Chapter 21

POV: Sabrina

By the time the workday wound down, I was more than ready to go home.

Except—where was home?

The sterile hotel room? Or the bed I’d spent every night in for the past week—Oliver’s?

I leaned back in my chair, stretching my sore muscles. The day had been a whirlwind of introductions, endless emails, and learning the ropes of my new position. I felt good. Confident.

And completely unable to stop thinking about him.

Just as I considered texting him, the door to my office opened.

Oliver stepped inside without a word, shutting it behind him.

He locked it.

My pulse jumped.

He looked like sin in a suit—tie loosened, sleeves pushed up, his strong forearms on full display. He hadn’t so much as touched me all day, but the restraint had only made things worse.

For both of us.

He stalked toward me, his presence wrapping around me like a vice. “Did you miss me?”

I smirked, feigning nonchalance. “Didn’t even notice you were gone.”

He chuckled, but his eyes darkened as he reached my desk, leaning down, trapping me in my chair with nothing but his presence. His hands planted on the armrests, caging me in.

“Liar.”

I bit my lip, refusing to admit how right he was.

But then, his lips brushed my ear.

“You should be careful how much you tease me, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dark, full of warning. “You’re in a very vulnerable position right now.”

I shivered, tilting my head just enough to meet his gaze.

“And whose fault is that?”

He smirked, his fingers grazing the hem of my dress. Just the lightest touch, but it was enough to send fire licking up my spine.

I placed my hands on his chest, slowly tracing the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt.

He inhaled sharply.

A flicker of triumph shot through me.

“Speaking of teasing…” I trailed off, feigning innocence as I let my fingers drift lower.

“Sabrina.” His voice was rough, a warning.

I smirked, tilting my head. “You’ve barely touched me all day. What happened to the man who had his hands between my thighs in his car last night again?”

His jaw clenched. “You are a dangerous woman.”

“I know.”

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle, but there was fire in his eyes. Then, just as quickly, the amusement faded, and his expression turned serious.

“We need to keep this quiet here.”

I raised a brow. “Why? Are you ashamed of me?”

Oliver laughed—actually laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent a thrill through me.

“Ashamed?” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Sabrina, if I had it my way, you’d be wearing a collar with my name on it so everyone knew exactly who you belonged to.”

I gaped at him. “A collar?”

He smirked.

“That’s bad taste,” I scoffed. “If that’s the case, you should wear one with my name on it.”

His eyes darkened. “Careful what you say, sweetheart. I’d wear it just to see how flustered you get.”

I rolled my eyes, but my heart pounded at the idea.

Oliver reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered against my cheek, his touch softer now. More deliberate.

Then, his expression shifted—turning serious again.

“I don’t care what people think about me,” he murmured. “But I do care about your reputation.”

I stilled.

“That’s what this is about?”

His jaw clenched. “You worked for this promotion. You earned it. I won’t have people whispering that you got it because of me.”

My chest tightened.

He cared.

Not just about us, but about me. My career. My reputation.

I reached for his tie, wrapping the silk around my fingers and pulling him closer.

“You’re kind of sweet, you know that?”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Don’t start.”

“No, really.” I traced the curve of his jaw. “Oliver Reginalds, the cold, ruthless boss who actually has a heart.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You are going to be the death of me.”

I grinned. “You love it.”

“I do,” he admitted, voice rough. “And you love provoking me.”

My lips parted slightly, a thrill running through me at the raw honesty in his words.

I ran my hands down his chest again, feeling the heat of his body through the fabric. He reached for my dress, fingers curling around the hem, his grip firm, possessive.

“I could fuck you right here,” he murmured, voice dark with promise. “Bend you over this desk, make you scream my name.”

My breath hitched.

I wanted that.

Desperately.

But I smirked instead. “Was last night not enough for you?”

He let out a low, dangerous chuckle. “With you, it’s never enough.”

God help me.

I nearly gave in. Nearly let him pull my dress up and claim me right there on my desk.

But I took a steadying breath and stepped back.

He arched a brow.

I shrugged. “You said we need to keep things quiet.”

His eyes darkened, but he smirked. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

I grinned, heading toward the door. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I unlocked it and turned back, meeting his heated gaze.

“For now, we keep things professional,” I said sweetly.

Oliver crossed his arms, watching me with a hunger that sent a thrill straight to my core.

“For now,” he echoed.

But the promise in his voice was clear.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

“I’ll wait for you outside…”

“You won´t let me go to the hotel ever?”

“Hell no,” He said and left.

By the time I stepped out of the office building, the city had turned dusky, golden light spilling through the streets. The cool evening air brushed against my skin as I pulled my coat tighter around myself.

I know my plan of going straight to my hotel, maybe ordering room service, and attempting to ignore the restless ache Oliver had left in me wasn’t going to work. But who was I trying to deceive? I didn’t want to go to the hotel; I really wanted to go to his place.

But then I saw it.

His car.

Sleek. Dark. Parked at the curb like it had been waiting for me all along.

And there he was.

Oliver leaned against the hood, looking completely at ease—his tie gone, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, his sleeves still rolled up from the workday. His hands were in his pockets, but the moment he saw me, his lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

I arched a brow as I walked toward him. “Stalking me now?”

“Picking you up.” He reached for the car door, opening it for me. “Get in.”

I hesitated. “I was going to head back to the hotel.” I tried.

His smirk deepened. “You’re going to my place.”

I folded my arms. “Am I?”

Oliver let out a quiet laugh, stepping closer, close enough that his cologne and the warmth of his body surrounded me. “Sabrina,” he murmured, his voice a quiet command. “You’ve slept at my place every night for the past week. You really want to pretend you’re going to that empty hotel room tonight?”

I hated how easily he saw through me.

But I also loved it.

I sighed dramatically. “Fine. But only because your bed is bigger.”

His lips twitched. “And more comfortable?”

“And because your penthouse has a much better view.”

Oliver hummed, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “You know what view I prefer?”

I rolled my eyes but felt heat bloom in my chest. “Let me guess—me, naked, in your bed?”

He smirked. “Smart girl.”

I shook my head, climbing into the car before I lost whatever sliver of self-control I had left.

Oliver’s penthouse was —luxurious, masculine, and completely him.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, casting the space in a soft glow. The open-concept layout led straight into a sleek kitchen, where Oliver moved with ease, grabbing a bottle of wine and two glasses.

I kicked off my heels, watching him.

“You really had this all planned out, huh?”

He poured the wine, handing me a glass. “I know you.”

I took a sip, the rich taste coating my tongue. “Oh? And what do you know?”

Oliver leaned against the counter, watching me with those sharp, dark eyes. “I know that you wanted me to take you home tonight.”

I scoffed. “Confident, aren’t you?”

“Always.” He took a sip of his own wine, his gaze never leaving mine. “And I know that you love being teased.”

I licked my lips, heartbeat picking up. “Do I?”

He smirked. “Mm-hmm. You act like you’re in control, but the moment I touch you…” His voice dropped, turning rough. “You melt for me.”

Heat curled low in my stomach.

I stepped closer, setting my glass down on the counter. “And what about you?”

His brows lifted. “What about me?”

I dragged a finger down his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. “What happens when I tease you?”

Oliver exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as I slowly trailed my touch lower, to the waistband of his pants.

I smiled. “Not so cocky now, huh?”

His hands shot out, gripping my hips, yanking me against him.

I gasped.

He bent his head, lips brushing against my ear. “Sabrina,” he murmured. “You know better than to play a game you won’t win.”

Chapter 22

POV: Sabrina

He bent his head, lips brushing against my ear. “Sabrina,” he murmured. “You know better than to play a game you won’t win.”

A shiver ran through me.

But I wasn’t backing down.

I slid my hands around his neck, pulling him even closer, letting my lips brush against his. “Maybe I want to lose.”

Oliver groaned, his grip tightening. “Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re dangerous.”

I grinned, but before I could tease him again, Oliver lifted me onto the counter like I weighed nothing.

I gasped, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, feeling the solid heat of him press between my thighs.

His hands gripped my legs, fingers digging into my bare skin as he caged me in, his mouth hovering just inches from mine. His breath was warm, teasing, full of promise.

“I could take you right here,” he murmured, his voice rough, hungry. “Is that what you want?”

I bit my lip, loving the way his eyes darkened at the sight.

“You know what I want?” I whispered, my lips grazing his.

His fingers slid beneath my dress, brushing over my thighs, igniting every nerve in my body. “Tell me,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

I held his gaze, watching the tension tighten in his jaw, the way his breathing deepened. The way he needed to hear me say it.

“You.”

His restraint snapped.

His mouth crashed against mine, his kiss deep, claiming, relentless. His tongue met mine, coaxing, demanding, moving in sync as his hands slid higher, pushing my dress up until it was bunched around my waist.

I moaned into his mouth as his fingers traced the edge of my panties, teasing.

Then, he dropped to his knees.

Oh, God.

That man on his knees for me was a sight I’d never get tired of.

Oliver gripped my thighs, pulling me to the very edge of the counter, spreading me wide for him. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of my panties, dragging them down my legs slowly, his eyes locked onto mine as he did it.

“Already soaked for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “I love how easy you are for me.”

I barely had time to react before his mouth was on me.

A sharp gasp ripped from my throat as his tongue flicked over my clit, teasing, circling, making my body jolt in response.

“Oliver,” I moaned, my hands diving into his hair, pulling, needing more.

He groaned, his tongue pressing deeper, sucking, kissing, devouring me like he was starving. My back arched, my head tipping back as the pleasure built fast, hot and overwhelming.

My thighs trembled around his head, but he held me down, his hands gripping me tight, keeping me right where he wanted me.

“Fuck—” I gasped, my body coiling tighter, my breaths coming in sharp, uneven pants.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

Didn’t give me a second to breathe before he pushed me over the edge, dragging me into a blinding, toe-curling orgasm that had me crying out, my nails digging into his scalp.

He groaned against me as I came, his tongue lapping up every last drop, his grip on my thighs firm as he held me through every last pulse of pleasure.

By the time he pulled back, his lips glistened, his eyes blazing with satisfaction.

I was still breathless when he stood, his mouth crashing against mine again, making me taste myself on his tongue.

I was still tingling when my hands moved, fumbling to unbuckle his belt, my fingers greedy, desperate.

“Someone’s eager,” he murmured against my lips.

“You have no idea.”

I yanked his belt free, shoved his pants and boxers down, releasing him.

Oliver groaned as my hand wrapped around his length, thick and hard and ready for me.

He didn’t wait.

Didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed my hips, lined himself up, and thrust into me in one smooth, deep stroke.

I cried out, my head falling forward against his shoulder as he filled me completely, stretching me, overwhelming me.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his grip on my waist bruising. “You feel so fucking good.”

We were still half-dressed, my dress bunched around my waist, his shirt still open, and the sheer desperation of it only made it hotter.

He pulled out slowly, teasing, making me feel every inch of him before thrusting back in hard.

I gasped, my fingers clawing at his back.

His pace was perfect—deep, rhythmic, each thrust pulling a moan from my lips as the pleasure built again, sharp and fast, like I was already on the edge of something explosive.

Oliver growled, his hand slipping between us, his fingers finding my clit.

He barely had to touch me before my body snapped, shattering all over again.

“Oliver—” I gasped, my nails digging into his skin as I came, clenching around him so tight he cursed against my neck, his hips jerking, his movements turning rougher, desperate.

“Fuck, Sabrina,” he groaned, his rhythm breaking as he lost control, driving into me harder, deeper—until he tensed, his breath catching, his body shuddering as he let go.

He collapsed against me, his forehead pressing to mine, both of us breathless, bodies still tangled together.

A slow, satisfied smile curled on his lips.

“You really are a spoiled girl, aren’t you?” he murmured, brushing a kiss against my jaw.

I smirked, still trying to catch my breath. “Only for you.”

His dark eyes gleamed, full of something dangerous, something wild.

Then, without another word, he lifted me into his arms effortlessly.

I let out a surprised laugh, wrapping my arms around his neck as he carried me toward the bedroom.

“Oliver,” I murmured, grinning. “You know I can walk, right?”

“Don’t care.” His voice was rough, possessive. “You’re mine.”

God.

The way he said that.

Like he’d never let me go.

I barely had time to process it before he laid me down on the bed, his body covering mine, his hands everywhere—pulling, unzipping, stripping me bare beneath him.

His mouth was on me before I could think, tasting, teasing, worshiping.

And when he finally pushed inside me again, slow and deep, I gasped, clutching his shoulders, pulling him even closer.

Oliver groaned, burying his face in my neck. “You wreck me, Sabrina.”

I arched against him, breathless. “Good.”

He let out a low chuckle.

Then, he kissed me—deep and slow and devastating.

And for the rest of the night, he showed me exactly how much he meant those words.

Chapter 23

POV: Sabrina

I woke up to warmth.

The kind that seeped into my bones, wrapped around me, held me close.

Oliver.

I felt his body pressed against mine, his arm draped over my waist, his breath fanning across my neck. At some point in the night, we’d tangled together completely—his leg hooked over mine, my hand still resting on his chest.

I shifted slightly, and his grip tightened, pulling me closer.

“You’re not sneaking away, are you?” his voice was thick with sleep, rough and low in my ear.

A lazy smile curved on my lips. “Why would I sneak away from a perfectly warm bed?”

“Exactly.” His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the curve of my hip. “Stay.”

I turned in his arms, facing him, my eyes trailing over his sleep-ruffled hair, the faint stubble on his jaw. God, he looked unfairly good in the morning.

“I have to go to work, Mr. Reginalds,” I murmured, running a teasing finger down his chest.

His hand tightened on my hip, his eyes still half-lidded with sleep but already darkening with something else.

“Work can wait,” he said, rolling onto his back and bringing me with him until I was straddling him, his hands gripping my thighs.

A thrill shot through me at the heat in his gaze, at the way he was already hard beneath me.

I leaned down, brushing my lips against his. “You’re insatiable.”

He smirked. “I blame you.”

My breath hitched as his hands slid higher, gripping my waist, guiding me exactly where he wanted me.

And just like that, I forgot all about work.

⸻

By the time we finally did get out of bed, I was flushed, spent, and completely satisfied.

I wrapped his shirt around me and padded barefoot into the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee filling the air.

I stopped in the doorway, watching as Oliver stood by the stove, flipping pancakes.

I bit my lip, suppressing a grin.

“Look at you,” I teased, leaning against the counter. “So domestic.”

Oliver shot me a dry look. “Don’t start.”

I crossed the room, looping my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek against his back. “It’s just… I never pictured this.”

His muscles tensed for a brief second before he exhaled, his free hand covering mine. “Neither did I,” he admitted.

There was something about the way he said it, something unguarded, something that made my chest tighten.

I pulled back, stepping around to face him, resting my hip against the counter. “What changed?”

He turned off the stove, setting the spatula down before looking at me. “You.”

A slow smile spread across my lips.

“Careful, Oliver,” I murmured, stepping closer, trailing a finger down his chest. “You’re dangerously close to being sweet.”

He grabbed my hand, bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss against my palm. “Don’t tell anyone.”

I laughed, but before I could say anything else, he was already plating the pancakes, handing me a cup of coffee.

I smirked, taking a sip. “You know, for a ruthless businessman, you make a damn good breakfast.”

Oliver shot me a look, handing me my plate. “And for a woman who claims she wanted to sleep at a hotel, you sure seem comfortable here.”

I arched a brow. “Is that your way of saying you want me to stay?”

His eyes held mine, steady, unreadable.

Then, he smirked. “No, it’s my way of saying it’s pointless for you to pretend we won’t end up in the same bed every night anyway.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t fight the grin tugging at my lips.

Damn him for always being right.

⸻

We left separately for work.

It wasn’t a conversation we had, but we both knew. The way Oliver held my waist as I grabbed my purse, the way his fingers lingered, his thumb tracing my hip before he let me go. The way he watched me leave.

It was too risky to arrive together.

But that didn’t mean we weren’t still playing the game.

When I walked into the office, I knew he was already there.

I felt his presence before I even saw him.

And when I finally did—Oliver sitting behind his desk, the glass walls between us doing nothing to dull the intensity in his gaze—I knew he was already watching me.

I smirked to myself, stepping into my office, pretending I didn’t notice him.

But I did.

And I decided to have a little fun.

I sat down, crossing my legs slowly, deliberately. I could feel his eyes trailing down my body, lingering where my skirt rode up just slightly.

I reached for my glasses, sliding them on, knowing exactly what they did to him.

I flicked my gaze up, locking eyes with him through the glass.

Oliver tilted his head slightly, a slow smirk curving on his lips.

I bit the end of my pen, watching him.

His jaw tensed.

I could feel his restraint from across the room, could see it in the way he gripped his pen just a little too tight.

Then, slowly, he reached for his phone.

A second later, mine buzzed on my desk.

I glanced down.

Oliver: You’re playing a dangerous game, Sabrina.

I smirked, my fingers flying over the keyboard.

Me: And what are you going to do about it?

I looked up just in time to see his expression darken, his tongue running over his bottom lip.

Oh, he wanted to do something about it.

But he couldn’t.

Not here.

I leaned back in my chair, my fingers trailing up my thigh absently as I held his gaze, challenging him.

His phone buzzed again.

He glanced at the screen, exhaling sharply before standing abruptly, running a hand through his hair.

I bit my lip, watching as he turned his back to me, his shoulders tense.

A thrill shot through me.

I wasn’t sure what I loved more—the things Oliver did to me, or the things I could do to him without even touching him.

I smirked to myself, turning my attention back to my computer.

Because this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

And something told me that by the end of the day, Oliver would make sure I paid for teasing him like that.

God, I couldn’t wait.

The teasing had been relentless.

Glances across the office. The way I’d slowly crossed my legs, letting my skirt inch higher. The way I’d slid my glasses on and off, knowing exactly what it did to him.

Oliver was coming undone.

And I loved it.

I could see it in the way his grip tightened on his pen, in the way his jaw clenched every time I so much as licked my lips. His control was slipping, fraying at the edges. And I knew—I knew—that by the time we were alone tonight, he was going to make me pay for every second of it.

The thought alone sent a delicious shiver down my spine.

I got up, smoothing my skirt, and headed toward the coffee station in the hall. It was a sleek, open space, a shared area for the upper offices. Quiet, mostly empty at this time of the morning.

Or so I thought.

I had just reached for my cup when I felt him.

Heat. Strength. A presence so commanding it sent a shudder through me before he even touched me.

Then—

Oliver’s body pressed up against mine, his chest firm against my back, his hips pushing into me.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

He was hard.

I smirked, biting my lip. “Already?” I whispered, pouring my coffee.

His hands slid up my sides, caging me in. “You know exactly why,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. “You’ve been doing it on purpose.”

I let out a soft, breathless laugh, feigning innocence. “Doing what?”

His fingers trailed down my arms, his touch deceptively soft. “Those glasses. That skirt. Spreading your thighs for me.” His voice dropped lower. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to bend you over this counter?”

I swallowed, heat pooling between my legs.

God, he was dangerous.

I turned my head slightly, my mouth just a breath away from his. “Is that a promise?”

His grip tightened. “No, Sabrina.” He exhaled sharply, his breath hot against my skin. “That’s a warning.”

A thrill ran down my spine.

I turned, about to tease him again—

But then—

The elevator doors dinged open.

And the atmosphere changed.

I felt it before I saw it.

The way Oliver’s entire body went rigid. The way his hands dropped from me as if I’d burned him. The way he suddenly stepped back, just as—

She walked in.

Confident. Controlled. Moving through the space as if she owned it.

She was beautiful.

Not in an obvious, soft way. But in a sharp, striking way. Tall, poised, her figure hugged by a fitted dress. Brown hair styled in sleek waves, green eyes gleaming with something cool and knowing.

But it wasn’t her looks that unsettled me.

It was her presence.

Like she was untouchable. Like she already knew something I didn’t.

And then I felt Oliver react.

His hand clenched around his cup, fingers going white. His breath hitched, and for the first time since I’d met him, he looked unprepared.

He barely masked the shock before he turned to me, his voice low, almost pleading.

“Don’t listen to her.”

What?

I barely had time to process his words before she stopped in front of us.

Right in front of him.

She smiled.

The kind of smile that wasn’t entirely warm.

“Oliver,” she said smoothly, like she was tasting his name. “It’s been a while.”

Oliver exhaled, his jaw tight. “Bethany.”

I blinked, watching the exchange.

And then—

Bethany turned her gaze on me.

Her green eyes flickered, scanning me, assessing me.

Then she smirked.

“Oh,” she said, tilting her head. “You must be Schmidt. The new promotion.”

There was something in the way she said it.

Like it was a joke.

Like I was a joke.

I squared my shoulders, my voice cool. “And you are?”

Bethany’s smirk widened.

She stepped closer, eyes gleaming, enjoying this far too much.

“I’m Bethany,” she said, her voice smooth, deliberate.

Then—

The next words came, and they slammed into me like a car crash.

“I’m Oliver’s wife.”

…

The world went silent.

My heart stopped.

I felt the word wife rattle through me, hollow and deafening.

My stomach dropped.

No.

No, that wasn’t—

That couldn’t be—

I turned, my breath catching, my chest tightening, my mind screaming for this to be some kind of mistake—

But Oliver wasn’t looking at Bethany.

He was looking at me.

And the expression on his face—

It told me everything.

Because he wasn’t shocked.

He wasn’t confused.

He wasn’t even denying it.

He just looked at me.

And in that moment—

I knew.

This wasn’t a misunderstanding.

This wasn’t a lie.

This was real.

Oliver had a wife.

And I…

I had just fallen into something I never saw coming.

Chapter 24

POV: Sabrina

The word wife still echoed in my head.

Loud. Suffocating. Drowning out everything else.

But then—

Oliver’s voice cut through it.

Low. Steady. Intentional.

“Ex-wife, Bethany.”

I blinked.

Bethany simply tilted her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, right. Ex.” She rolled her eyes, as if the word itself irritated her. “You know I never liked that title.”

I exhaled, my body unwinding just a fraction.

Ex-wife.

Not wife.

I wasn’t sleeping with someone’s husband. I wasn’t that woman.

Oliver’s gaze was locked on mine, unwavering, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. And then he spoke again, his voice firm.

“We signed the divorce papers three years ago.”

Bethany let out a soft laugh. “You signed them three years ago.” She ran a perfectly manicured hand through her hair. “I took a little longer. What was it? Two years?”

I swallowed.

Three years.

They had been over for three years.

And yet, standing between them, watching this strange, tense exchange, it didn’t feel like ancient history.

It felt like something unfinished.

Something that left marks.

Oliver turned to me then, and I could feel the weight of his gaze.

“This,” he said, voice measured, “is Bethany Caldwell.”

…

Caldwell.

The name hit me like a second blow.

I turned my head sharply, looking at him, really looking at him.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

The way he and Caldwell had spoken before, like old acquaintances rather than just business associates.

The ease in their conversation. The familiarity.

Because they were familiar.

Because, at one point, Oliver hadn’t just worked for Caldwell.

He had been his son-in-law.

My stomach twisted.

I needed air.

I needed to get away from this conversation before I lost my grip on whatever the hell I was feeling.

My heart was racing.

Bethany must have noticed because her smirk grew. “Oh dear,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm the new girl.”

I set my jaw. “Don’t worry. You didn’t.”

She let out a soft, amused sound before turning back to Oliver. “Anyway, I came back from Greece.” She shrugged, like it was nothing. “And I don’t have any upcoming trips, so I thought I’d… work a little.”

I didn’t miss the way Oliver’s entire body tensed.

His lips pressed into a thin line. His jaw flexed.

He hated this.

Bethany’s presence. Her words. Her very existence in this office.

She smirked again, then turned toward the hallway that led to her father’s office. “See you around, Oliver.”

And just like that, she was gone.

But the tension in Oliver’s body remained.

I turned to leave, desperate to put some space between us, between this, but Oliver’s voice stopped me.

“Sabrina.”

I shook my head. “Not now.”

He took a step toward me, lowering his voice. “We need to talk.”

I ignored him and kept walking.

I wasn’t going to stand in the middle of the hallway, dissecting his past marriage like some soap opera.

I could feel him following me, but he didn’t say anything else—not in front of everyone.

Not yet.

I reached my office, stepped inside—

And before I could even breathe, Oliver followed, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

Silence filled the space.

I turned to him. “Are you serious?”

His brown eyes burned into mine.

“Yes.”

I let out a sharp breath, crossing my arms. “You could have told me, Oliver. You should have told me.”

“I was going to.” His jaw flexed, frustration clear in his features. “I just—” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t expect her to show up here.”

I shook my head, heart still pounding.

Oliver took a step closer. “Sabrina, listen to me.” His voice softened, but there was an edge to it, something raw. “Bethany and I… We met in college. Her father, Alexander, offered me a junior position here, and I took it. But it didn’t matter what I did—how much I worked, how much effort I put in—everyone assumed I was only here because I was fucking the boss’s daughter.”

I swallowed.

He looked at me, gaze unwavering. “That’s why I wanted to keep us quiet.” His voice was low, almost pleading. “I already know what it’s like to have people think you didn’t earn your place. I already lived that. And I will not let that happen to you.”

Something inside me twisted.

The sincerity in his voice. The way he looked at me, like he was protecting me, not just himself.

I inhaled slowly, processing. “And Bethany?”

Oliver’s expression darkened. “Bethany was different when we were younger. But over time, she changed.” His voice tightened. “She became entitled. Arrogant. Cruel.”

He hesitated, then his jaw clenched.

“She liked having me on her arm. She liked what I represented to her. I wasn’t a partner, Sabrina. I was a fucking trophy.”

I stared at him.

Something in my chest ached.

His voice was low now, rough. “I couldn’t do it anymore. I asked for a divorce, and she didn’t take it well.”

“She didn’t want to let you go,” I murmured.

His eyes met mine. “She wanted to own me.”

Silence stretched between us.

I exhaled. “I wish you had told me sooner.”

He took another step closer, his fingers grazing my arm, sending sparks through me. “I didn’t want Bethany, or my past, to be something that defined what we have.” His voice lowered. “I just wanted us.”

I bit my lip.

And then, after a moment, something clicked.

“You talked to Caldwell,” I said slowly, meeting his gaze. “About us.”

Oliver held my stare.

Then, finally, he nodded.

“That’s how you know how this was always true to me.” His fingers tightened on my wrist, gentle but firm. “Because I didn’t hide you from him.”

My breath caught.

My heart pounded for an entirely different reason now.

I looked at him, really looked at him.

And for the first time since Bethany walked in, I felt grounded again.

I felt like I knew him.

Because this—this wasn’t the same story.

I wasn’t Bethany.

And Oliver wasn’t that young man from years ago.

He was mine.

And nothing—not even his past—was going to change that.

But I couldn’t contain the uneasy feeling in my chest….

Chapter 25

POV: Sabrina

I stayed locked in my office the entire day.

Not because I was too busy. Not because I had too much to do.

Because I wasn’t ready to face him.

I barely touched my lunch, barely lifted my head when people knocked to check on me. I didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to think, didn’t want to acknowledge the weight pressing down on my chest since this morning.

Since her.

Since the way Oliver had tensed, reacted, frozen. Since the way his fingers had shaken around my coffee cup.

Bethany. His ex-wife.

I repeated the words in my head, but the relief I had felt when he corrected her earlier wasn’t enough to wash away the storm inside me.

I needed space. I needed time.

But as the day stretched on, I felt him. His presence just outside my door. He had been quiet, keeping his distance, but he was there. I could feel it.

And when the office finally emptied out and I stepped outside, he was waiting.

Oliver was leaning against the glass partition near my office, arms crossed, eyes dark, unreadable. The moment he saw me, he pushed off the wall and started toward me.

“I’ll take you home,” he said, his voice rough.

I took a slow breath. “I’m staying at the hotel tonight.”

His entire body locked up.

“No.” The word was instant, firm, borderline desperate.

“Oliver—”

“You’re coming home with me.”

I shook my head. “I need space.”

His jaw ticked. “Space?” His voice had an edge now, a simmering frustration. “Sabrina, I can’t let this—” He exhaled sharply, his hands going to his hips as he turned away for a second before facing me again. His eyes burned into mine, desperate and pained. “I can’t let Bethany come between us.”

“This isn’t about Bethany,” I said, my voice quieter now.

He stared at me.

“I just—I need to think.”

His fingers curled into fists. “Think about what?”

“About everything.”

His breath came heavier, his chest rising and falling too fast. He raked a hand through his hair and exhaled, forcing himself to calm down. Then, after a beat, he spoke.

“Let me drive you to the hotel, at least.”

I hesitated, but I nodded. “Okay.”

The drive was torture.

The tension was thick, suffocating. The only sounds in the car were our breathing and the hum of the engine.

Oliver gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles were white. His eyes stayed forward, his jaw locked.

I kept my hands folded in my lap, staring out the window, trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest.

When we pulled up to the hotel, he put the car in park but didn’t move.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, my fingers trembling slightly. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to leave like this.

“Sabrina.” His voice was low, rough.

I turned to him.

There was something broken in his eyes, something shattering.

His hand lifted like he wanted to touch me, but at the last second, he curled it into a fist and dropped it back to his thigh.

He wanted to kiss me. I knew it.

But I couldn’t.

Not like this.

I swallowed hard and stepped out of the car.

I barely made it a few steps before I heard it—

A loud, violent slam.

I whipped around just in time to see his fist pulling back from the steering wheel, his knuckles white, his body rigid with frustration, with anger, with something deeper than both.

He sat there, breathing heavily, gripping the wheel so tight I thought he might tear it off.

My chest ached. My throat burned.

And when I turned back to the hotel doors, my vision blurred.

Tears slipped down my cheeks before I even made it inside.

I felt like I had left a part of me in that car.

And I didn’t know how to get it back.

I stared at the ceiling of my hotel room, the dim light from the city filtering through the curtains. The bed felt too big, too cold. It was strange—I had spent so many nights alone before, but now, the solitude felt unbearable.

Oliver.

The way he had reacted tonight, the way his entire body had tensed at the sight of Bethany, the way he had looked at me afterward, desperate, pleading… I didn’t know what to do with any of it.

I had told myself I needed space, needed to think, but all I could think about was him. His voice in my head. His hands on me. His words, over and over. I can’t let Bethany come between us.

The worst part was, I knew that wasn’t what scared me the most.

It wasn’t about Bethany.

It was about me and him—what this had become. This thing between us had slipped past the point of control, and I was only now admitting it to myself. This was never just sex. It was never just desire. I cared. Deeply. And the realization of that left me feeling completely exposed, raw, terrified.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out. But then—

A knock.

I jolted upright, my heart hammering. It was late. No one should be here.

Another knock, firmer this time.

I climbed out of bed slowly, wrapping my robe around me as I approached the door. My fingers hesitated on the handle before I finally opened it.

Oliver.

He stood in the dimly lit hallway, wearing a dark t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair disheveled like he had run his hands through it a thousand times. His shoulders were tense, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run here. But it was his eyes that stole my breath—dark, unreadable, wrecked.

Like he was breaking right in front of me.

I barely had time to speak before he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“Oliver, what—”

“I couldn’t do it,” he murmured. His voice was low, rough. Like it had been scraped raw from holding back too much.

I swallowed hard. “I told you I needed space.”

His jaw clenched. “I know,” he said, and the words sounded like they cost him something. “But I can’t—” He exhaled sharply, his hands fisting at his sides. “I can’t give you space, I can’t sleep without you, Sabrina. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.”

My chest tightened painfully.

Then he looked at me—really looked at me—like he was memorizing me, like he was afraid if he blinked, I’d disappear.

He hesitated at first, like he was containing himself. But then…

He reached for me.

Not hungrily. Not possessively.

But desperately.

Like he was afraid I was slipping away.

His hands cupped my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones with aching slowness. His forehead pressed against mine, and we stood there, breathing together, his breath mixing with mine, like I was the only thing keeping him steady.

Like I was his oxygen.

He gave me time to push him away. But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

I didn’t want to.

And when he kissed me, it wasn’t with lust.

It was with everything else.

Rawness. Pain. Fear. Longing.

It wasn’t about taking.

It was about holding on.

I melted into him because his presence calmed me. But the storm inside me hadn’t settled.

I pulled back, pressing my forehead against his, my breaths unsteady. “I’m shaken, Oliver,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want sex right now.”

His hands slid down to my waist, strong but gentle, grounding me in the warmth of his touch. His breath brushed against my lips as he whispered, “It was never about sex. It was never just sex.”

A sharp ache formed in my chest.

I knew that. But hearing him say it? Feeling the truth in his voice? It nearly wrecked me.

His hands slipped under my robe—not to take it off, not to claim, not to demand.

Just to hold.

Just to feel.

Just to remind himself I was still here.

“Let me sleep with you, Sabrina. Please.”

His voice was raw, broken—pleading.

I swallowed hard and nodded.

And then, he pulled me to bed with him.

No urgency. No heat.

Just need.

He lay down, and I followed, curling into him, my back pressed against his chest. His arms locked around me tightly, protectively, completely.

Like he was afraid that if he loosened his grip, I’d slip through his fingers.

His lips brushed against my ear, his voice a low murmur in the dark.

“I meant it, Sabrina. When I said I wouldn’t let you go.”

My heart clenched, my throat tight.

And as sleep pulled me under, for the first time all night…

I wasn’t alone anymore.

Chapter 26

POV: Sabrina

I woke up to the warmth of Oliver’s body wrapped around mine. His arm was heavy over my waist, his breath slow and steady against the back of my neck. For a moment, I didn’t move. I just let myself feel it. The solidness of him. The way he held me like I was something precious, something he couldn’t risk letting go of.

Then reality crept in.

Bethany.

His ex-wife. The woman who had walked in like she still had a claim on him. The woman who had made Oliver’s entire body tense at the sight of her. The woman who had—who had what? Broken him? Controlled him?

My stomach twisted as I slowly shifted, trying not to wake him, but before I could even move an inch, his arm tightened around me.

“Don’t.” His voice was rough, low, still thick with sleep. His lips pressed against my shoulder before his forehead rested there. “Stay.”

I swallowed, my throat tight.

“Oliver…”

“I know.” His voice was hoarse. “I know you need space. I know you need time to think.” He exhaled against my skin. “But I need you.”

I turned slowly in his arms until we were face to face. His eyes were tired, darker than usual, but there was something else there too. A weight. A pain I couldn’t quite name.

“Talk to me,” I whispered.

His jaw clenched. Then, without letting me go, he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the hotel phone.

“Room service,” he said roughly. “Two coffees. Black. Now.”

I almost smiled at the demanding tone, but I couldn’t. Not when the tension was still so thick between us.

When he hung up, his hands found my waist again, pulling me closer—not urgently, not with heat. But with need.

“I know why you thought this was just sex,” he murmured. “We do it a lot. We can’t keep our hands off each other.” His lips brushed against my forehead. “And that’s your fault.”

A small laugh escaped me despite everything. “My fault?”

He nodded, his fingers trailing softly down my spine. “Yes. For being so sexy. For teasing me all the time. For looking at me like you do. For existing.”

I sighed, letting my fingers trace over his chest, his heartbeat steady but strong. “I was never just sex to you?”

His eyes burned into mine, dark and unwavering.

“Never,” he said.

I felt myself breaking apart under his stare. I felt my walls cracking.

“Then tell me,” I whispered. “Tell me everything.”

He hesitated for half a second. Then, he did.

⸻

BETHANY.

It was worse than I thought. So much worse.

“She’s not just manipulative, Sabrina. She’s—” His jaw tightened. “She’s dangerous in a way you don’t see coming.”

He told me everything.

How they met in college. How she charmed him, how she was smart and elegant and so sure of herself in a way that pulled people in.

How, at first, it was good. She made him believe she saw his potential before anyone else. That she believed in him.

But then it changed.

When he started rising in the company, she started controlling him. Whispering in his ear about who he should trust, who he should avoid, what he should say. She made it seem like she was helping him. Like he needed her.

And when he finally realized what was happening—when he told her he wanted a divorce—she faked a pregnancy.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my stomach twisting painfully. “She—she what?”

Oliver nodded, his face dark. “She lied. Told me she was pregnant, even showed me fake medical reports.” His voice was low, deadly. “She knew I wouldn’t walk away if I thought she was carrying my child.”

My entire body felt cold.

“She dragged it out for months,” he continued. “And when I started questioning things, when I demanded to go to the doctor with her, she suddenly had a ‘miscarriage.’”

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

“I knew, Sabrina. I knew she was lying. But I couldn’t prove it. And even worse? I felt guilty for doubting her. That’s how she worked. She made me question my own instincts.”

I stared at him, at the way his hands were clenched into fists, at the way his breathing was uneven.

And then, he kept going.

She sabotaged his work. Whenever he tried to distance himself from her, she made sure something went wrong—a deal would mysteriously fall through, an email he never sent would suddenly appear in someone’s inbox, a rumor would start circulating about him. And every single time, Bethany was there to “help” him fix it.

Like he owed her.

I felt sick.

“How did you get out?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

His fingers traced my jaw, slow and gentle. “Her father.”

I frowned. “What?”

He exhaled. “I went to Alexander. I told him everything. I told him I wanted out, and that if Bethany didn’t sign the papers, I would go public with everything she had done.”

I blinked. “And he—he helped you?”

Oliver nodded. “Not because he cared about me. But because he cared about his family’s reputation. He forced her to sign the papers.”

I swallowed. “And now she’s back.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Yes.”

I exhaled slowly, processing everything.

“You should have told me this before,” I finally said.

His face tensed. “I know.”

“I deserved to know.”

“I know.” His fingers tightened on my waist. “I was scared, Sabrina. Scared that you’d look at me like I was weak. Like I was—like I let her—” He cut off, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t want you to see me that way.”

My chest ached.

“Oliver…” My fingers brushed his cheek. “You’re not weak.”

His eyes flickered with something deep, raw.

“You’re not weak,” I repeated. “She manipulated you. She trapped you. That’s not weakness—that’s survival.”

His throat bobbed.

And then, he kissed me.

Not out of desperation. Not out of lust.

But because he needed me to understand.

And I did.

I wrapped my arms around him, held him as tightly as he held me.

It was never just sex.

It was never just sex.

And whatever was coming next—Bethany, the company, the consequences—we weren’t facing it alone.

Chapter 27

POV: Sabrina

I knew Bethany would come for me.

I was expecting it.

But when she strolled into my office like she owned the place, a smug smirk on her lips and a dangerous gleam in her green eyes, I realized something—she thought she had already won.

She shut the door behind her without asking.

I stayed seated, keeping my posture perfectly straight, keeping my face calm.

“Can I help you with something?” My tone was polite. Indifferent. Unshaken.

Bethany’s smirk widened as she stepped closer. “I just wanted to talk. Woman to woman.”

I arched a brow. “About?”

She tilted her head, eyes sharp. “Oliver.”

Of course.

I didn’t flinch.

Bethany expected me to flinch.

She dragged her fingers across my desk, her perfectly manicured nails tapping lightly against the surface. “You know, I have to give you credit,” she mused. “You lasted longer than I thought you would.”

I didn’t respond.

She took a seat across from me, crossing her legs deliberately. “You must be very talented to keep him so occupied.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

She leaned in, lowering her voice like we were conspiring. “But you do realize he’s just going to move on eventually, right? He always does.”

I rested my chin on my hand, feigning boredom. “Funny. He told me he left you.”

Her jaw tightened for half a second. Then she smiled again. “Sweetheart, Oliver never makes a move unless it’s forced. He never wanted to tell my father about you, you know. You weren’t important enough.”

I almost laughed.

Because I had seen with my own eyes—Oliver had gone to Alexander himself. He had chosen to tell him, chosen to fight for me.

Bethany, however, continued, completely unaware of how much she was exposing herself.

“The only reason Alexander knows is because he pushed Oliver until he cracked. He only confessed to clear his own ass.” She sighed dramatically. “I hate that you had to find out this way, but…” She gave a small shrug. “You were just a case to him, sweetheart. Something to keep him entertained. That’s all it ever is with Oliver.”

I tilted my head, watching her.

She was waiting for my reaction.

She wanted me to crack.

She wanted me to believe her.

And the fact that I didn’t? The fact that I stayed calm, poised, unshaken—

It made her nervous.

I saw it in the way her fingers twitched slightly against her knee. In the way she shifted in her chair, like she wasn’t expecting me to be this composed.

I smiled at her. “Are you done?”

She stiffened.

I stood, slowly, adjusting the sleeves of my blouse. Unbothered. Professional. Untouchable.

Bethany’s jaw clenched. “You really think you’re different?”

“I don’t think anything.” I met her eyes head-on. “I know I am.”

And then, before she could say another word, I turned away, dismissively, and sat back at my desk, reaching for my laptop.

The conversation was over.

Bethany hated that.

I could feel her seething as she stood.

But she didn’t say another word.

She simply turned and walked out.

And when the door clicked shut behind her, I let out a slow breath.

So that’s who she is.

Manipulative. Calculated. Dangerous.

She was exactly what Oliver had warned me about.

But she didn’t win.

She wouldn’t.

I didn’t go to Oliver right away.

I wouldn’t give her that.

Instead, I waited. More than two hours. I went to the cafeteria, grabbed a coffee, drank it slowly, deliberately. Forced myself to breathe, to process, to push Bethany’s words into a mental folder labeled Lies and Desperation.

Only then did I walk to his office.

I didn’t knock.

Oliver looked up the second I stepped inside, his sharp brown eyes scanning me like he was already assessing damage. “What happened?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Bethany.”

His entire body tensed. “What did she do?”

I dropped into the chair across from him, keeping my voice calm, steady. “She tried to get under my skin.”

His jaw locked.

I lifted a brow. “She failed.”

Oliver blinked. Then—he grinned.

Not his usual smirk, not something smug or cocky.

A real, full, breathtaking grin.

“God, I love you.”

My heart stopped.

He said it so easily, like it was something casual. Like it wasn’t the kind of thing that could wreck me, that could carve itself into my bones and never leave.

Did he mean it? Really mean it?

Or was it just something people said?

I shoved the thought away and focused.

I crossed my arms. “She told me you never wanted to tell her father about me.”

His grin vanished instantly. “What?”

“She said you only confessed because he forced you.”

His expression darkened, his voice low, tight. “That’s bullshit.”

“I know,” I said simply.

He exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand down his face. “She’s relentless.”

“She’s desperate,” I corrected.

His eyes met mine, something unreadable flickering behind them.

Then, without a word, he reached into his desk, pulled out a small velvet box, and slid it across the surface to me.

I frowned. “What is that?”

“Open it.”

I hesitated, my fingers brushing over the soft material before flipping it open—

And my breath caught.

A necklace.

Beautiful. Delicate. A small, engraved locket with tiny diamonds along the edges, subtle yet stunning.

I lifted it carefully, turning it over—

O.R.

Oliver Reginalds.

My pulse pounded.

Oliver cleared his throat. “I thought about getting you something with my full name, but I remembered you said that was bad taste.”

A short laugh escaped me, shaky and real.

His voice dipped lower. “This… this is just mine. For you.”

My chest ached.

But there was something else in the box.

A key.

I froze.

I lifted it, barely breathing. “Is this what I think it is?”

“One key to my apartment.” His voice was rough, his gaze locked onto mine. “After everything… you keep proving it, again and again—I can’t spend a night away from you. I don’t want to. And that cold hotel room? That’s not where you belong.”

I inhaled sharply.

Something inside me cracked.

I closed the box gently, set it on the desk—

Then I turned on my heels.

Oliver’s breath hitched. “Sabrina?”

I locked the door.

Then I walked to the windows—his stupid, stupid glass walls—and shut every single blind, one by one.

When I turned back around, his eyes were burning.

I stepped toward him slowly, deliberately, until I was standing between his legs, his hands already gripping my waist, anchoring me.

I leaned down—

And kissed him.

Deep. Desperate. Drowning.

All the restraint, all the tension, snapped.

His hands tightened, pulling me onto his lap, my legs shifting to straddle him, his mouth devouring mine like I was oxygen and he was starving for air.

I gasped against his lips, my fingers tangling in his hair, his body hard and strong beneath me, his heartbeat thundering against mine.

When he pulled back, his breathing ragged, his forehead pressed to mine, he whispered, “I meant what I said.”

I just stared at him, my blue eyes locking onto his brown ones, my lungs fighting for air.

I knew exactly what he meant.

But I was scared.

So I made him say it again.

“What?” My voice cracked.

His hands slid up my spine, slow and sure, and he said it—

“I love you.”

This time, I felt it.

In my chest. My ribs. My bones.

Like something I had already known—but needed to hear.

Needed to believe.

I swallowed, my fingers shaking slightly as they traced his jaw.

And then—I said it back.

“I love you too.”

His breath shuddered out.

His hands tightened, like he had been waiting for those words, like he had needed them as much as I had.

His forehead pressed against mine.

“I’m never letting you go.”

I smiled softly, my lips brushing against his.

“I know.”

And then—

We lost ourselves.

In each other.

Chapter 28

POV: Sabrina

I was already in his lap, my thighs spread wide over his, my skirt bunched up high around my hips as his hands slid beneath the fabric, fingertips dragging upward, giving me the space—the excuse—to tilt my hips forward and wrap my legs tight around his waist.

My hands were buried in his hair, gripping, tugging. My lips were devouring his, and he was devouring me back, our mouths moving in slow, deep, intoxicating kisses.

It was different this time.

Not just raw lust. Not just the fire that always threatened to consume us whole.

It was more.

Something deeper, something we had fought for too long, something we had let in the moment those three words left our lips.

“I love you.”

And it was like our bodies had finally caught up to the truth.

His hands were everywhere, possessive, greedy, like he needed to feel me—all of me—to make up for the last two days that had stretched on like months.

I arched against him, my breath catching as he pulled my shirt up, his fingers skimming fire over my skin before he moved to unbutton it properly. I helped him, my fingers working blindly on his tie at the same time, loosening the silk, pulling it over his head, before making quick work of his shirt buttons.

The moment I slipped it off his shoulders, his mouth found my collarbone, his lips and teeth dragging lower, kissing, tasting, savoring as he reached the clasp of my bra.

He unhooked it slowly, deliberately, like he was drinking in the way I let him strip me.

And then—it was gone.

My breath hitched as my bare breasts were exposed to him, right there, at the level of his eyes, his gaze darkening with pure hunger.

I barely had a second to react before his mouth was on me.

I bit my lip hard to keep the sound in as his tongue flicked over my nipple, his lips closing around it, sucking gently, teasing, punishing, until my head fell back and my nails dug into his shoulders.

He chuckled darkly against my skin.

“I know you hate keeping quiet, darling.” His breath was hot, teasing. “But you’re gonna have to try.”

And then—he bit.

A sharp, light nip, just enough to send an electric jolt of pleasure down my spine, just enough to make me gasp, my body clenching around nothing.

It was agony. It was perfection.

And I wanted more.

I reached for his belt, my fingers working frantically to undo the buckle, to free him, to get us closer, closer, closer.

We were both breathing hard, wild with need, too impatient, too desperate to strip properly.

The second I pushed his pants open and freed him, my own self-control snapped.

I shifted, my fingers shoving my panties aside, and I brushed him against my slick, aching heat—

And then I sank onto him.

Deep.

All the way.

Oliver swore loudly, his head tipping back, his fingers bruising into my hips as he took the sensation, his chest heaving.

I rested my forehead against his, swallowing back a smirk, and whispered, “You need to keep quiet.”

His hands tightened, his hips jerking up into me, his mouth parting slightly, like he was already losing himself.

I started moving.

Slow at first—dragging out the torment, the pleasure, the feel of finally, finally having him again.

His fingers dug into my ass, his grip possessive, demanding, guiding me, controlling me, helping me build a pace that was both torturously slow and impossibly deep.

His body was so tense, his muscles straining, his jaw clenched so tight like he was holding himself back—

Until he couldn’t anymore.

With a low growl, he grabbed my waist, lifted me off him, and spun me around, curling me over his desk.

I barely had time to gasp before he shoved my skirt higher, exposing me completely to him, before he hooked his fingers into my panties and dragged them down.

A sharp inhale, a quiet curse—

And then he was inside me again.

The first thrust sent me onto my toes, a choked moan leaving my lips as my fingers gripped the desk, as he set the rhythm, slow at first but deep, so deep, each movement making heat coil, coil, coil inside me.

His hand slid over my hip, his fingers brushing between my legs, finding my most sensitive spot and circling, pressing, teasing, making my thighs tremble, my body tighten.

I could feel him watching me, the way my body arched, the way I responded, the way I was already so close, already on the edge.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dark velvet against my skin. “Fucking perfect, Sabrina.”

I whimpered, my fingers clawing at the wood, losing myself, knowing I was already too far gone.

And he knew it too.

Because the moment he felt me start to shatter, the moment he felt my body clench down on him, he pulled me upright, my back pressed flush against his chest.

His hand covered my mouth, muffling the desperate, shaking moan that would have otherwise echoed through the office.

“I’ll be the only one to hear this,” he whispered roughly into my ear.

And then—I broke.

Pleasure ripped through me, consuming, shattering, my body convulsing against his, my moan muffled by his palm as he kept thrusting, chasing his own release, his own breaking point.

And then—he found it.

He buried himself deep, his face against my neck, his groan low, deep, wrecked, his fingers digging into my hips, his body shuddering against mine.

For a long moment, we just stood there, panting, breathing each other in, our bodies still intertwined, still buzzing with pleasure.

Then—Oliver laughed softly, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss against my shoulder.

“Well,” he murmured, his lips brushing my skin. “That was a productive meeting.”

I exhaled a breathless laugh, my head tipping back against his chest. “Shut up.”

He chuckled again, his arms tightening around me. “You love me.”

I smiled. “I do.”

His lips found my neck again, soft and unrushed. “Good.”

And just like that—

I knew I was ruined for him.

---

I adjusted my earpiece, scrolling through the notes I had meticulously prepared for the biggest deal of my career. The numbers were solid, the proposal airtight. I knew my job, and I was damn good at it.

Still, something gnawed at me.

Bethany had been too quiet.

It had been days since her last pathetic attempt to get inside my head, and while I didn’t let her words touch me, the silence that followed was… unsettling. A woman like Bethany didn’t just give up. She was plotting something, and that pissed me off more than her usual cheap tricks.

I glanced up from my laptop, finding Oliver watching me from the other side of the couch, his own files forgotten in his lap.

“You’re frowning,” he observed.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Bethany’s been too quiet.”

Oliver didn’t immediately respond. He just set his papers aside, leaned back, and studied me like he could read the thoughts I hadn’t even spoken aloud yet.

“She’s unpredictable, but she’s also a coward,” he said finally. “She attacks when she thinks she has control. But she’s losing that, and she knows it.”

I considered that.

“She’s still dangerous,” I murmured.

Oliver’s jaw ticked, his brown eyes darkening. “She won’t touch you, Sabrina.”

I arched a brow. “You gonna lock her out of the building?”

“If I have to.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I can handle her.”

Oliver’s gaze flickered with something unreadable. “I know that. But that doesn’t mean I won’t handle her if she steps too far.”

The sheer authority in his tone sent a shiver down my spine.

God, why did his protectiveness turn me on?

I stretched out on the couch, finally setting my laptop aside. “So, I officially cleared out the hotel today.”

Oliver’s brows lifted. “All your things?”

I nodded. “All of them. My bags are in your closet now. My shoes are at your door. My perfume is on your bathroom counter.” I paused, biting my lip. “Kind of sounds like I moved in.”

Oliver leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You did move in.”

I let out a small laugh. “Isn’t this too fast?”

His expression didn’t waver. “What’s the problem with fast?”

I opened my mouth—then closed it.

I didn’t have a problem with it. Not really.

It was just that everything between us had happened so intensely, so overwhelmingly, that part of me felt like I should at least question it. But when I looked at him, saw the certainty in his gaze, felt the way I fit into his life so seamlessly, I realized—

I didn’t care about fast.

Oliver reached for his glass of wine and took a slow sip. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

I huffed. “Yeah.”

“You sleep in my bed every night.”

I rolled my eyes. “Obviously.”

He smirked. “You steal my shirts. You put your shampoo in my shower. And I already gave you a key. So tell me, what exactly about this isn’t moving in?”

I crossed my arms. “I don’t steal your shirts. You give them to me.”

Oliver tilted his head. “You say that, but I distinctly remember searching for my gray hoodie this morning, only to find you wearing it in bed.”

I grinned. “That hoodie looks better on me.”

He let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head.

The tension from earlier eased, and I finally allowed myself to relax into the warmth of his apartment—our apartment, I guess.

The wine was rich, the food warm, and the man across from me was mine.

And just like always, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other for long.

Oliver’s fingers trailed lazily along my bare thigh, exposed from my pajama shorts as I curled up on the couch beside him. His touch wasn’t demanding—just absentminded, possessive.

My breath caught, and his lips twitched.

“You like when I touch you, don’t you?”

I huffed. “You love to hear me say it.”

“I do.” He sipped his wine, eyes dark with amusement. “Say it.”

I took my own slow sip before meeting his gaze. “I like when you touch me.”

His fingers tightened on my thigh, thumb tracing small circles into my skin. “Good girl.”

Heat flooded my body.

“You can’t just say that whenever you want,” I muttered.

“Why not?”

“Because,” I exhaled, shifting under his touch. “It does things to me.”

Oliver hummed, completely unbothered. “Maybe I like doing things to you.”

I swatted his arm, but he caught my wrist easily, tugging me forward until I was half in his lap. My wine sloshed dangerously in my glass, but I barely noticed because his mouth was suddenly against my jaw.

“I like this,” Oliver murmured, lips brushing my skin. “Having you here. With me.”

I swallowed hard, my hand finding his chest. “Me too.”

“Then stop overthinking.” He kissed just below my ear, voice a whisper. “This isn’t too fast. It’s us.”

God, he made it so easy.

So easy to just be with him.

I sighed, melting into his touch. “Okay.”

His lips curved against my skin. “Okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

Oliver leaned back slightly, studying my face. Then he lifted my wine glass from my hands and set it on the table.

I blinked. “What are you—”

Before I could finish, his mouth was on mine.

And just like that, the teasing disappeared.

His kiss was slow, deep, the kind of kiss that made the entire world fade away. The kind of kiss that told me this—whatever we were, however fast it was—wasn’t temporary.

I didn’t have to question it.

Oliver’s hand slid up my back, pulling me closer, and I sighed into him, threading my fingers through his hair.

Home.

It felt like home.

Chapter 29

POV: Sabrina

I had never been afraid of a challenge.

And this?

This was the biggest damn deal of my career.

I stood in front of the massive conference table, fingers curled around the edges of my neatly stacked presentation materials. The client—Daniel Whitmore, CEO of Whitmore Developments—sat at the head of the table, his sharp gaze focused entirely on me. His team flanked him on both sides, waiting. Assessing.

This was my moment.

I had worked for weeks on this proposal, refining every detail, perfecting every number. If we landed this contract, it would secure millions for the company and solidify my name at the top of our industry.

And I was ready.

Oliver sat at the far end of the table, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped together. He didn’t need to be here—he had made that clear. This is your deal, Sabrina. Your win.

But he still showed up.

Not to interfere. Not to take over.

Just to watch.

Because he knew exactly what I was capable of.

Unlike some people.

Bethany sat two chairs away, her red-lipped smile practically dripping with fake sweetness. I had known she would pull something, but I didn’t think she’d actually have the audacity to try to sabotage me in front of the client.

And yet—

As I launched into my pitch, explaining our proposal with my usual confidence, she suddenly leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.

“Sabrina,” she interrupted with a light laugh. “I think you may be overcomplicating things.”

My jaw locked.

Whitmore frowned. “Overcomplicating?”

Bethany turned to him with practiced charm. “Sabrina is exceptional at what she does,” she said smoothly. “But she has a tendency to focus too much on details that might not be relevant to you. What you really need to know is that we can make this process effortless for you.”

She smiled.

I smiled back.

“Oh, I completely agree, Bethany,” I said, tilting my head. “But when a company is making a multi-million-dollarinvestment, details matter, don’t you think?”

Whitmore’s eyes flicked between us, intrigued.

Bethany’s smile twitched. “Of course. I just meant—”

“You meant to undermine me in front of our client,” I said, my voice smooth as silk. “Which is fine. Really. Because I don’t need to play games to prove my worth.”

Bethany’s lips parted, eyes narrowing.

I turned back to Whitmore, ignoring her completely.

“You asked for a solution that doesn’t just meet your immediate needs but also ensures long-term profitability,” I said, confidence unwavering. “That’s why I tailored this proposal specifically to your company. If you want generic promises, plenty of firms will give you those. But if you want results—” I spread my hands, meeting his gaze head-on. “You know who to trust.”

Silence stretched across the room.

Then—

Whitmore let out a short, approving laugh.

He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table. “I like you, Ms. Schmidt.”

I smiled. “Good. You’ll like doing business with me even more.”

He exhaled, exchanging a glance with his team before nodding. “Let’s make this happen.”

My heart pounded in triumph, but my expression remained cool.

I had won.

Bethany’s face was frozen in barely concealed rage.

And Oliver?

His brown eyes burned with something deeper than pride as he watched me from across the room.

The deal was mine.

And I had never felt stronger.

The moment the deal was closed, I excused myself to my office, letting the adrenaline settle in my veins.

I did it.

Not just any deal—the deal. My biggest, most challenging contract to date.

And I nailed it.

I exhaled, pressing my hands to my desk, grounding myself.

I knew I should be celebrating. Should be heading straight to Oliver’s office so he could pull me onto his lap and murmur something about how proud he was.

But something gnawed at me.

Bethany had been too quiet.

And that scared me more than if she had thrown a tantrum.

I had barely finished that thought when my phone rang.

Alexander.

I inhaled, steeling myself, and answered. “Mr. Caldwell.”

“Sabrina,” he said, his tone as unreadable as ever. “Come to my office. Now.”

Then he hung up.

I blinked.

Well.

I grabbed my notepad, straightened my blazer, and headed to his office, my heels clicking against the polished floors.

When I stepped inside, I immediately registered the occupants.

Alexander sat at the head of the long conference table, his fingers steepled in front of him. On either side of him were Kringle and Grayson, the two other partners, both watching me with interest.

Oliver stood near the window, arms crossed, his expression unreadable—but his eyes softened when they landed on me.

And across from him—

Daniel Whitmore.

I lifted a brow, shutting the door behind me. “Mr. Whitmore.”

He grinned, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Ah, the woman of the hour.”

I smirked, taking a seat across from him. “I assume that’s a good thing?”

He chuckled. “More than good.” He turned to Alexander. “I have to say, you’ve got a damn powerhouse on your hands. I’ve worked with a lot of sales teams, but few as sharp as Ms. Schmidt. She knows her numbers, she understands her clients, and—” he smirked, “—she doesn’t take any bullshit.”

Kringle let out a small chuckle. Grayson nodded in approval.

Even Alexander looked marginally pleased.

Whitmore leaned forward, fixing Alexander with a serious look. “People like her? They make or break companies. If she’s not already a major player here, she should be.”

Warmth spread through me.

This was my work being recognized.

My ability. My instincts. My strategy.

And then—

The door burst open.

Bethany stormed in like a goddamn hurricane.

“This is unbelievable,” she seethed, marching straight to Alexander’s desk. “Are we really not going to talk about how completely unprofessional that was?”

She halted when she noticed everyone in the room.

For a split second, she hesitated.

But then, in typical Bethany fashion—she doubled down.

“She humiliated me, Dad.” Bethany’s manicured nails dug into the desk as she shot me a look filled with venom. “She undermined me, spoke to me like I was incompetent—in front of a client!”

The partners exchanged glances.

“This is ridiculous,” she huffed. “I don’t care who’s here. We need to discuss how Sabrina has been treating me.”

Whitmore raised a brow, glancing at Alexander. “You didn’t mention this meeting would have entertainment.”

Alexander rubbed his temple. “Bethany—”

“No.” She turned to me, her eyes filled with venom. “You humiliated me, Sabrina. You undermined me, spoke to me like I was incompetent.”

I exhaled.

“I only corrected a misstatement.”

“No, she needs to answer for this!” Bethany snapped. “I won’t be treated like this in my own company—”

“Your company?” My voice was quiet, but it sliced through the room like a knife.

Bethany whirled to me.

“This isn’t your company,” I said, holding her gaze. “You don’t work here, Bethany. You never have. You just exist here, hovering around like a parasite, sinking your claws into whoever lets you.”

A sharp inhale came from one of the partners.

Bethany’s face twisted in fury. “How dare you—”

“No.” I turned to Alexander. “How dare she?”

His brows lifted slightly.

I placed my hands on the table and spoke clearly. Strongly. “Bethany interfered with a multi-million-dollar deal today—because of a personal vendetta against me. She actively tried to sabotage me in front of a client. If she had succeeded, we would have lost Whitmore Developments entirely.”

A beat of silence.

Bethany’s lips parted, but no words came out.

Then she scoffed. “You attacked me.”

I turned to Alexander. “Do I really need to dignify this with a response?”

Alexander lifted a hand, silencing me. Then he shifted his gaze to Bethany, his expression hardening.

“That’s enough.”

Bethany blinked. “What?”

Alexander stood, adjusting his cuffs. “You’ve done enough damage to this company.” His voice was calm—too calm. “I should have handled this a long time ago. Instead, I covered for you. Oliver covered for you.”

Her head snapped toward Oliver.

He didn’t deny it.

Her throat bobbed. “Dad, I—”

“I won’t allow you to put my company at risk because of your jealousy.”

Silence stretched in the room.

Bethany’s eyes darted around, looking for an ally, but no one spoke.

Not the partners.

Not Oliver.

Not me.

“You’re fired,” Alexander said simply.

Bethany’s face drained of color.

She took a shaky breath, as if searching for something—anything—to say.

But there was nothing.

And she knew it.

She lifted her chin, turned on her heel, and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

A beat of silence.

Then—

A slow clap.

I turned just in time to see Whitmore grinning at me, clapping his hands together.

“Now that was entertaining,” he said, taking another sip of whiskey.

Oliver’s lips quirked.

Alexander simply pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling. “I need a goddamn drink.”

I smirked. “You and me both, sir.

Chapter 30

POV: Sabrina

Six months later…

I unlocked the apartment door, stepping inside and kicking off my heels with a satisfied sigh.

“Oliver?” I called, setting my bag down.

No response.

I smirked, already knowing.

I walked through the sleek, modern space—the place that, at some point, had quietly stopped being just his apartment and become ours.

I made my way to the bedroom, and sure enough—

Oliver was there.

Sprawled out on the bed, a book in one hand, a glass of whiskey in the other, looking every bit like he owned the world.

He glanced up, a slow smirk forming as his eyes dragged over me. “There’s my CEO.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a CEO.”

He set the book and the whiskey down. “You might as well be.” He tilted his head. “Big deal today?”

I grinned. “Closed it.”

Oliver exhaled like he hadn’t doubted it for a second. “Of course, you did.”

I made my way to the bed, crawling over him until I straddled his waist. “And how was your day?”

His hands found my hips, fingers slipping under the fabric of my dress. “Better now.”

I laughed, leaning down until my lips hovered over his. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

I kissed him—slow, teasing.

His grip on my hips tightened.

And then, in one swift motion, he flipped us over, pinning me beneath him.

I gasped, my hands bracing against his chest. “Oliver—”

“Shh,” he murmured, kissing along my jaw, down my throat, his lips brushing over the sensitive spot that always made me shiver. “I’m busy.”

I let out a breathless laugh. “Oh, are you?”

His fingers found the zipper of my dress, dragging it down at an agonizing pace. “Very.”

I arched into him, feeling the delicious press of his body against mine. “Then don’t let me distract you.”

His eyes darkened. “Oh, darling.”

His lips brushed mine.

“You’re the only thing I ever want to be distracted by.”

And then—

He showed me exactly what he meant.

I thought that after six months of being with Oliver—sleeping together every night, living in the same apartment—I’d be able to control the heat between us.

But come on. We are we.

And the heat between us? Unstoppable.

It was funny how we could spend some nights curled up on the couch, eating popcorn and watching old movies, completely wrapped up in each other in the softest, most domestic way.

And then, on other nights—nights like this—we could be tangled in sheets, bodies pressed together, skin burning, unable to get enough of each other.

It was magic.

It was us.

Oliver stripped me out of my dress with the kind of reverence that made my breath hitch, like he was unwrapping a gift. His lips found mine first—deep, teasing, his hands roaming my body as if memorizing me all over again. Then, his kisses trailed lower… my jaw, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts.

When his lips brushed over my nipple, I arched against him with a sharp inhale.

A low chuckle rumbled from his throat. “That’s my girl.” His voice was husky, warm, dangerous. His tongue flicked over my sensitive peak before he looked up at me, eyes gleaming. “Let me take care of my superstar. It’s not every day the love of my life closes a huge deal. We have to celebrate.”

I barely had time to react before he continued his descent, his lips teasing over my stomach as his fingers dragged my panties down my legs.

Slow.

So slow that I could have screamed.

And just when I thought he’d give me what I needed, his mouth moved to my ankle.

An open-mouthed kiss. Then another.

Up my calf. My thigh.

Then, just as I braced myself—just as I knew he was about to put his mouth where I was aching for him—

He moved to the other ankle.

I whimpered.

Oliver grinned against my skin. “Patience, darling.”

I wanted to strangle him.

And then—finally, finally—his mouth was on me.

I gasped, my back arching as he flicked his tongue over my sensitive flesh, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me exactly where he wanted me.

I moaned his name, my fingers tangling in his dark blond hair, holding him there, needing more. He slid a finger inside me, curling it just right, just the way he knew would undo me.

His breath was warm against my skin as he murmured, “Now be my good girl and come for me.”

And God. That was all it took.

Pleasure hit me like a storm, tearing through my body in wave after wave, leaving me breathless, trembling—loved.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept going, kept teasing, kept worshiping, and before I could even process it, I was coming again, my body shaking beneath him.

I barely had time to catch my breath before I needed him.

I pulled him up, our lips crashing together. I tasted myself on his mouth, but I didn’t care—I wanted it, wanted all of him. My tongue tangled with his, teasing, claiming.

Because, God, I was his—just as much as he was mine.

I pushed his shirt off, my fingers working at his belt, shoving his pants down until he was bare beneath me.

This time, I worshipped him.

I kissed his lips first. Then his jaw. His throat. His chest. Lower.

By the time I took him into my mouth, he was already breathing hard, already gripping the sheets, already on the edge of control.

And I loved it.

“Fuck, Sabrina,” he groaned, his hands threading through my hair, guiding me.

I hummed, taking him deeper, loving the way his body tensed beneath me, loving the way I could undo him just as much as he did to me.

But then—

He snapped.

With a low growl, Oliver grabbed my waist, flipping me onto my back, spreading my legs wide before thrusting inside me in one deep, hard stroke.

I cried out, arching against him, gripping his shoulders.

He moved. Deep. Hard. Unrelenting.

The way he knew would make me fall apart.

My body responded instantly, pleasure coiling, tightening.

His fingers slid between us, brushing against my clit—just the slightest touch, just enough—and I shattered.

My release hit me hard, my body clenching around him as I gasped his name, my nails digging into his back.

Oliver groaned, thrusting deeper, his movements turning erratic before he followed, his body shaking as he came, burying his face in my neck to muffle his moans.

We collapsed against each other, breathless.

Spent.

Satisfied.

And then—

I giggled.

Oliver lifted his head, one brow arched. “Something funny?”

I grinned. “I really love celebrating.”

He smirked, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “Good.”

His lips grazed my jaw, his breath warm against my skin.

“Because, darling…”

His fingers skimmed my hip, teasing, already reigniting the fire in my veins.

“We’re just getting started.”

---

This is the end of our story ❤️ Hope you all enjoyed it, and that Sabrina and Oliver won your hearts.

Thank you for all the reading and the comments. You always made my writing journey heartwarming.