The Ones Left Behind

Olivia woke to the feeling of a large, warm hand splayed possessively over her bare stomach. For a disorienting second she forgot where she was. Then memory crashed back in waves—the contract, the hospital, Daniel’s mouth on her breast, the way he had made her come apart with nothing but his fingers while remaining fully clothed and in complete control. Heat flooded her cheeks.

She was lying in the center of an enormous bed, sheets of black silk tangled around her hips. Her sweater and leggings were gone. She wore only her underwear and one of Daniel’s white shirts, the fabric soft and oversized, carrying his scent. Morning light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the penthouse in pale gold.

Daniel sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed in dark trousers and an open black shirt. He was watching her with an intensity that made her pulse stumble.

"You sleep like someone who’s been running on empty for years," he said quietly. His hand flexed once against her stomach, thumb brushing the still-flat skin just above the waistband of her panties. "That ends now."

Olivia’s voice was hoarse. "My mother..."

"Came through surgery two hours ago. Stable. The lead surgeon will update us every four hours." His eyes never left hers. "I told you I keep my promises."

Relief hit so hard her eyes stung. She turned her face away, but Daniel’s fingers caught her chin and brought her back.

"Don’t hide from me." The command was soft, yet absolute. "Not after last night."

The memory of how shamelessly she had moaned his name made her thighs press together. Daniel noticed. A dark, satisfied look crossed his face. He leaned down until his lips grazed the corner of her mouth.

"Later," he murmured. "First, we set rules. Then I feed you. Then--" his teeth scraped lightly over her bottom lip "I finish what I started."

Before she could answer, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen, expression unreadable, and stood.

"Get dressed. There are clothes in the closet. Black bag on the left. Wear what I chose."

He left the bedroom without waiting for a reply.

Across the city, Sebastian Cole stared at the message on his phone until the words burned into his vision.

His apartment still smelled like Hazel’s perfume and last night’s mistake. Hazel herself lounged on the couch in one of his shirts, scrolling through her phone with lazy satisfaction—until she saw his face.

"What?" she asked.

Sebastian turned the screen toward her. Hazel’s smirk faltered. "Who the hell is that?"

"I don’t know." His voice was tight. He had called Olivia seventeen times since she walked out of the hotel. Every call went straight to voicemail. Her apartment had been empty when he drove there at dawn. The doorman claimed a black car had taken her away around midnight.

Hazel sat up straighter. "She’s probably just sulking. You know how dramatic she gets."

"Dramatic?" Sebastian let out a harsh laugh. "I fucked her sister and told you I never loved her. She heard every word, Hazel."

Hazel’s eyes flashed. "Don’t put this on me. You were the one who said she was only useful for her blood. You were the one who kept stringing her along so the donations wouldn’t stop."

"And you were the one who climbed into my bed the second she was out of the room."

Silence stretched, ugly and accusing. Sebastian ran a hand through his hair. A strange, unfamiliar guilt was starting to coil in his gut—something that had nothing to do with losing a convenient blood donor and everything to do with the look on Olivia’s face when she closed that hotel door. He had never seen her look so finished.

His phone buzzed again. Another message from the same unknown number, a photo.

Olivia, asleep in a bed that was definitely not hers, wearing a man’s white shirt, dark hair spilled across expensive pillows. A masculine hand rested possessively on her stomach. The same hand that had typed the earlier message, no doubt.

Sebastian’s blood turned to ice. Hazel snatched the phone, stared, then let out a disbelieving laugh. "Is that—no. No fucking way."

Sebastian already knew. Only one man in the family had that kind of cold, unmistakable presence. Only one man would dare send a message like that.

His uncle, Daniel.

Back in the penthouse, Olivia stood in front of the closet, heart hammering.

The black bag contained exactly what Daniel had chosen, soft black lingerie, a matching robe, and a simple but elegant dress that would skim her body without clinging. No pants. No escape clothes. Everything selected to remind her of her new status.

She dressed slowly, fingers clumsy. When she stepped into the living area, Daniel was on a call, speaking in low, clipped tones about “the clinic records” and “every staff member who touched her file.” He ended the call the moment he saw her.

His gaze dragged over her from head to toe, lingering on the bare length of her legs beneath the dress.

“Good,” he said. “You look like what you are.”

“And what is that?” she asked, chin lifting despite the tremor in her voice.

“Mine.”

He crossed the room, cupped the back of her neck, and kissed her—deep, claiming, unhurried. By the time he pulled back, her lips felt swollen, and her body was already aching for more.

“Eat,” he ordered, steering her toward the dining table where a full breakfast had been laid out. “Then we talk about the next forty-eight hours. Your mother will remain under private care. You will not leave this building without me or the security I assign. And Sebastian…”

Daniel’s eyes went cold. “will not come near you again.”

Olivia’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “He already knows, doesn’t he?”

A faint, dangerous smile touched Daniel’s lips.

“He knows enough to lose sleep.”

Sebastian paced the length of his living room while Hazel watched him with growing irritation.

“You’re actually jealous,” she said, disbelief sharpening her voice. “Of your own uncle. Over the girl you never even wanted.”

“I never said I didn’t want her.” The words left Sebastian’s mouth before he could stop them. He froze, as if surprised by his own admission.

Hazel stood, eyes narrowing. “You’ve spent three years treating her like a walking blood bag. Now that someone else has her, suddenly she matters?”

Sebastian turned on her. “You don’t understand. Daniel doesn’t take things casually. If he sent that photo, it means he’s serious. It means Olivia is—” He couldn’t finish the sentence. The image of her sleeping under his uncle’s hand kept replaying in his mind, stirring something ugly and possessive he had no right to feel.

Hazel stepped closer, voice dropping into a venomous whisper. “Then take her back. You’re a Cole too. Or are you just going to let your uncle steal the only girl who was ever stupid enough to love you?”

Sebastian stared at her. For the first time, the full weight of what he had destroyed settled on his shoulders.

And across the city, in a penthouse that overlooked everything he would never have, Olivia Miller sat at a long black table while Daniel Cole Ashford watched her like a man who had already decided the rest of her life.

His phone buzzed once more. A new message, this time from a private investigator. Found something. The clinic. The doctor who performed the insemination. He didn’t act alone. Daniel’s eyes lifted to Olivia’s face, dark and unreadable.

“It seems,” he said softly, “that someone wanted my child inside you very badly.”

He stood, rounded the table, and pulled her up against him, one hand splaying over her stomach in a gesture that was both tender and ruthlessly possessive.

“The question is… who.”

Outside, storm clouds began to gather over the city once again. And somewhere below them, Sebastian Cole made a decision that would set everything on fire.

**