Liam Samantha Jones is the kind of lawyer who doesn’t sle ep or believe in time off. She has
a letter of engagement ready on Sunday for me to sign, and is gearing up to face off with
Prescott Huxley in his own domain on Monday at one like it’s every day she goes after one
of the top lawyers in the state, if not the country. Her dirty blond bob is cut asymmetrically
to show off the lean lines of her even features. She isn’t classically beautiful, but there’s a
piercing intelligence in her brown eyes that makes it difficult to look away. The black
jumpsuit and heels are funereal—not hers, of course, but her opponent’s. The woman
radiates an energy that says, “I kill, therefore I am.” There’s a reason so many celebs hire
her to fuck up their spouses when love has vanished faster than extra arm flab on Ozempic.
Huxley & Webber’s building soars up from the middle of downtown like a physical
manifestation of the firm’s ambition. A sharply dressed rec eptionist smiles at the sight of us.
“Good afternoon, Liam. Samantha. You’ll be in the Victory Conference Room. This way,
please.” She leads us across the floor, cutting through the buzzing activity of
over-caffeinated associates, all clean-cut, all in crisp suits and all serious, firm in their belief
they too will one day become a name partner, just like Prescott or Jeremiah. Olivia is
already inside. My heart rate picks up as her presence washes over me. The teary
vulnerability is gone, r eplaced by a cool façade that hides everything from the world. It’s
understandable that she doesn’t want to wear her heart on her sleeve, but does she have to
be so guarded all the time? Regardless, I’m grateful I ran into her on Saturday and
managed to put a smile on her face. And to have this opportunity.
She’s pulled her hair back into a low ponytail and put on minimal makeup, just some lip
gloss that makes her mouth plump and pink. The fitted pastel-pink dress suits her better
than the pale white one from Saturday. Although the latter was pretty, it made her look too
fragile and helpless. The Olivia I know is feminine and strong, kind and wickedly smart. A
woman who found the time and energy to help re-home rescue dogs while juggling calculus
and Black-Scholes in college can’t be as cold-hearted as the mask she wears. I shift my eyes
to Prescott on her left. With still-thick dark hair, the man doesn’t look old enough to have
fathered three sons, one of whom is a junior partner at the firm. His wide-set gray eyes take
in me and Samantha impassively. A Musashino suit wraps around him like fine armor. Must
be a gift from his zaibatsu wife. I wanted to have one made when I was in Japan a couple of
years ago, but it was impossible to get an introduction. My dealings with him are minimal.
He and his sister stay largely s eparate within the firm, although Silas says that they argue
about all sorts of obscure legal points all the time. But the man on her right—he’s someone
I’ve never seen before. An off- the-rack navy suit but well-cropped, slicked-back hair. His
nails are neatly trimmed, and he taps his tablet a few times before lifting his head. The man
would hint at efficiency and discretion, if it weren’t for his dark—and narrowed—eyes
scrutinizing me as though I stole his girlfriend and his dog. What’s that about? “Hello,
Liam,” Olivia says. My mouth dries; nerves jitter. Although we’re in the lawyers’ office with
a contract between us, nothing’s set in stone until signatures are on the paper. I want so
badly for this marriage to go through. “Hi.” I point to my right. “Samantha Jones. My
attorney.” Samantha extends a hand, pumps it hard. Olivia gives as good as she gets,
gauging my lawyer. She glances at Prescott. He nods. “Sam’s pretty good.” “‘Pretty good’?”
A corner of Samantha’s mouth quirks. “I’m awesome.” Prescott’s eyes half-mast briefly, and
there might be the hint of a smile before his mouth flattens again. “Who’s this?” Samantha
gestures at the unknown man.
“Simon Voss,” Olivia says. “My assistant. I came from an off-site meeting, so he came along.
He’s discreet.” “NDA,” Prescott adds flatly. Simon’s eyebrows snap together as though
insulted. “Even without that, I’d never betray Olivia.” He pulls out a pale gray thermos from
a bag next to him. “Your afternoon green tea.” He leans forward, his eyes lingering a little
too long. I recognize the look because it’s the same one I often had in college. Hell, every
guy who had a crush on her did. “Thanks,” she says. From her neutral smile, it’s difficult to
tell if she is truly oblivious or chooses to be. “Can you wait for me outside?” There’s half a
beat of hesitation, then he nods. “Of course. Let me know if you need anything.” Prescott
pushes a stack of documents across the table. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I thought it’d
be thicker. At least twice the size. Samantha scans the papers. “Same as the ones you sent
me and my client last night?” “Yes. Plus an addendum,” he says. Olivia presses her lips
together, then looks away briefly. Her reaction doesn’t bode well. I flip through the pages to
see what’s been added, ignoring the acid pooling in my gut. “An addendum?” Samantha
cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t appreciate you changing the terms at the last minute.” “My
client wants to lay down all her cards. The added material isn’t really necessary in my
opinion,” Prescott says coolly. I scan the addendum. It’s fairly short—three pages about any
children we may have during the marriage and when the marriage should end. What the
fuck? She wants me to impregnate her... and then get divorced six months after the child is
born? She never said anything about the marriage being temporary. I thought— “What is
this?” My voice cracks. “It’s in plain English,” Prescott says. I look at Olivia. “I’m not
worried about getting screwed over by legalese. I’m asking what this means.” For us. For
the marriage. She clears her throat. “I thought it’d be best to ke ep things clear.” “Clear?” I
clench my hands, as though that will help me cling to control. She notes my tight fists, then
bites her lip. “I’d like a child as soon as possible. That means no protection at all. My doctor
already checked me
out. I’m perfectly healthy and capable.” Her matter-of-fact tone is unsettling. Discussions
about children shouldn’t be so clinical, doctors and health checks and exactly zero
excitement or anticipation on her face. This isn’t at all how I thought we’d conceive a baby
together. We should at least have a flutter of thrill in our hearts. Well, I do. But does she?
Can we be good parents to our children if there isn’t a shred of affection for them on her
part? Samantha taps her long red nails on the document. “Are you asking my client to do a
health check? To see about his sperm count?” “That would be prudent, if you want a child
as soon as possible,” Prescott says diplomatically, his eyes darting in my direction. “Is that
what you want, Olivia?” I ask. She exhales. “No. That isn’t what I want. I... I’m sure you’re
capable of fathering a child.” She shifts in her seat. “Liam, can we talk briefly? Just the two
of us?” “No,” Samantha says. “I won’t ask him to commit to anything without consulting you
first.” Olivia looks into my eyes. “Please. Just five minutes.” “No—” “Fine,” I say, cutting
Samantha off. “We can talk.” Tell me why you don’t trust me after acc epting my offer. Tell
me why I’m being ambushed in front of lawyers like somehow I’m the enemy—like Tyler.
Olivia glances at Prescott. “Is there a room we can use?” “The one next to this one should
be free. The Victory Strategy Room.” He starts to get up, but she puts a hand on his
shoulder to stop him. “Let’s go,” I say, heading out first. I can’t bear the stifling atmosphere
in the conference room, and what Olivia and I are discussing isn’t something for public
consumption. We move to the next room. It’s small, with a dark round table just big enough
for four. Unlike the conference room, the walls are opaque. Probably a space designed for
quick side-meetings between lawyer and client. I pull out a chair for her, and remain
standing. Restlessness makes it impossible for me to sit. It’s all I can do to stop myself from
pacing. Olivia looks at me, her eyes unreadable. “Aren’t you going to sit down?” she says
finally. “I’m trying to decide if this is something I can take while sitting down,” I say
honestly.
The smooth mask on her face cracks, revealing a hint of anxiety. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told
you about needing a baby at Himeko. It was selfish of me.” It’s impossible to stay upset
when her shoulders droop. I sigh and finally take a seat. We’re close enough that I can smell
her shampoo and soap, see the veins and tendons on her delicate neck. “So why didn’t
you?” “I think...” She licks her lips. “I didn’t want to look like a heartless bitch. This isn’t
exactly the prettiest picture, and I didn’t want you to think badly of me, I guess.” Her voice
grows smaller. The answer leaves me dazed. I thought this was about a lack of trust in me,
not her vulnerability. “Olivia...” I reach over and hold her cool hand. “I’d never think badly
of you.” “I debated with myself about it, about whether you need to know all the ugliness.
Married couples have kids, so why bring it up?” She runs a slightly unsteady hand over her
temple, then looks at me through her lashes, biting her lip. She’s flustered. The realization
hits me hard, and my heart softens a little. “So why did you decide to tell me?” “Because
you should know what you’re getting into before we sign anything. It’s the least I owe you.”
Not exactly what I’d truly like, but at least she’s being honest with me. That must count for
something. “Why the rush to have a baby?” I ask gently, hoping to understand what she
really wants and give it to her. She presses her lips together for a moment, her eyes not
meeting mine as she takes her time. A great internal debate seems to rage inside her.
“Olivia, I’m on your side.” Finally, she heaves a sigh. Stubborn drive and a tinge of regret
burn in her eyes as she faces me. “Hugh Desmond has been leeching off my mother’s trust
for the last twenty years. And he’s been using that money not just to support himself, but
his former-mistress-turned-wife and their illegitimate child.” “Brielle?” Olivia nods curtly.
“Yeah. Brielle.” She takes a moment. “Anyway... I want to cut them off. To do that, I need to
get married... and produce a child. Then the entire Whitmore Trust comes under my control,
and Hugh and his family will be out on the streets. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this earlier,
because... well, because it changes things. I’ll understand if you
don’t want to proceed. Just, please... ke ep everything confidential, for my sake.” Underneath
her dispassionate tone lie old pain and rage. I recall Brielle’s entitled and obnoxious
attitude from college, and then more recently at Kingswood Stones & Designs. What Olivia
must have lived through has to be much, much worse than what little I’ve witnessed.
“Thanks for telling me. I’d want to do the same in your place.” I take a moment to mull
things over. “But at the same time, I wouldn’t want our baby to just be... used, either. Kids
require a commitment—and stability, and love... everything.” She blinks, then flushes. “I
wouldn’t just use and discard our child like a tool.” “There’s more to this than just them not
being a tool. I want them to be loved unconditionally, regardless of their role in you
securing your family trust.” I briefly drop my eyes to my hands. My children should never
know the aching emptiness of realizing that their parents didn’t really value them,
especially when they’re Olivia’s children too. Every time I look at them, I’ll see her in
them—and that alone will make them more precious than anything else in the world. I raise
my eyes, looking straight at her. She pales a little, her lashes fluttering. Her head dips,
although she doesn’t avoid my gaze. “You’re right. I...” A soft sigh. “Guess I didn’t really
think it through. I’m not even positive I can be a great mom.” Her lower lip quivers. “So,
um... Do you... not want to have children with me?” Her voice grows impossibly small. I want
to put my arm around her and kiss her on the temple. Even if I disagree with how she’s
going about family planning, she shouldn’t beat herself up over it. Plus, the fact that she’s
thinking about whether she could be a good mother shows she isn’t as detached as she
appears. And I’m not giving up a chance to have a baby with the woman I’ve loved for
twelve years. “Are you kidding? Of course, I do.” She doesn’t love me, but I’ll take this
chance to change her mind. “As for the end of the marriage—” “It’s non-negotiable.” Her
firm tone cuts me. “I don’t want to trap you, Liam. It wouldn’t be fair to you.” She gazes up
at me with clear, expectant eyes, like a person ready to open a door to a cage for the bird to
gladly fly away.
“What if it isn’t a trap for me?” “It’s better this way.” Her gaze is unwavering, but she’s
paler than moments ago. “You’re going to get hurt if you stick around for too long.” Her
innocent expression is like poison that isn’t strong enough to rob me of life but painful
enough to leave me breathless. “If it’s about the marriage not being about love, I know. I’m
not going to get hurt—” She shakes her head. “It isn’t about that. Can you trust me to ke ep
you safe? At least insofar as I can?” I want to argue, but trust goes both ways. If I want her
to trust me, I need to do the same. I’ll use the time we have to change her mind. “Okay.
Yes.” The tension drains from her. She gives me a grateful smile. “As for where we live, I
can move in with you, unless you prefer a new place, in which case I’ll be happy to
contribute. I’m sure we can find something that works for both of us.” I laugh. “Do you
know what kind of house I have?” She shakes her head and shrugs. So cute. She could
vomit and I’d think she’s adorable. God, I’m so in trouble. “My place is fine. It’s a
beachfront property, nothing special, but it’s probably big enough for the two of us. And a
child.” Wait until she sees it. I thread my fingers with hers. “So. Want to go back and have
the lawyers hash out the details?” She nods. We return to the room. Samantha checks her
phone. “Longer than five minutes.” “But every minute productive,” I say. She shoots me a
sk eptical look, then turns to Olivia, one long index finger tapping the document. “Why the
Whitmore name for your firstborn? The baby should bear the Kingswood name, or at least
Kingswood- Whitmore. Although you’re really a Desmond.” Olivia’s eyes cool. “I’m not a
Desmond, and I’ll thank you not to refer to me that way. I only happen to have been
fathered by one. I’m a Whitmore at heart, where it really counts.” “And custody
automatically goes to the wife with only visitation rights for the husband.” Samantha gives
Olivia and me a meaningful look. I freeze. I missed that while I skimmed the document—was
too shocked about the baby and the marriage ending six months after the baby’s birth.
While I process, Samantha turns her sharp gaze to Prescott. “Joint custody. That’s what the
court prefers, unless you want to demonstrate my client is unfit?” “It’s a Whitmore child. At
least the firstborn will be,” he points out. She shrugs. “And? It’s my client’s blood flowing in
the kids’ veins too.” Prescott opens his mouth, but Olivia puts a hand on his sleeve. He turns
to her. “Olivia, you need to protect yourself.” His warning fills my heart with bitterness. I’m
not the one who’s hurt her. “It’s fine, Prescott.” She turns to me with an apologetic smile. “I
think Liam will be a good father.” I nod, then shoot a cold look at Prescott. He’s just doing
his job, but I still hate it that people look at me and see a guy who could be as cruel to Olivia
as Tyler and Brielle. The lawyers jockey back and forth. I’m not paying much attention, my
eyes on Olivia, who’s looking down at her hands, eyes hidden under the thick, long lashes.
What is she thinking? Does she regret acc epting my proposal? Although the offer was
impulsive, once it was made, I knew that it was what I wanted. Her firm insistence on
ending the marriage six months after the baby is born gnaws at me, but I shove the unease
aside. That’s at least fifteen months, even if she gets pregnant immediately—enough time
for me to convince her I’m the man for her. Finally, the meeting ends, and Samantha stays
back to discuss a couple of things with Prescott. I walk out with Olivia. I like how our st eps
are in sync, right legs forward, then left, like we’re marching to a shared goal. Simon gets
up from an armchair and follows closely behind her like a guard dog. “Thank you,” Olivia
murmurs inside the elevator. “For what?” “For being so understanding back there. I
should’ve been more open and disclosed everything. It’s just... I’m not used to sharing my
thoughts and plans.” I feel Simon’s death glare from the side, but ke ep my eyes on her. “I
understand.” I reach out and warm her cool hand. I can guess why she ke eps everything to
herself—no point in saying anything unless you think it can
make a difference. And apparently, nobody in her family has ever cared for her opinion. She
probably had it worse than me—at least I had my brothers. The elevator dings as it hits the
lobby. We walk out together. “I have an appointment with a doctor, so I’ll be heading out on
my own. See you later, Liam.” She gives her assistant a small nod. “Simon.” She walks
away, plunging a hand into her purse, probably looking for her fob. Watching her, Simon
exhales a long and very audible breath. He turns to me. “Get tested for STDs.” Is this little
shit serious? I cock an eyebrow. “Is that from Olivia?” Blatant contempt flashes in his eyes.
“A guy born to parents like yours... Wouldn’t surprise me if you’re a walking Petri dish.
Olivia shouldn’t have to suffer because of you.” A non-answer. “Is she going to do the
same?” “Don’t be disgusting.” It’s practically a snarl. “She’s nothing like you.” Oh, Lord.
This bastard is in love with her, whether he’s aware of it or not. He st eps up and puts a
finger on my chest. “Know your place, Liam Kingswood. You’re a means to an end—a tool
that’s going to be discarded when it isn’t useful anymore. Try to change that, and you’ll only
hurt yourself and inconvenience her.” Intellectually, I understand he’s probably acting on
his own. But his words still burn. Whistling softly, he turns and walks away, leaving me
alone in the cold, vast lobby.