002 — The Morning After

Olivia's POV.

I opened my eyes really slowly, yawning out. I felt so relaxed, so much lighter in my head and my body.  

The ceiling above me was plain white. Soft morning light pushed through thin gray curtains.

Still, my mouth felt dry and sticky. My limbs were heavy, like someone had poured wet sand into them. A dull ache sat behind my eyes. I blinked once. Twice. The room smelled clean—soap mixed with something woodsy. Not the damp alley. Not the sharp hospital smell of blood and disinfectant.  

I opened my eyes wide, shaking off the aftereffects of sleep. My heart suddenly raced fast. I gasped out, alarmed, as I touched my whole body, my hands moved fast over my arms, my sides, my legs, the torn hem of my dress. The fabrics are still on me. Underwear still in place. Nothing felt different. Nothing felt forced.  

I sighed loudly, now calm as I realized that I’m still in my clothes and the worst didn’t happen.  

“Oh my—”  

I sat up fast, realizing the situation and how fucked up I still am. The room was unfamiliar. Dark wood furniture. A low black couch. A table near the window with a half-empty glass of water. I don’t even know where I am or whose room this is. All I know is that I blacked out and…  

“Oh no—”  

I exclaimed out, as it dawned to me that I have also spent the night out without informing Victor. I’ve been ignoring his calls since yesterday. He must be so worried.  

“Gosh, what have I done..  My phone… my bag—”  

I turned around the room, searching for my bag on the bed, lifting the bed sheets. My heart raced. The sheets felt cool and smooth under my hands. Nothing.  

“Where—”  

“You’re awake.”  

“Yes, I’m—”  

I paused, lifting my head up slowly. My heart raced even more as I heard a man’s voice. I caught his sharp gaze as he stood above me.  

He was tall—easily over six feet. Broad shoulders filled the space. Hard muscle showed even under the loose black robe that hung open at the chest, revealing smooth skin. Black flare pants sat low on his hips. Dark hair fell a little over his forehead. His eyes were just too sharp, watching me without softness. On the side of his neck, black tattoos snaked upward—thick lines and curves that seemed to run from behind his ear and disappear under the robe. He looked dangerous. He looked like the kind of man who took what he wanted and never apologized.  

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he scoffed, walking away. His bare feet made soft sounds on the floor.  

I blinked twice, back to myself. I wimped, cursing myself for admiring a thug that wanted to force himself on me.  

“Chill, Olivia Ashford.”  

He dropped onto the couch. My heart skipped a beat right there. I turned sharply to him.  

“Who—”  

I paused again as my eyes landed on him. He sat with one arm stretched along the back of the couch, the black robe shifting open enough to show more of the tattoos on his neck and the hard lines of his chest. He lifted the glass of water and drank slowly. His throat moved with each swallow. A drop of water clung to his lower lip before he wiped it away with the back of his hand. He watched me over the rim of the glass like he already owned the room.  

“Get it together,” I screamed in my head, closing my eyes tight.  

“Severe placental abruption… Significant blood loss. No viable pregnancy…”  

I turned back to him slowly and saw him holding my medical papers. My bag sat on the table too. I scoffed out, wondering how I didn’t see it there earlier.  

“That’s great… Did you lose your baby yesterday?”  

He said it with a voice that showed no concern whatsoever. Rather, it sounded almost proud, almost amused. It made my blood boil.  

I got off the bed. My bare feet touched the cool floor. I walked right to him, grabbed my bag, and snatched the papers from his hand, stuffing them back inside.  

“Who are you? Just who do you think you are?”  

I asked, looking right at him. Even though he was handsome—painfully so—his attitude was a sharp contrast. I hated myself for even finding this asshole handsome in the first place.  

He stood up slowly, walking toward me. I looked up, moving back. My back almost touched the wall. The scent of him reached me— his bodywash and something darker, like smoke and skin.  

He stopped all of a sudden, opened his arms, and spun around once, the black robe flaring a little.  

“I’m your savior and knight in shining armour, baby. You’re welcome.”  

“You’re a thug and nothing else.”  

I growled, cutting him off.  

He smirked, tilting his head. The tattoos on his neck shifted with the movement.  

“Ouch... that’s harsh.”  He blinked, stunned, rubbing his chest.

“You’re not even denying it because that’s who you are!” I muttered under my breath. My hands tightened on the bag.  

“You’re right, but it still hurt…”  

He sighed, admitting the truth, then grinned wider.  

“But I’m a gentleman. I didn’t do anything to you… even though I could have. You were out cold. Soft. Helpless and smelled so expensive. I could’ve done whatever I wanted.”  

I scoffed out loudly. Heat rushed up my neck.  

“But you find my miscarriage amusing... You find me pain thrilling...”  

I said it out, pulling myself together. The thought of my miscarriage still pierced my heart. How could he take pleasure in my pain? In the death of my child?  

He stepped closer. His voice dropped lower, almost playful.  

“Of course… That’s lovely. You shouldn’t get pregnant again for that prick Ashford of a dick. What kind of man lets his wife end up bleeding alone in some dirty alley? Just focus on your only daughter. Or…” his eyes dragged slowly down my body and back up, “…find someone better to put another one in you if you want a child so bad...”  

I hit his face hard, shutting him up. My palm stung from the force. The sharp crack filled the quiet room. His head turned slightly from the blow.  

I just couldn’t take it anymore.  

“Keep my family out of your mouth, you psycho.”  

He laughed out loud, making my blood boil really hot. The sound was deep and careless. He touched his cheek where I had hit him, still smiling.  

“Feisty... I like that.”  

“And show some respect for my husband. You’re nowhere near his level.”  

I said, looking right at him. My voice shook with anger. My chest rose and fell fast.  

His face hardened. He clenched his fist at his side. The tattoos on his neck stood out darker against his skin. It seemed like I just hurt his pride.  

“Sure… I take that.”  

His voice came out rough now.  

“I’m done… I don’t have a second to waste on you.”  

I smirked, turning to leave. My bag hung heavy on my shoulder. My legs still felt weak, but anger pushed me forward.  

“Stop right there…. Olivia, we’re not done...”  

He growled, his voice low and rough.  

I was just so angry. I took a bold move, considering the fact that it’s just the two of us in his house. Even though my heart was pounding hard on what he might do to me, I didn’t look back.  

I walked straight, slammed the door behind me, hoping never to cross paths with him again.