The Stolen Life- My Mother Gave My Fiancé to Her Favorite Student novel Chapter 100

“Jack, do you really think I’m the reason Olivia left? No–you did that. With your lies. With your

cruelty.”

“You let everyone in this base think I was your girl. You let me bring you food, take care of you, and act like your damn shadow. Even if you didn’t say it outright, you let it happen! And you think Olivia

didn’t see all that? Of course she left!”

“You broke her heart, and now you want to blame me for it? That’s rich, Jack. Real rich.”

Emily’s shoulders shook. Her tears returned–real this time. But Jack didn’t flinch.

“If it weren’t for you,” he said, his voice low and steady, “I never would’ve treated Olivia that way.”

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Charlie blinked, thrown by how smoothly she rolled with it. No whining, no questions–just

straight–up acceptance of the hand she’d been dealt, even though they both knew this marriage was no love story.

Words weren’t Charlie’s strong suit. He just nodded quick and turned, leading the way.

The driver grinned behind them, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re Charlie’s girl? He hit the freaking lottery. You got a solid guy there, missy. You’ll do just fine.”

Olivia barely caught the words, still fuzzy from the motion sickness.

Charlie cleared his throat, his tanned face–hardened by years of farm work–turning a shade redder. “Path’s a mess from the rain,” he mumbled. “Let me carry you.”

He crouched, offering his back, steady as an oak after years of hauling heavy loads. But Olivia shook her head, stepping off the cart and sinking her boots into the muck.

“I’m good. I’ll walk.”

Charlie didn’t argue, just moved ahead to guide her along the narrow trail.

They trudged about ten minutes before a house came into view–white siding faded from the sun, roof patched with rusted tin and moss, but the porch looked swept and the front steps were sturdy. For a village place, it wasn’t half bad. Still, Charlie looked sheepish.

“This is all we got,” he said, rubbing his neck. “Your dad said you grew up in a fancy place–big garden, glass doors, the works. I know this not like that. But I’ll bust my ass to build you something better, something like you’re used to.”

He paused, then added, softer, “Look, I know you didn’t pick this. If you wanna head back to the city, I’ll take you. I won’t trap you here, Miss Hart.”

Folks from Camp Liberty had said the same–Olivia didn’t fit out here. She belonged in stilettos, not slogging through mud in rain boots.

But Olivia was done caring about what people thought. She’d survived worse gossip, worse humiliation.

This wasn’t the end of her story–it was just a new page.

“I’m staying,” she said, flat and final.

Without waiting for him to respond, she marched to the well, rolled up her sleeves, and started

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