I'm Pregnant, And It Isn't My Husband's

The dining room was pure intimidation tactics. A table big enough for a board meeting set for just two people, with enough distance between them that conversation would require deliberate effort. Olivia walked in at exactly seven, the black dress swirling around her like she was made of shadows. Sebastian was already there, head buried in his tablet, not bothering to look up. She awkwardly stood there before pulling out her chair. "Wait." His command froze her in place. Now he looked up, eyes traveling over her with lust dancing in those eyes. "Turn around." Heat flooded her face-not embarrassment but pure, molten rage. She remained still, her fingers white-knuckled on the chair back. "Section 8, paragraph 2," Sebastian reminded her, his voice terrifyingly soft. The wife will comply with all reasonable requests regarding physical presentation and comportment. Slowly, hating herself with every movement, Olivia turned in a complete circle.. Sebastian stood, tossing his tablet aside as he walked over to her. Through the thin fabric, he traced a finger from her chest down between her breasts, then grabbed her ass with a squeeze that made her skin crawl. "Acceptable," he said, walking back to his seat. "Now you can sit." As she sat down, the chef appeared with the first course-some fancy scallop thing with foam. Olivia stared at it, appetite nonexistent. "Eat," Sebastian commanded. "I won't have you passing out at the Garner Foundation Gala next week." "Next week?" The words exploded out of her. "You've just hijacked my entire life, and you expect me to play happy wife at some gala in a week?" Sebastian sipped his wine, watching her over the glass. "I expect you to hold up your end of the contract. That includes public appearances as my wife. Our marriage license will be finalized tomorrow. The press release goes out the day after announcing our whirlwind romance and private ceremony." "No one will believe that," Olivia said, forcibly unclenching her jaw. "People know we're not-that we haven't-" "People believe what wealth and power tell them to believe." Sebastian cut into his scallop. "Our story is simple: we met at the Metropolitan gala last year, kept our relationship private due to the sensitive business negotiations regarding your father's company, and decided to marry quickly rather than endure a public circus." The calculated fiction made her want to vomit. "And what do I say when they ask how you proposed? Or about our first date? Our first kiss?" Something dark flashed in Sebastian's eyes. "You'll give them that defiant little smile of yours and tell them it's private. That's what most infuriates me about you, Olivia-you've never simpered or giggled or tried to please. That fire in your eyes when you hate something..." He trailed off, then seemed to collect himself. "It's far more convincing than artificial adoration." The fact that her hatred turned him on made Olivia's skin crawl. She forced herself to take a bite she couldn't taste. "One more thing we need to discuss," Sebastian continued, all business. "The physical side of our arrangement." Olivia's fork clattered against her plate. "Seriously? Over dinner?" "Would you rather I surprise you later?" His smile could cut glass. "Section 8, paragraphs 3 through 7 spell it out pretty clearly, but I'm willing to be... flexible on the timeline." Suddenly she couldn't breathe. "I need time," she said, hating how desperate she sounded. Sebastian studied her, head slightly tilted. "Time," he repeated thoughtfully. "Fine. One week. After the Garner Gala, we consummate this marriage. You have until then to... get used to your new reality." Olivia took a shaky breath, knowing exactly what that meant. One week before she had to give up her virginity to this monster. "Thank you," she forced out. "Don't thank me yet." Sebastian's eyes glittered dangerously. "Use the week wisely. Read your contract again, especially the appendices. There might be a pop quiz." She couldn't tell if he was joking. She doubted it. "Can I be excused?" she asked, unable to take another bite or another second with him. Sebastian waved his permission. "Remember-you don't leave the penthouse without my say-so." Olivia stood. "And what exactly are you afraid I'll do if I leave? Run to the press? Make myself look like an idiot just to spite you?" "I'm not afraid of anything you might do," Sebastian replied with ice-cold confidence. "But you should be very afraid of what I'll do if you disappoint me." The threat hung in the air between them, invisible but suffocating. Fighting back tears, she walked away without another word. Back in her room, she locked the door, knowing damn well it was pointless. If Sebastian wanted in, a lock wouldn't stop him. But it was enough to give her the privacy to finally break down, crying herself to sleep. ❧ The slap of cold water against Olivia's face did nothing for the hollow ache in her chest. She gripped the bathroom counter, watching water droplets race down her reflection. God, who was this woman staring back at her in silk pajamas? A stranger. She'd lost track of time in this luxury prison. Her father's house arrest had at least given her some freedom-a nanny to cuddle with, sneaking out for novels, making calls to no one. Sebastian's gilded cage? Pure hell. All her needs met except the ones that mattered. Even the damn housekeepers avoided her like she carried something contagious. "Mrs. Blackwood." Sebastian's voice made her jump. He never knocked. Never. "I see you're awake." Olivia spun around, clutching her gaping pajama top over her exposed breast. For days he'd treated her like furniture-coming and going from the penthouse as if she didn't exist. Part of her had started to enjoy the silence. But now he stood there, filling the space with his presence. Gosh! Olivia couldn't help the moment but observed how infuriatingly sexy he looked in his Tom Ford suit at 7 AM.