Belinda Chapman's POV

Moments later, my luggage arrived at my room door. I tried to settle in, but my mind refused to stay put. Every thought seemed to drift back to him-his lips, the brush of his touch. Occasionally, I found myself lifting my shirt, inhaling the lingering trace of his scent, then recoiling at the audacity of my own fascination. I told myself to keep it in check. He was a stranger. A stranger I should erase from my mind.

Then my thoughts drifted back to me. This time, I cried into my pillows. William was really cheating on me with Melinda. The betrayal struck me so deeply because he knew just how much my twin sister and I were always at loggerheads. He knew how much she frustrated my life, and he still chose her to cheat on me with.

William was my childhood crush. Tall, handsome, from a life of comfort and privilege. I had liked him for as long as I could remember. When my father came home one day and asked me if I would marry him, I hadn't questioned it-I'd said yes. Because having him seemed like a luxury. Until I truly got to know him.

William Walker. Charming, yet cruel. Loving only when it suited him. He was abusive, both emotionally and physically, and always excused it as "temper issues." I had tried telling my mother, as I could never confide in my father, but she dismissed my pain with a casual, "Endurance is a virtue." So I endured. And endured. But at this moment, I didn't think I could hold it anymore. I was living in bondage, and it dawned on me just now. I had done everything to prove just how much I mattered.

In tears, I didn't know when I fell asleep, but I woke up very late. The evening air was chilling, so I decided to go swimming. I changed into a bikini and grabbed a scarf, walking right out with my card and the hotel guide in hand. I took the elevator down and checked the hotel guide again-the swimming pool was behind the building-so I walked there and was glad to find it empty.

I dropped my scarf, card, and guide together on the recliner seat, but I had barely started swimming when a group of men arrived. Their presence kept me on edge, so I got out. Despite their cajoling that I was safe and they weren't there to disturb me, I still picked up my things and left.

I was dripping, and I decided to go to the garden. I had wandered for God knows how long, checking the art on the walls, taking in the scents, seeing some couples smooching, others just lying in each other's comfort, until I stumbled upon a fancy gate. It read Private Area, yet I peeped in. It was a swimming pool. Oh. I smiled mischievously, forgetting the rule again, and walked in.

I dropped my scarf and my things, then turned to the pool when I heard the water grumbling. I was frightened to that point, but all my fear turned to awe when I saw a man in the pool. Not just any man-the man from earlier. The one from the room.

I'd never seen any man so magnificent. His hand ran through his hair, his muscles flexed. He looked stunning in the blue pool, his eyes fixed on me, roaming over me, his torso rising from the water, and my mind drifting back to how massive he was. I stared at him, my body reacting so strangely under his gaze, my mind going wilder than it ever had.

"You have a way of walking in on me," he said, his body floating closer in the pool. I gulped. His skin was so lit; the water dripping down made him even more attractive.

"I wasn't expecting anyone..." I was always defending myself every time we met. "...I'll just leave," I said, turning to pick up my scarf.

"Owwww," he said behind me, and I turned to catch him staring at me. "Just like that?" he asked, giving me a cute face. "I could do with company," he added, and didn't wait for my response before swimming afloat back into the pool.

I could watch him all day-the way he stroked through the water, the way he moved. But was swimming with him not dangerous? Come on, Belinda, you're no kid. I cautioned myself and walked to the pool.

"Oush," I said at the sensation of the water. It was cooler and colder than the previous one. He turned to me as I stepped in, the water reaching my waist as I held the deck to ease myself in. I stared right back at him, but my pulse started rising when he suddenly began swimming toward me, his eyes fixed on me. It took only a few seconds before he was right in front of me.

"Are you okay?" he asked, but from his eyes I couldn't tell if he was flirting or teasing me. It was a harmless question-why was I overthinking everything?

"Yeah," I said, my voice coming out in a whisper. Come on, Belinda. He remained in front of me, staring like I was the only thing in the world. Fuck, I loved his eyes.

"First time in Minestar?" he asked, and I blinked.

"Um, yeah," I said, and then he ran his eyes over me. Why did I wear such a revealing bikini? And worse, why was my body reacting so wildly to his every move?

"Logan," he said, stepping back from me. "That's my name." And then he disappeared into the water.

He went underwater. I felt so watched that I dived in too, only to realize he wasn't even watching me. He was swimming in the opposite direction. A wash of disappointment hit me. I should have been relieved. But I wasn't. My spirit dropped as I tried to get him out of my head. Maybe he felt nothing for me. Maybe I wasn't even attractive to him. Come on, Belinda, you're engaged. I tried to caution myself, but he shouldn't determine my mood-yet...

"Are you tensed?" His voice came from behind me. My stomach flipped as I turned sharply to find him staring straight into my soul.

"Uhm..." I couldn't find my words as he moved closer. I didn't move. He towered over me, my body arching over his bulge. Heavens. I tried to catch my breath.

"Should I ease you?" he asked, his hand circling around me and pulling me closer, earning a short gasp from me. I'm an adult, and heaven knows I wanted him to treat me like this. "Should I?" he asked, looking at my face.

"Ye... yeah," I stuttered, his hand going to my ass and grabbing it. My breath went uneven. I could feel his fingers trailing up my thigh from behind.

"Tell me how you want me to treat you," he said, pushing us toward the edge of the pool.

"How you wish," I said, my eyes closing as he pressed me against the cantilever edge, his hand leaving my behind and coming to my front.

"Really?" He kissed my skin, trailing his lips over my neck while rubbing my clit area.

"Fuck..." it slipped out of my mouth as he sucked my skin softly while rubbing me. "Hell... damn," I said, widening my legs.

"That's my girl," he said, sucking my body. Then he shifted the tiny strip of my bikini, and I gasped when he moved his fingers over my spot. "I love your sound... give me."

"Frea... ahhh, Logan... hell..." He brought his right hand up and pushed down my bikini. My breasts spilled free, my nipples hard and ready at his mercy. He stared at my breasts as he rubbed me, and I writhed-his eyes, the way he devoured me with them.

"Hell, you're beautiful," he said, pressing my breasts like he was astonished. I smiled at his reaction, then rolled my eyes at the way he rubbed me. Was this how he treated women to pleasure? I loved it. "You're so pink and full. Oh damn, I want to eat you." He licked his lips hungrily, then dropped his mouth to my breasts as he dipped his fingers into my pussy.

"Fuck... fuck... mm, ahh, Logan," I cried softly into his hair, digging my fingers into his back as my body vibrated against him. He curled his fingers inside me, playing with my walls while rubbing my upper clit with his thumb. His mouth bit at my nipple. I lost myself. I could feel my orgasm building, and he increased his movements as if he could read my body.

"Beg for me," he said, nibbling my breast.

"Logan... baby... oh fuck this... I'm cumming," I said shamelessly, my body riding his fingers as he pushed them deeper. "Yeah... yeah... right th-ahh..." I lost my voice, clutched him, and moaned into his ear. "Heaven... heaven... baby, I'm cumming."

"Fuck, you feel so good... ahh, yeah. Cum, cum... I want to eat you," he said, biting my skin. His lips triggered every nerve as I felt my slick release on his fingers. He shook me vigorously, our groans blending as I came undone.

"Fuck me... fuck me, baby... fuck, Logan, fuck me as you please," I cried, my body pulsing with release.

"Oh God," I whispered, my head falling back as I peaked.

"You like it?" he asked, looking at my face.

"Fuck me, Logan," I said, meeting his eyes. I needed a good fuck.

"Damn, your eyes," he said, cupping my face and placing his tongue on my lips, sucking slowly. "I wanted to kiss you so badly this morning."

"Why didn't you?" I asked, my leg kicking in the water as he lifted it to his hip, my pussy pressing against his bulge. My body trembled. I would dream of this fuck for the rest of my marriage.

"I wanted to let you go," he said, then dropped his lips to mine, kissing me slowly at first. My hand slid into his hair as he parted my lips and went deeper. My breasts pressed to his chest, his bulge grinding against me.

"Logan," I gasped, looking into his eyes.

"Fuck me, Logan," I said, and he smiled before claiming my lips again, grinding me faster against his bulge. He didn't give me space to moan. He kissed me mercilessly, his hands roaming my body. He lifted my legs, spreading them for his dick. He was punishing me. I wanted him. I let go of his lips and cried against him, my body failing me as sensation overwhelmed me. He hadn't even fucked me yet, and I felt like this.

"Logan, please... fuck... yeah... Logan... lo-ahhh," I moaned into his ear as he freed one hand and pulled out his dick. I felt him grind my pussy along its length. I sucked in. "Oh baby... yeah... ahhh... come on... fuck me... oh hell... fuck meee."

"Oh... Belinda... ahhh, yeah," he groaned, grinding harder. I wanted him inside me, but my mind blanked as my body reacted. My vision blurred, my moans breaking free, my screams loud.

"Fuck me... oh, Logan... fuck... yeah... yeah... cum... damn... ahh..." And he slammed me against his hard cock. Then suddenly, he stopped.

"Yoooo," he said, shaking me. I stared at him, my eyes still blurry. He brushed a strand of hair from my face. "Why are you crying?" he asked gently.

I froze. I was crying?

"I..." I couldn't find the words. "I was?" I asked.

"You're crying," he said, then quickly tucked his cock back into his shorts.

"No, don't do that... I want you to fuck me," I pleaded, hope crashing. I wanted that cock. But he looked at me like I was a child.

"You were crying," he repeated, his gentleness unlike anything I'd ever seen on William's face.

"I love... I love how you-"

"It's okay. I won't push anymore," he said, lifting me onto the deck. He stood between my legs, looking into my eyes. The switch was dizzying. I still wanted him, but looking at him from this position felt like a blessing.

"I think you need to rest," he said suddenly.

"I... I-"

"Leave, Belinda," he said, and I swallowed my words. Why was he so wicked?

"I don't want to go," I said, loving whatever fueled my stubbornness.

"Then I'll leave," he said, stepping back.

I stared at him, then climbed down. After adjusting myself, I grabbed my scarf, card, and guide and hurried out of the pool in embarrassment. Why had I cried because of his dick? Fuck the words I'd said. Was I cheap? The thought brought tears to my eyes as I took the back elevator to my room, shame watching over me.

Logan Garrison’s POV

Tears were usually a turn-off for me, yet somehow hers cut deeper. I’d meant to tease her, but she couldn’t handle my heat. Thinking back on it, I smiled.

“That was cute,” I muttered, my mouth suddenly watering again at the taste of her breasts. Her body. My fingers still remembered her warmth—the way her insides hugged them. Logan Garrison, I warned myself, grounding my thoughts before I completely lost it. I was a flirt. I discarded women at my convenience. I had no business thinking about her.

But my groin tightened anyway.

Her reaction replayed in my head—her cute face, her body, the way the bubbles slid over her toned, fair breasts. Hell… those hard pink nipples, bold and defiant, like I could never suck them enough.

My hand wrapped around my cock in the pool, and her moan flooded my mind as I stroked slowly. I was Logan Garrison. I could call anyone to come ease me off—but her? I couldn’t shake her. I didn’t just want release. I wanted to sink into her. To penetrate her.

“Belinda…” The groan tore from my throat as I wanked harder. “Open that pussy… yeah… fuck… open…” I imagined her right there with me, my grip tightening as I rubbed my shaft vigorously, broken groans spilling out. “Belinda… m—ahh… I want your pussy… fuck… I want to fuck you…”

I braced a hand on the edge of the pool, my mind drowning in her—her moans, that damn tight pussy. “Yeah… fuck… gimme that pussy…” My voice faltered as pleasure crested. “Suck in my cum… your fucking pussy… ahh… I love it… fuck… come closer…”

The release hit hard.

“I’m cumming… fuck… I’m cumming in you…” My body shuddered as my semen spilled into the pool. “Oh fuck, Belinda,” I breathed.

That was the first time I’d ever wanked—and she was the reason. I wanted that damn girl.

I stayed there for a while, staring into nothing, trying to understand how one woman had taken over my thoughts so completely.

Eventually, I climbed out of the pool and grabbed my towel, rubbing it through my hair when my phone lit up. My mother. I answered with my left hand, knowing she wouldn’t stop calling if I ignored her.

“Mom,” I said, already feeling her energy.

“Lee,” she replied sharply. “Your wife is here.”

I frowned. “Wife?” I echoed.

“Susanne.”

I cursed under my breath.

That witch.BELINDA CHAPMAN's POV

I closed the door behind me and leaned into it, the wood cool against my spine, my chest rising too fast for the quiet room. My body felt overheated, restless, like it had been touched without being touched at all. I slid down until my shoulders hit the wall, pressing my lips together to contain the sound threatening to escape me.

I had cried.

Not the soft, polite kind. The kind that left my eyes burning and my chest aching-because something inside me had shifted.

I crossed the room slowly, each step deliberate, as if my body needed time to remember where I was. When I reached the bed, I didn't sit. I folded into it, sinking into the sheets, letting the mattress cradle me as my breath finally broke loose.

My thighs drifted apart on instinct, heat spreading low and slow, a reminder of how alive I suddenly felt. Not needy-aware. Every nerve seemed tuned to one frequency: him. His voice. His presence. The way he looked at me like he knew things about my body I had never been brave enough to learn myself.

"God..." I whispered, burying my face in the pillow, fingers curling into the fabric. "Please."

I didn't even know what I was asking for.

My heart was racing, not with fear, but with the dangerous thrill of recognition. In that moment, I wanted him. Not desperately-not yet-but with a quiet certainty that terrified me. I had never felt this kind of pull before. Never felt so seen without being exposed.

William had never made me feel like this. With him, there was no anticipation, no heat building beneath the skin. Just routine. Darkness. Silence. He took what he wanted and turned away, leaving my body untouched in ways that mattered.

But Logan-

Logan made me feel things without asking permission.

"Oh God," I breathed, staring at the ceiling. "How can someone feel this... right?"

My phone buzzed beside me, snapping the spell just slightly. Lydia's name lit up the screen, followed by her messages-persistent, dramatic, familiar.

I smiled, slow and secretive, before calling her back.

"Where have you been?" she demanded the second she answered. "I've been calling like a madwoman."

"I was out," I said, voice softer than usual, warmer.

"Out where?" She paused. "Bel... why do you sound like that?"

I pressed the phone to my ear and turned onto my side, knees pulling in slightly, comforted by the familiar intimacy of her voice. "I met someone."

A sharp squeal erupted on the other end. "I knew it. Tell me everything."

"He's... different," I said carefully.

"Different how?"

I hesitated, searching for words that wouldn't give me away. "He makes me feel... awake."

Silence-then, softly, "Does he know you're engaged?"

The question landed heavy.

"No."

"Belinda..."

"I know," I murmured. "It's not like that. I just-"

I stopped. I didn't have the words to explain how a single glance, a single moment, could unravel years of numbness.

"The last time you sounded like this," Lydia said gently, "was when you met William."

I exhaled slowly. "And look how that turned out."

She didn't argue.

"What's his name?" she asked instead.

"Logan."

The name felt dangerous in my mouth-smooth, weighted, intimate.

"Do you know anything else about him?"

"No," I admitted. "But somehow... that doesn't scare me."

After the call, the room felt too quiet again. I lay back, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts drifting where they shouldn't. I imagined his presence-not touching, not claiming-just close. Close enough to feel the heat of him, to feel the air change between us.

Sleep came late.

The next morning, I woke with a soft smile already on my lips, my body relaxed, my mind unruly. I moved through the day like I was carrying a secret beneath my skin.

Then the deliveries came.

One after another. Thoughtful. Intentional. Excessive in the most intoxicating way.

And when I finally saw the ribbon-

"Thanks for your company, sexy."

My breath caught.

This wasn't William

This was him.

LOGAN

LOGAN GARRISON'S POV

"Take down the rumors in the next thirty minutes. I'll deal with my parents," I said to Martin as I walked toward my office.

The staff greeted me on the way in, but they barely registered. Martin trailed behind, already on his phone, barking orders at the media team to scrub every picture of Susanne and me from the internet. I shut my office door, crossed the room, and dropped into my chair, spinning slowly as the skyline stretched before me in glass and steel.

Susanne had finally crossed the line-digging up old videos, posting memories like weapons, all because I refused to come home. Refused to play house.

I turned just as my secretary stepped in.

"Sir, the gifts have been delivered to Miss Belinda," he said.

My thoughts derailed instantly.

"And her father's name?" I asked, my voice steady even as my mind tilted back to her-uninvited, persistent. She had a way of owning my thoughts without asking permission.

"Chapman, sir. Belinda Chapman."

"Alright. You can go."

He left. Martin was still pacing, still making calls, still cleaning up my mess. Meanwhile, a slow smile curved my lips at the thought of her-her face, her lips... fuck, her skin. I wondered what her reaction would be when she opened those gifts. I hadn't sent them to impress her. I'd sent them because she'd taken up space in my head. My thoughts. My fantasies.

I wanted to see her again. In daylight. Wanted to watch her roll her eyes as she moaned my name like she hated how much she needed to say it.

Hell.

"Logan." Martin finally turned to me. "Are you seriously smiling right now?"

His exaggeration was priceless. I laughed.

"Am I supposed to mourn the fact that my ex doesn't know how to leave?" I asked, lips curling.

Susanne loved to be handled, controlled, indulged-and I knew exactly how relentless she could be. But I was done. Completely done. With her drama. With her obsession.

"Can you at least talk to her?" Martin pressed. "She's causing a lot of trouble."

I laughed again. "You've been jobless for too long."

He chuckled. "I want other jobs." He dropped onto the couch, scrolling through his phone. Then he looked up. "So... who's Belinda Chapman?"

I tapped my fingers against the desk, my smile widening despite myself.

"Someone."

He frowned. "Another fantasy of yours."

I said nothing.

"I hope this one lasts longer than a week," he muttered, returning to his phone.

I leaned back in my chair, turning to face the city again. Her slim waist. The way it curved into those perfectly shaped hips. If she was going to be a fantasy, then I wanted this one close-dangerously close.

I closed my eyes, remembering how slick she'd been, how responsive. Soft and needy, yet all grown. I imagined her crying on my cock again-then wondered, darkly, if it would turn me on even more if she sobbed my name into my ear while I fucked her apart.

"Boss."

Martin again.

"The board is waiting."

I stood, straightened my suit-but paused. Work suddenly felt insignificant. My mind was already planning when I'd see her next.

Life rarely followed a plan. Not mine, anyway.

Susanne was determined to make my life miserable, and maybe sleeping with her when she came crawling back had been a mistake. I wasn't built for marriage. My parents didn't help either. They wanted a daughter-in-law, and Susanne had everything they valued-money, persistence, and just enough manipulation to make herself impossible to ignore.

My days blurred together: meetings, calls, contracts, crises. And always my parents-pushing, demanding, reminding me it was time to settle down.

I sat in the upper lounge with Martin during a meeting he'd forcefully arranged with the Georges. I listened half-heartedly as a representative droned on about supply rates.

Then I glanced down toward the reception area.

And that was all it took.

Belinda.

She walked in wearing a simple, body-hugging dress, fluffy slippers, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Effortless. Fresh. Stunning in a way that didn't beg for attention-but commanded it anyway.

She took a seat, crossed her legs, ordered a drink, and flipped open a magazine like she belonged there. Like the room had been waiting for her.

My chest tightened. A slow smirk tugged at my mouth.

She was still in my head. Through all the chaos, she never left.

"Sir?" the representative said, snapping me back.

I blinked. Martin was staring at me, confused.

Right. The meeting.

I skimmed the contract, signed it, and handed it back. "Thank you. You can leave."

The moment they did, I turned back-instinctively-just to make sure she hadn't vanished.

"Is that her?" Martin asked, following my gaze.

"Her?" I murmured.

He stepped closer to the railing, scanning the lounge. "Which one? There are like five women down there."

Only then did I notice. But my eyes found her immediately. Always her.

"You make me sound ridiculous," I muttered, watching her lift her drink to her lips. The memory of her taste hit me hard.

I wasn't forgetting her. Not anytime soon.

"Anyway," Martin said quietly, "Mom called."

My jaw tightened. "And?"

"Susanne is pregnant."

I turned sharply.

"And?"

He stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "And, Logan-you're going to be a father."

The noise around me faded. Everything slowed.

All I could see was the woman downstairs-the one who made me feel something real for the first time in years...

...while another woman carried my child.

BELINDA CHAPMAN'S POV

I think I'm restless.

No-I know I am. And somehow, impossibly, he's the reason.

Since that night by the pool, I haven't seen him again. Not once. It's as though he vanished the moment dawn arrived, leaving only evidence behind. His gifts remain untouched in my room-neatly arranged, unopened-while the flowers he sent sit dying slowly in their vases, petals curling inward as if even they've grown tired of waiting. A quiet accusation. A reminder of something I never acknowledged.

I didn't even say thank you.

Earlier today, I found myself standing outside Room 001, heart thudding with a foolish hope I didn't bother to name. I stepped into the elevator, pressed the button-and was denied. The same elevator that had granted me access before now refused me without explanation. The doors slid shut with a finality that felt deliberate.

Personal.

Maybe he doesn't like me after all.

But then... why the gifts? Why the flowers?

The questions twisted endlessly in my head until I couldn't stay still anymore. I paced my room. Walked the hallway. Drifted from corner to corner like a ghost haunting my own unease, half-hoping fate might intervene and place him directly in my path. I didn't even know what I would say if that happened.

I only knew I wanted to see him.

I needed to.

But I didn't.

Day four arrived and passed without a trace of him. No chance encounter. No fleeting glance. Nothing. By then, doubt had begun to settle deep in my chest. Maybe he'd already checked out. Maybe whatever spark I'd felt that night had been nothing more than imagination dressed up as longing.

I eventually ended up in the open lounge, sinking into a chair with a random magazine I had no intention of reading-just something to occupy my hands. I'd come here to reset my life. To breathe. To escape expectations. Yet one stranger had undone all of that with a single night and a quiet intensity I couldn't forget.

My thoughts kept reaching for him, betraying every reason I'd come here in the first place.

And somewhere along the way, I realized I couldn't even remember the last time I'd truly thought about William.

My phone buzzed.

Then buzzed again.

My mother.

Wedding gowns. Cake samples. Color palettes. Passive, aggressive complaints about how I'd abandoned her to plan my wedding alone.

Our wedding.

How I wished I could tell her the truth-that I didn't want it anymore. That I wasn't sure I'd ever truly wanted it at all. That the woman who had said yes to William felt like a stranger now, someone I no longer recognized.

How I wished I were brave enough to tell her the ugliest truth of all.

That William was dating her two daughters.

The only children she had.

My stomach turned. I dropped the magazine, appetite gone, and picked up my phone again-this time with a different purpose. I searched Logan's name on Instagram, desperate for anything. A face. A post. Proof that he existed beyond my thoughts and unanswered questions.

Instead, my sister's profile appeared.

Melinda Chapman.

The photo loaded slowly, each second stretching painfully, and then my breath caught in my throat. Her hand was intertwined with a man's-his hand. I would recognize it anywhere.

William's.

I was about to scroll past when the caption registered.

Celebrating our fifth-year anniversary.

Everything inside me froze.

Five years.

The number echoed in my head, hollow and cruel. Five years meant every bouquet delivered to her. Every gift signed from your man. Every soft smile she wore whenever she spoke about him-it had always been William.

William, whom I had worked myself hollow for.

William, whom I had defended without question.

William, whom I was supposed to marry.

A broken sound escaped my throat, something between a laugh and a sob, as the truth finally settled in my chest like a weight I couldn't lift. God-how blind I'd been.

I stood abruptly and made my way back to my room, telling myself I wasn't crying. That I felt nothing. That this didn't hurt.

But my vision blurred. My thoughts fractured. My chest ached with a pain that felt sharp and suffocating.

Inside the elevator, I pressed my floor number, barely registering that someone else had stepped in. I leaned against the door, wiping my cheeks again and again as the tears refused to stop, betraying every lie I told myself.

Just stop, I begged silently. He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve me.

"Are you okay?"

The voice came from behind me.

Logan.

The sound of his voice shattered whatever fragile wall I had left standing. I turned toward him, but I couldn't really see anymore-the tears rushed out fully now, unstoppable.

He didn't ask questions. Didn't hesitate. He simply stepped forward and pulled me into his arms.

And I broke.

I cried into his chest, everything pouring out without words-betrayal, humiliation, heartbreak, exhaustion. All of it. He held me as though it was the most natural thing in the world, as though I belonged there.

"It's okay," he murmured softly, over and over. "It's alright."

And somehow... it was.

I felt safe. Truly safe. In the arms of someone whose first name was all I knew. This wasn't William. This wasn't family. This wasn't expectation or obligation.

This was comfort.

This was peace.