “So it’s true. You really came back.”

Eve opened her mouth to speak, but he stepped forward first, voice tightening.

“You just disappeared,” he said quietly. “No warning. No message. Nothing. I heard what happened that night with Kimberly Ashbrook, my friend was serving at that event. He saw everything. He said you looked terrified. Then the next morning when I came to check on you, “he exhaled sharply, frustration etched into his brow”, they told me you left Westwood.”

Eve felt the sting of guilt. Oliver had been nothing but kind to her. Gentle. Respectful. He had never crossed a line. But she’d been too broken, too confused to stay.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It was a family matter. Complicated.”

Oliver let out a humourless laugh. “Complicated? Eve, you vanished.”

“I know… but I had to go back home.”

He stiffened, “Home? As in,”

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