Chapter 6

OLIVIA POV

I ran until my lungs burned.

Not toward home. Just away. Away from that mansion, away from that cold study, away from the man whose face I could never seem to escape.

Of all the people in this city to crash into, it had to be him.

I stopped at the end of the road, hands braced on my knees, tears dripping onto the pavement. He had caught my wrist. Gently, like I might break. It still tingled, which was ridiculous. He was a stranger. A mistake with a very nice jaw.

That was almost worse. I had no right to feel anything at all. Not after what I had just heard.

Pull yourself together, Olivia.

I had already quit the gym that morning, blaming a family emergency.

It wasn't even a lie.

I wiped my face, and the last hour came rushing back.

A driver had picked me up that morning. Dad hadn't come. I was beginning not to recognize the man my father was becoming.

The study was silent. One maid, one door, one very old man behind a very large desk.

"Sit," Mr. Lance said.

I sat.

He didn't offer his hand. He didn't ask how I was. He slid a cup of tea toward me and watched me not touch it.

"You will move into my son's house," he said. "As his housekeeper."

I blinked. "Your son?"

"You will earn his trust. You will seduce him. You will make him fall for you." His voice never rose. "And you will make sure he gets you pregnant."

The word hit like a slap.

I shot to my feet. "You can't be serious."

"Sit down, Miss Jasper."

He didn't raise his voice. He only glanced at the door, where a man in a black suit stood with his hands folded. I sat back down so fast the chair scraped.

"After the child is born, you will be paid and sent abroad. Out of the country. Out of our lives. Your father's debts will vanish. Your family will be safe."

My hands were ice. "Why?"

He smiled faintly. It was the coldest thing I had ever seen.

"That is not your concern."

"Why not just ask him? Why not adopt?"

"Because my son does not know. And he never will." His eyes pinned me to the chair. "If he finds out, our agreement ends. And so does your father's safety. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I whispered.

The tea sat untouched. My stomach was too tight to swallow anything.

He slid a thick document across the desk. Then a pen.

"Sign."

I read the first page. Confidentiality. Penalties. A clause about "breach of terms" that made my stomach turn. At the bottom was a signature I knew better than my own.

Dad's.

My hand shook so hard the first line came out crooked. I signed anyway.

"The child will not be yours. Remember that." He took the pages and turned one over, as if we were discussing the weather. "Tomorrow morning, you will go for a medical check-up. Afterward, my driver will take you to my son's house. That will be your new workplace. You will meet the present housekeeper. She will tell you everything you need to know."

"And then?"

"Then you begin." He didn't look up. "Now go."

I didn't go home right away.

I walked for an hour, trying to breathe past the knot in my chest. When I finally pushed open the front door, Dad was in the living room, exactly where I had left him.

He looked up. He looked terrified.

"Olivia," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Ms Suzi hovered in the kitchen doorway, pretending to wipe a spotless counter. She had never been good at hiding that she was listening.

I stood there, staring at the man who had raised me. The man who had held my hand at Mom's funeral. The man who was breaking before my eyes.

"I've already signed," I said quietly.

His face crumpled.

"Olivia, no. I never meant for you to—"

"It's done." My voice shook. "But we are never talking about this again."

He pulled me into his arms, and he cried.

I didn't.

I had no tears left.

That night, I lay awake in a house we had only owned for a few years. Somehow, I already felt like a guest in my own life.

The next morning, a black car took me to a private clinic with no sign on the door.

Blood tests. Scans. A doctor who never once met my eyes. I had never felt so much like a product being inspected. I stared at the ceiling and told myself it was just a job.

"Perfectly healthy," the doctor said afterward. "Ideal, in fact."

Ideal. The word made my skin crawl.

The same black car was waiting outside.

The house was a glass-and-stone fortress at the end of a long, quiet drive. Cold. Immaculate. Silent.

A woman in her fifties met me at the door, her gray hair pinned back so tightly it looked painful.

"Miss Jasper. I'm the head housekeeper. We don't have much time. Mr. Cassius returns at six."

Cassius. So that was his name. The man I was supposed to seduce.

She walked me through the house at a brisk pace.

"Rule one. No one enters Mr. Cassius's bedroom or study unless he calls for them."

"Understood."

"Rule two. He wakes at five. Breakfast at six, coffee black. Not a minute late."

"Okay."

"Rule three." She stopped. "His evening bath is prepared at nine. Water forty degrees, not a degree more. Towels folded in thirds. If it isn't ready, he will know."

She led me down a back hall to a small door. Inside was a room far too beautiful to be called staff quarters. A soft bed. A window overlooking the gardens.

"This will be yours."

"Go and collect your things," the housekeeper said. "You start tomorrow at six."

I nodded.

She paused at the door, studying me with sharp, tired eyes.

"Mr. Cassius is a difficult man. But he is not cruel."

Then she left.

I stood alone in the silent room, my heart racing.

Mr. Cassius.

Why would a man like Mr. Lance, who owned everything, go to such lengths to give his son a child...

...that his son didn't even know about?