Chapter Nine.

Chapter Nine

Olivia's POV

I sat at my desk in Fabian’s stupidly perfect office, my head pounding from last night’s tequila binge, when I found it. 

My hands shook, not just from the hangover but from the ghost of his eyes, which I swore I felt even though he wasn’t there. 

I was flipping through a stack of papers, pretending to sort his schedule, when my fingers brushed something soft, worn, tucked in a drawer I had no business snooping in. 

A folded piece of paper, yellowed at the edges, with my name scrawled in a kid’s shaky handwriting. 

Olivia. 

My heart lurched, like it knew what was coming before I did.

I unfolded it, my breath catching, and there it was, a letter from Fabian, from when he was thirteen and I was nineteen, his babysitter, his whole damn world. 

“Dear Liv,” it started, the words wobbly, like he had pressed too hard with his crayon. 

“You’re my favorite person. I love you. Don’t ever leave. Love, Fabian.” 

A lopsided red heart sat at the bottom, uneven and smudged, and I stared at it, my chest so tight I thought I might crack open. 

He kept it. 

All these years, he kept this stupid, sweet note, hidden in his billion-dollar office like it was some sacred artifact. 

My throat closed up, my eyes burned, and I wanted to scream, because what the hell was I supposed to do with that?

I spent the whole day trying to shake it, the letter folded in my pocket, burning a hole through my jeans. I woke up this morning in my shitty apartment, the memory of Fabian’s hand on my thigh from last night’s car ride still searing my skin. 

I was a mess—tangled hair, my bar dress crumpled on the floor—and I lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying his words,

“You’re mine.” 

God, I hated how those words made me feel, wanted, trapped, alive. I dragged myself to work, hoping to drown the chaos in coffee and spreadsheets, but then I found that letter, and it ripped me open like a knife. 

I couldn’t stop reading it, over and over, like it held some secret to why I couldn’t get him out of my head. 

“Don’t ever leave.” Those words hit hardest, because I did leave, didn’t I? I was nineteen, restless, running from my mom’s screaming matches and my own failures, chasing some dumb dream across the country. 

I left him, a kid with big green eyes and bigger dreams, crying on his porch, clutching one of his crayon drawings. 

I broke that promise, and now I was here, working for him, drowning in his intensity, and holding this goddamn letter that made it all so much worse.

I paced the office, alone, because Fabian was out at some fancy client meeting, probably flashing that stupidly perfect smile. 

The letter was crumpled in my hand, my fingers gripping it too tight, and I kept reading it, like I was punishing myself. 

My head was a mess, all guilt and tequila haze and his voice from last night, low and rough, “I can’t stay away from you.” 

I wanted to laugh it off, to shove the letter back in the drawer and pretend I never saw it, but I couldn’t. 

It was like he had carved his name into my bones, and I hated it, because I was Olivia Wilde, queen of chaos, and he was Fabian Stone, billionaire god, and I didn’t belong in his world. 

But that letter—that stupid, shaky letter—said I did, and it was screwing with my head.

The door opened, and my heart slammed into my ribs as Fabian walked in. 

He looked like he always did—too perfect, too intense, his dark suit hugging every inch of his body like it was made to torment me. 

His green eyes locked on me, and I swore the room shrank, like he sucked up all the air. 

“Olivia,” he said, my name in his voice like, he was trying to undo me, low and dangerous, cutting through the haze. 

“What’s wrong?” I froze, the letter still in my hand, and I knew I couldn’t hide it. Not from him. Not when he had always seen through me, even when I was nineteen, sneaking him cookies and laughing at his goofy drawings. 

“You kept this,” I said, my voice cracking as I held up the letter like it was evidence in a court case. 

“This... thing. From when you were a kid. Why?” He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing, and the air shifted, like he was about to reveal my soul. 

“Because it’s you,” he said, simple, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Everything about you, Liv. I kept it all.”

I laughed, but it was shaky, more a sob than anything else, and I hated how small I felt, how exposed I felt. 

“You’re insane,” I said, shoving the letter at him, but my hands trembled, and I was sure he saw it—the fear, the guilt, the part of me that wanted to run. 

“You were thirteen, Fabian. Thirteen. I was just your babysitter. Why the hell would you keep this?” He took the letter, his fingers brushing mine, and that touch sent a jolt through me, like I had touched a live wire. 

His eyes held mine, dark and unyielding, and I couldn’t breathe. “You weren’t just my babysitter,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “You were everything. You still are.”

My stomach flipped, and I wanted to bolt, to hide, to laugh it off, but my feet wouldn’t move. 

His words were like a weight, pinning me in place, and I hated how much I wanted to believe them. 

“That’s... crazy,” I muttered, but my voice was weak, and I knew he heard it—the doubt, the fear, the part of me that wanted to lean into him, to let him be the anchor I had been chasing my whole life. 

Not his money, not his penthouse, but him, the one person who had ever looked at me like I was enough.

“It’s not crazy,” he said, stepping closer, so close I could smelled his cologne, something spicy and expensive that made my head spin worse than the tequila ever did. 

“You were my world, Liv. You still are. Every drawing, every note, every memory—I kept them because I couldn’t let you go.”

I shook my head, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might crack my ribs. 

“You don’t know me,” I said, my voice breaking. “Not anymore. I’m not that girl you drew hearts for. I’m a mess. I spill coffee, I lose keys, I fuck everything up. You’re... you’re a billionaire, Fabian. You don’t need my chaos.”

He grabbed my wrist, his grip firm but not tight, and I gasped, because his touch was like fire, burning through every wall I had tried to build. 

“I don’t need your chaos,” he said, his voice low, dangerous, and so damn sure it made me shiver. 

“I want it. I want you.” His thumb brushed over my pulse, and I felt it race, betraying me, because I wanted him too, even if I wasn’t ready to say it out loud.

I stood there in his office, the letter between us, and I felt like I was drowning. His hand was still on my wrist, his thumb brushing my skin, and I wanted to pull away, to run, but I couldn’t. 

“You don’t get it,” I said, my voice shaking as I yanked my wrist free. “I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not... I’m not worth this.” I gestured at the letter, at him, at the whole damn office, because he was a billionaire, a king, and I was a disaster, spilling coffee and losing files, barely keeping my head high.

“You’re wrong,” he said, his voice steady, like he was stating a fact carved in stone. 

“You’re worth everything.” He stepped closer, his body so close I felt his heat, and I wanted to scream, because how could he say that? How could he look at me, with my messy hair and my stained jeans, and see anything but a trainwreck?

“Stop it,” I said, my voice breaking as tears pricked my eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re... you’re obsessed with some memory of me, Fabian. That girl’s gone. I’m just...” I trailed off, because what was I? A failure? A screw-up? The girl who left a kid crying because she didn’t know how to stay?

“I know you,” he said, and his voice was so sure, so certain, it cut through me like a blade. 

“I know your chaos, your flaws, your heart. I’ve always known you, Liv.” He reached out, tucking a stray hair behind my ear, and his touch was so gentle, so at odds with the fire in his eyes, that my knees wobbled.

I laughed, but it was more like a sob, and I hated how raw I felt, like he had peeled back every layer I tried to hide behind. 

“You’re crazy,” I said, but I didn’t move away, and he knew it, because his lips curved—not quite a smile, but something darker, something that made my pulse race.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice low, his eyes dropping to my lips. “But you’re my kind of crazy.” He stepped closer, so close I felt his breath on my skin, and I knew I should’ve pushed him away, should’ve run, but I didn’t. 

His hand slid to my waist, his fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp, and that spark was there again, that fire from last night in his car, when his hand was on my thigh and I wanted to combust.

“Fabian,” I whispered, my voice hardly there, because I was terrified, not of him, but of myself, of how much I wanted to lean into him, to let him be my anchor in the storm of my life. 

I was a mess, always have been, but he looked at me like I was his salvation, and it scared the hell out of me.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice rough, his hand tightening on my waist. “Don’t push me away, Liv.” 

The same words that, that makes my knees wobble.

His other hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek, and I felt tears slip free, because I didn’t know how to stop this, how to stop him. 

His lips were so close, and I felt the pull, like gravity, like he was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

But I pulled back, because I was Olivia Wilde, queen of bad decisions, and I wasn’t ready to let him in, not like this. 

“I can’t,” I said, my voice breaking as I stepped away, clutching the letter like it was a lifeline. “I need... I need time, Fabian.”

He watched me, his eyes dark, unreadable, but he didn’t push, didn’t force me to stay. 

“I’ll wait,” he said, but his voice held a promise, a warning, like he knew I couldn’t run forever. 

“But not forever, Liv.”

I stumbled out of his office, the letter still in my hand, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst. I went back to my desk, my head spinning, and sat there, staring at nothing, because what the hell had I gotten myself into? 

Fabian Stone was a kid once, my kid, the one I promised to never leave. Now he was a man, a billionaire, a force of nature, and he wanted me—me, with my chaos and my scars and my broken promises. 

I felt the weight of that letter, of his words, of his touch, and I knew I was in deep, deeper than I’d ever been before.

Flashback, 12 Years Ago

I was twenty, packing my bags in Mom’s cramped apartment, my heart heavy with guilt. 

Fabian was fourteen, standing on his porch, his green eyes wet with tears. I told him I was leaving, moving to California for a fresh start, but I didn’t tell him how scared I was, how much I needed to escape. 

“You promised,” he said, his voice small, clutching one of his drawings—a heart with our initials, red and smudged. 

I hugged him, my throat tight, and lied, saying I’d be back soon. 

But I didn’t come back, not for years, and I left him behind, his crayon hearts and his pinky promise fading in my rearview mirror.

It haunted me, that moment, and it still did, every time I looked at him now.

I walked home that evening, the letter still in my pocket, burning like a brand. 

Fabian’s words echoed in my head, “You’re my kind of crazy” trust me, I wanted to believe them, but I didn’t know how. 

I was a mess, always had been, and he was... him. Intense, powerful, obsessed. 

I wanted to run, to hide, to bury myself in tequila and chaos, but I knew, deep down, that he was right. 

Maybe I was his, maybe I've always been his, even when I was too broken to see it. And that scared me more than anything, because I didn’t know how to love someone like Fabian Stone without losing myself in the process.