Chapter Seven.

Chapter Seven

Olivia’s POV

The night shimmered with the kind of sharp, glossy elegance I usually only witnessed from a distance. The event that had something to do with hedge funds and humanitarianism—was held at a private rooftop ballroom, the kind where the champagne never stopped flowing and the air smelled like money and rich people.

I didn't want to attend, but I did anyways.

I wore a black dress.

The dress was sleek, backless, and borrowed. My heels were taller than any rational person would choose for a night of mingling with rich people also known as wolves. But Fabian had asked me to be there. He had said it like a request, but it felt like something more. Like a chain pulled tight between us.

And I had said yes.

The ballroom sparkled. Strings of lights glowed gold overhead, and the sound of a live quartet floated through the space, polished and perfect. I scanned the room, my stomach tightening. Everyone looked like they belonged. Crisp tuxedos, designer gowns, measured laughter.

And then, there was me.

I stood awkwardly near the edge of the room, clutching a glass of wine I wasn’t drinking, nodding along to a conversation I wasn’t a part of. Fabian had been pulled into a discussion with investors near the bar, surrounded by men who probably considered him the king of fucking business.

He didn’t looked away from me though.

Even while speaking in that cool, confident tone of his, his eyes had found mine every few minutes. Like he needed to confirm I had not disappeared.

Like I was his anchor.

I turned slightly, adjusting the strap of my dress. That was when I saw her.

Vanessa Langford.

Fabian’s ex.

Their relationship had been all over the news.

Of course she was here.

She floated across the floor like she had been born under a spotlight. Platinum blonde hair in a twisted chignon. A dress that cost more than my rent. Diamond earrings that swayed like punctuation. She moved with the precision of someone who had always been wanted and never been denied.

She stopped in front of me with a smile so delicate it might snap in half.

“Olivia Wilde,” she said. “ Right? You must be the new assistant.” she continued.

I forced a polite nod. “Yes. That’s right.”

She let her gaze slide over me, like she was sizing up my worth.

“You’re…braver than I thought.”

I blinked, confused. “Sorry?”

“To come here. Wearing that. With him.”

I stiffened. “I was invited.”

She leaned in slightly, her breath tinged with something floral and expensive.

“He always did enjoy projects. But Fabian gets bored easily. I suppose you’ll learn that the hard way.”

The words hit their mark. My grip on the wineglass loosened.

Vanessa’s smile sharpened mockingly, “You’re not like us, darling. You don’t belong in this world.”

I didn’t have a response. Because she wasn’t wrong.

She turned to go, then paused. “Don’t take it personally. He has a type—broken things with big eyes.”

That’s when he appeared.

Fabian.

Out of nowhere.

Like he had sensed her venom.

He stepped in beside me, hand sliding around my waist. Not casually. Not politely.

Possessively.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.

Vanessa turned, all sugar again. “Darling, I was just admiring your new… acquisition.” she mocked, sizing me up again.

Fabian’s eyes didn’t leave her, but his grip on my waist tightened.

“She’s not an acquisition. She’s mine.”

My breath caught. Vanessa blinked.

He finally turned to me. His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded slowly, trying to pretend my heart wasn’t doing somersaults.

He leaned in, close enough that his breath skated across my lips.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he touched my lower lip with his thumb. Soft. Reverent.

Like I was a secret only he got to keep.

Oh God.

“Don’t let her get to you,” he said, voice low. “You were never beneath me, Olivia. If anything, I’ve spent years trying to catch up.”

I was frozen.

Speechless.

Somewhere, Vanessa made a sound—disgust? irritation? I couldn't tell, besides, I couldn’t care less. She stormed off, heels clicking like gunfire.

I exhaled shakily. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He turned to face me fully. “Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

His jaw ticked. “Because you don’t see yourself the way I do. And I’m getting real tired of people thinking they can treat you like you don’t matter.”

I blinked rapidly, trying to fight the threatening the tears away.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. But you don’t have to be. Not with me.”

And then he did something worse than kiss me.

He took my hand.

And held it.

In front of everyone.

Like I mattered.

Like I belonged.

Like I wasn’t something he would grow tired of.

“Come on,” he said. “We’re leaving.”

“But the event—” I started.

“Let them talk,” he said, tugging me gently toward the elevator. “They always do.”

In the elevator, he didn’t say a word.

Neither did I.

In the elevator, he didn’t say a word for the first ten seconds, but his thumb kept brushing mine. The doors sealed shut with a quiet thud. We stood there, surrounded by silence and city glass reflections.

Then his voice broke through.

“Why didn’t you say something to her?”

I swallowed, hard. “Because she was right.”

He turned to me sharply.

“She wasn’t.”

“I don’t belong in your world, Fabian. I don’t own anything designer. I can’t talk fluently about mergers or asset portfolios. I don’t know the language. I’m just—”

“You’re just what?” he cut in, low and dangerous.

“A mess,” I said. “Your mess. Your temporary mess. Convenient, something to fix or forget.”

His body moved before his words did.

He stepped in so close there was no air between us. My back hit the elevator wall, and he pressed his forehead to mine, jaw clenched, breathing heavily.

“You don’t get to say that,” he murmured. “You don’t get to decide your worth to me.”

I couldn’t breathe, not with his voice curling through me, not with his hands braced on either side of me.

“I’ve watched you shrink yourself for everyone else,” he said. “But not with me. Never with me.”

His mouth hovered near my neck, close enough that his breath fanned across the sensitive spot just below my ear.

“Don’t ever say you’re unworthy again,” he said, voice rough.

I blinked back tears. Swallowed my pride. And let the silence say everything I couldn’t.

The elevator dinged.

He stepped back slowly.

I exhaled for the first time in what felt like years.

He offered to drive me home, and I honestly have no strength to protest, so I agreed.

The ride back to my apartment was quiet. But not empty. In his car, I sat still, staring out the window at the city lights blurring past, every nerve ending awake.

I felt his eyes on me the whole way.

Like he was burning me into memory.

Like he already owned me.

And the worst part,

I let him.

Because I hated how much I needed to be his.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel small.

I felt claimed.