You Looked Down on Me Once Now You Look Up (Patricia and Oliver) novel Chapter 500

Chelsea’s apartment had never been this full of people before. Honestly, it was all thanks to Oliver. If it weren’t for him, she doubted she’d ever see this many guests in her home, even after living here for years.

The Parsons family was famous for being, well, a little on the small side.

Chelsea sat at the dining table, glancing around at everyone. The air felt so awkward she could practically taste it.

She cleared her throat and tried to break the tension. “So… should we just eat?”

Atticus shot Oliver a look sharp enough to draw blood, then turned his glare to her. “What, are you starving or something?”

Great. Should’ve kept quiet. If they wanted to argue, let them.

She got up, opened the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of orange juice. She’d just poured herself a glass when Atticus’s eyes landed on her again.

“Why are you drinking juice? We’re about to eat.”

Chelsea froze, glass in hand, feeling totally stuck. Was she just here to take the heat for Oliver? That didn’t seem fair—she wasn’t the one who’d caused all this drama. Why did she have to take the blame?

She shot Oliver a look. Not happening. If anyone deserved Atticus’s wrath, it wasn’t her.

“Dad, I—”

Her phone buzzed three times in a row, cutting her off. She figured it was work blowing up her phone again, but when she checked, it was Oliver.

A money transfer: 500,000.

Help me out.

I’ll give you more once this is over.

Chelsea glanced at Oliver, who met her gaze with a steady, reassuring look. It was enough to make her feel like things might actually be okay.

“Relax. Dad’s not going to kill him. You know how he is—if he doesn’t blow off some steam, he’ll hold a grudge forever.”

“Want some soup?”

Patricia stared at her. “Your dad holds grudges, but so does Oliver!”

Half an hour later, Patricia was still nervously sipping her soup when the two men finally reappeared.

Oliver’s white shirt was a mess, smudged and rumpled, with a bruise blooming at the corner of his mouth. His hair, which had been perfectly styled before, now hung in messy strands across his forehead.

Atticus, on the other hand, looked completely refreshed, practically strutting back into the room.

Patricia stared at Atticus, then looked at Oliver, who shot her a wounded, betrayed look.