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.

Logan Garrison's POV

I left the lounge with my mind clouded. The week had drained me dry, and if I was honest, Susanne had been my worst nightmare. I told Martin to call it a night and headed for my suite-to breathe, to rebuild, to rethink everything.

I was going to be a father.

A child-with Susanne.

The thought sat heavy in my chest.

The elevator doors were sliding shut when a hand slipped between them. I frowned, irritation still gripping me-until she stepped inside.

Belinda.

Up close, she was breathtaking. The kind of beauty that made my fingers itch to dig into her slim waist, the kind that made every worry dissolve into static. I took her in properly this time-the tiny nose, the soft curve of her lips, the big blue eyes that flicked away from mine almost immediately, as if she'd caught herself looking too long.

She ignored me and stood by the door like we were strangers, her grip tightening around her phone.

Was she shy?

Did she hate me for chasing her?

Did she think I didn't want her?

My chest sank for no reason I could name. I was about to speak when I heard it.

A silent sob.

"What...?"

Did I hurt her that badly?

Her hand kept flying to her face. She was crying. Tears slipping freely now, her shoulders trembling. My past rushed back all at once-memories I'd buried clawing their way up. I wanted to be anywhere but there, watching someone I felt dangerously attached to fall apart.

Yet all I wanted was to pull her close.

To tell her I wanted her.

To explain myself.

"Are you okay?" The words were useless, but they were all I had.

She turned, and the tears poured openly down her face. She stared at me like I'd broken her.

I could do this.

I stepped forward, wrapped my arms around her, and rubbed her back gently. She broke then-wailing into my chest like she'd been waiting for permission.

"It's alright," I murmured. "It's going to be okay."

I kissed her hair, my voice low. "I'm sorry if I caused this. I never meant to hurt you. You made me feel good-God, I enjoyed every part of you. I didn't want to hurt you. I-"

She cut me off by grabbing my neck and crushing her mouth to mine.

Fuck.

I'd missed this.

She sucked my lips like she was starving, and I responded instinctively, deepening the kiss. My hands slid under her gown, lifting it. Her legs locked around my hips as I raised her, her fingers clawing through my hair while my tongue invaded her mouth, nipping her lower lip until she moaned.

The elevator opened at her floor-but I pushed the button instead.

My floor.

She didn't protest.

I carried her down the hall, opened my door with my fingerprint, and dropped her onto my bed. Her phone fell beside her. She lay there-tear-streaked, flushed, eyes sparkling with wicked intent-as she bit her lip and spread her legs.

"You're my end," I whispered, crawling toward her, fingers trailing up her creamy thigh.

"Touch me... right there," she breathed.

I shifted lower and kissed where my fingers had been. She gasped sharply, head falling back. I watched her unravel.

"Look at me."

My hand slid over her pussy, and she arched into my touch, fighting to stay present.

"Lo... Logan..."

"Yeah," I murmured, slowly tugging her panties down. I paused deliberately.

I wanted to see her.

"What?" she asked when I stood and pulled her up with me.

I sat on the bed and guided her between my legs.

"Strip."

She blinked. "Huh?"

"Strip, Cherry. I want to watch you."

She obeyed-slowly. Her panties hit the floor, followed by her gown. Her waist curved beautifully as she lifted her arms, breasts spilling free from her bra-full, perfect, begging.

I pulled her close, squeezing her ass, spanking her lightly. She yelped and laughed as I unclipped her bra.

"For the beautiful ones," I said when she asked if I did this often.

The bra fell away.

"Oh God," I breathed. "You're stunning."

Her nipples were pink and perfect, resting just right. She ran her fingers through my hair, easing me.

"Did you miss me?" I asked.

She nodded.

"I missed you too."

I kissed my way up her body, tongue sliding between her breasts, hands kneading her. Her moans grew soft, needy.

"Give me," I demanded.

"Earn it," she smirked.

I laughed and flipped her onto the bed, devouring her breast, sucking hard until she whimpered. I stripped quickly, her eyes never leaving my cock.

"I love your cock," she said boldly.

She climbed over me, stripped me bare, grinding her wet pussy against my torso. I groaned.

"Belinda..."

"Let's see who moans first."

She tortured me-mouth on my nipples, grinding slowly, watching me fight it. Then she slid down, eyes locked on my length like it was sacred.

"You like what you see?" I teased.

"I love it."

She wrapped both hands around me, licked the tip, and swallowed a groan from my chest.

"Get on your knees," I ordered softly. "I'll teach you."

She obeyed.

And when she took me into her mouth-slow, eager, imperfect-I nearly lost my mind.

"Fuck.... Like that,my pussy"

BELINDA CHAPMAN'S POV

I loved it here-loved the way my body responded to him without hesitation, the way my thoughts blurred the moment he took control. He didn't ask for permission; he simply claimed, and my body followed like it had been waiting all along. My hand wrapped around his length, slow and deliberate, my grip firm because I knew I couldn't take all of him in my mouth. He was long-thick-stretching me even before he fully filled me. Nine inches of heat and hardness, pressing against my lips, sliding past them, filling my mouth until my jaw burned.

And still-I loved it.

I loved how he tasted, how his skin carried a faint saltiness mixed with something dark and intoxicating. I loved the sound of his groans, low and unfiltered, the way his hips twitched as he guided my head, setting the pace like he owned my mouth. My tongue traced him slowly, reverently, savoring every vein, every pulse beneath my lips.

"Bad kitten," he said, his voice rough as he looked down at me.

I smiled, wicked and satisfied, and flicked my tongue against him, teasing.

"Open your mouth."

The command hit me deep. I obeyed instantly, parting my lips wider.

His fingers tangled in my hair, gripping firmly as he thrust forward, his cock sliding deep into my throat. I gagged, my breath catching, tears pricking my eyes-but instead of pulling away, I relaxed, letting him take what he wanted. A soft, sinful giggle slipped out of me, vibrating around him.

"Yeah... that damn mouth," he groaned. "I love it. Yeah."

He fucked my mouth slowly at first, then deeper, more demanding. I sucked greedily, hollowing my cheeks, meeting every thrust like I was made for it. My pussy clenched tightly, slick heat pooling between my thighs. I could feel myself dripping, aching, my body begging for more.

"I love how you suck me, bitch."

The word sent a shiver through me. He tugged my hair sharply, turning me, but I only laughed, breathless and eager. I pulled back just enough to run my tongue along his shaft, tasting myself on him, before wrapping my lips around him again. I hummed softly, the vibration making him groan as I took him deeper.

He was so strong-solid, overwhelming-and yet there was something dangerously tender beneath it all, something that made my chest tighten even as my body burned.

"Yeah... fuck-pussy, I'm cumming-"

I pulled away suddenly, pushing him back onto the bed before he could finish. I climbed over him, straddling his hips, my hair falling messily around my face.

"Come in me, Daddy," I said breathlessly, stroking his cock while grinding my soaked pussy against it.

"Bad girl," he growled, sucking in a sharp breath.

I gasped as I tried to guide him inside me, desperate to feel him stretch me open, but he stopped me. Even then-even on the edge-he smiled, slow and controlled.

"You don't know how dangerous your pussy is, do you?"

Heat rushed to my face. I shook my head slightly, feeling shy for just a second. Instead, I lifted his cock and dragged it slowly through my wet folds, letting him feel just how ready I was. He slid against my clit, teasing, circling it, making my insides clench hard.

"Daddy... yeah... I love your dick," I moaned, my voice breaking. "Oh God-oh my heavens-"

"I want to fuck your pussy," he said darkly. "I love it. Damn, I'm cumming for you... just like that. Ride it like you mean it."

I did. I rocked my hips, grinding down, pushing his cock against my clit again and again until my moans filled the room, loud and unashamed. My hand pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath my palm.

"You'll regret making me cum this hard," he warned, his voice thick.

"I want to regret it, Daddy," I cried. "Yeah... oh my-"

His release hit hot and heavy against my clit, and I shuddered violently, my whole body shaking as pleasure ripped through me. I leaned forward, inhaling him, intoxicated.

"You smell so good," I whispered, lowering myself to lick him clean, tasting his cum slowly, deliberately, like it was mine.

He smiled, lazy and satisfied. "You're going to be my favorite bitch."

My eyes rolled back as pleasure still hummed through me, my body clenching instinctively around nothing, wanting him again already.

"Now," he said, gripping my shoulders, flipping the power back into his hands, "I'm going to teach you not to make a grown man this horny."

"Ruin me, Master," I whispered without hesitation.

I sucked in sharply as he slid his cock between my thighs, pressing against my slick skin.

"Open those legs, baby."

His eyes locked into mine, intense, unreadable, as I spread wider.

"Wider," he warned softly. "Before I spank you."

I obeyed instantly, my thighs trembling as he slammed his cock against my clit, making me cry out.

"I love how drippy you are," he murmured. "Tell me what you want, my bitch."

"Fuck me," I breathed. "Fuck me like you hate me. Make me yours."

His smile turned slow and dangerous.

"Tell me how it makes you feel."

He dragged the head of his cock over my clit hood again, deliberately torturing me. I gasped, struggling to form words.

"I won't repeat myself."

"Don't stop," I cried. "I love how you make me feel-your cock-I love your cock-ohhh-"

He lifted my legs higher, spreading me completely open, his gaze dark as he stared at my soaked pussy.

"So pretty."

"I'm wet for you," I whispered, my voice shaking. "My pussy is yours to destroy."

His grin turned wicked, predatory.

"I'm going to destroy you, kitten."

And then-slowly, deliberately-he pushed in.