Chapter Five: Becoming Daisy

Daphne's POV 

Oliver took the contract and filed it in a drawer, then looked at me with those unreadable eyes. "You're coming home with me tonight. We have a party to attend."

"A party?" I blinked.

"Celebrating your 'return from Australia.' It is assumed that you just returned today. Don't worry, the story is airtight. Just smile. And follow my lead."

Before I could protest, he was already dialing a number. Moments later, we were on the road.

The spa looked like something out of a luxury magazine. White marble walls, trickling water fountains, and women in crisp uniforms greeted me with soft smiles. I was ushered into a private suite where a team began to work on me like I was a statue being polished for display.

My clothes were stripped off gently, and I was lowered into a warm bath infused with rose petals, essential oils, and milk. Soft hands scrubbed away dead skin, old memories, and the woman I used to be. I closed my eyes, letting the steam and oils cloud my thoughts. It was surreal. Sensual.

Next came the massage. Hot stones glided across my back, chasing tension from my muscles. My hair was deep-conditioned, wrapped in a warm towel while my feet were soaked, scrubbed, and massaged. Aesthetician hands shaped my brows, applied honey masks to my face, and exfoliated my lips until they were plush and pink.

By the time they finished, I looked... expensive.

"You're glowing," Oliver said when I stepped into the boutique with freshly painted nails and a silky robe. I tried to hide how flustered I was under his gaze.

He picked out the dress himself—a blood-red satin gown with a daring thigh slit and a low neckline. When I stepped out of the dressing room, his eyes lingered for a second too long.

"You look... exactly like her," he said, almost under his breath.

I didn’t know whether to feel proud or heartbroken.

The drive to his mansion was quiet. My heart thumped louder with each passing mile. When we pulled through the gates, my mouth fell open.

The mansion towered like a dream—all glass, white stone, and perfect lines. It glittered under the setting sun.

"This is where you live?"

"This is where we live," he corrected. "Starting now, remember that."

We entered through the grand double doors, and I barely had time to process the sparkling chandelier overhead before I heard it.

"Mummy! Mummy!"

Two small bodies collided with my legs. I froze.

Their tiny arms wrapped around my thighs, their eyes wide and joyful.

"We missed you!"

One had a pink ribbon, the other blue. Their faces—cherubic and perfect—looked up at me, waiting.

My throat thickened. I crouched down and hugged them tightly, blinking back tears.

"I missed you too, sweethearts," I said, unsure where the words even came from.

Oliver watched, silent but satisfied.

The party was a lavish one—elegant people in evening gowns, toasts being made, and me—smiling, nodding, pretending to be a woman I had never met. Yet every time I glanced at Oliver across the room, something inside me twisted.

He was magnetic. Dangerous. And yet, he had become my entire world overnight.

Later, after the guests had left and the twins had been tucked into bed, I found myself alone with him in the private lounge.

He poured wine into two crystal glasses and handed one to me. I took it. Maybe too eagerly.

One glass turned into two. Then three. The warmth spread through me like wildfire.

"You handled tonight well," he said, sitting beside me.

"It still feels like I’m dreaming."

He leaned closer, his scent—woodsy and rich—wrapping around me. "Then let me make it real."

I looked into his eyes. Dark. Intense. Something sparked.

His lips brushed mine, soft at first. Testing. Then he kissed me again, deeper, slower, tongue parting my lips. My breath hitched.

His hand cupped the back of my neck as I melted into him. The wine, the heat, the lies—they all swirled together. I wasn’t Daphne anymore. I was Daisy. And I wanted this.

He pulled me onto his lap, the silk of my dress bunching around my hips. I straddled him, my thighs gripping his waist.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered against my neck.

"Don’t you dare."

He groaned softly, dragging his mouth down to my collarbone, teeth grazing lightly. His hands roamed over my back, unzipping the dress. It slipped off my shoulders, pooling around my waist.

His eyes darkened as he took me in—bare skin, flushed cheeks, heavy breaths.

"You’re breathtaking."

My hands worked at his shirt, popping buttons open until my fingers ran across hard muscle. He lifted me, carrying me to the bedroom like I weighed nothing.

We fell onto the bed, limbs tangling, mouths hungry.

His hands explored every inch of me, slow and possessive. My thighs parted instinctively, welcoming him in. The moment he slid inside me, I gasped—not just from the stretch, but from the way he filled something deeper than just my body.

"Oliver..."

He moved slowly, rhythm steady, eyes locked with mine. Each thrust pushed me closer to the edge, his name falling from my lips in broken syllables. His mouth captured my moans, his hands holding me like I was the most precious thing he'd ever touched.

Pleasure built like a wave, until it crashed over me. My nails dug into his back as I shattered, trembling beneath him. He followed moments later, groaning my name into the crook of my neck.

We lay there in silence, tangled in sheets and sweat.

I should've felt guilt. Shame. Fear.

Instead, I felt seen.

Wanted.

And for the first time in a long time... alive.