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I'm Pregnant, And It Isn't My Husband's
img img I'm Pregnant, And It Isn't My Husband's img Chapter 2 Golden Handcuffs
2 Chapters
Chapter 8 The New Queen img
Chapter 9 Obedience is Boring img
Chapter 10 The Trophy Wife's Teeth img
Chapter 11 Mercy Has Conditions img
Chapter 12 Until You Remember img
Chapter 13 The Ghost in My Head img
Chapter 14 Stolen Moments img
Chapter 15 Profitable Daughter img
Chapter 16 Auctioning Her Heart img
Chapter 17 Ruin Me Softly img
Chapter 18 Caught Between Brothers img
Chapter 19 The Ex's Birthday img
Chapter 20 Ballroom Puppets img
Chapter 21 Not Gentleness. Only Darkness. img
Chapter 22 The Wife and the Whore img
Chapter 23 Midnight Knows Our Sins img
Chapter 24 Dirtier Than Before img
Chapter 25 Splitting The Empire img
Chapter 26 Control in Her Hands img
Chapter 27 Just One Lie img
Chapter 28 My One Condition img
Chapter 29 Which Son Burns img
Chapter 30 He Knew My Secret img
Chapter 31 A Complication. That's All img
Chapter 32 The Last Act img
Chapter 33 Blood on Hallowed Ground img
Chapter 34 Mine, Now and After img
Chapter 35 Context And Complication img
Chapter 36 Swear to God, Ethan img
Chapter 37 What Am I Doing img
Chapter 38 Why I Am What I Am img
Chapter 39 This Tender Corruption img
Chapter 40 The Disappearing Boy img
Chapter 41 Wife, Traitor, Pawn img
Chapter 42 Girl Talk, Lie Harder img
Chapter 43 Seven Days of Leash img
Chapter 44 We Fucked the Cameras Dead img
Chapter 45 Between God and the Devil img
Chapter 46 Under the Hot Water img
Chapter 47 Against All Logic img
Chapter 48 Love in Quarantine img
Chapter 49 This Unholy Jealousy img
Chapter 50 Wife Becomes Weapon img
Chapter 51 My Board Member, No img
Chapter 52 Hate Is The Needle img
Chapter 53 My Father's Grave img
Chapter 54 Soft Disaster img
Chapter 55 This Forbidden Claim img
Chapter 56 His Brother's Keeper img
Chapter 57 Cage With a Clock img
Chapter 58 Leopards Don't Change img
Chapter 59 Love, Like Treason img
Chapter 60 The Spy in the Penthouse img
Chapter 61 Absolute Fucking Pathetic img
Chapter 62 Her Name Was Olivia img
Chapter 63 In the Eyes of the Law img
Chapter 64 Died Fighting Back img
Chapter 65 Accident or Acquisition img
Chapter 66 Under Oath, Under Fire img
Chapter 67 Poetry in Court img
Chapter 68 The Contract Breaker img
Chapter 69 Six Months to Choose img
Chapter 70 Two Months to Vanish img
Chapter 71 Observe Your Enemy img
Chapter 72 Death Was the Exit img
Chapter 73 My Wife, My Child img
Chapter 74 The Devil's Arithmetics img
Chapter 75 Sin in the Doorway img
Chapter 76 The Cost of Touching Her img
Chapter 77 She Dialed the Devil img
Chapter 78 A Dangerous Yes img
Chapter 79 His Hand on My Shoulder img
Chapter 80 Your Love, My Suffocation img
Chapter 81 Monster Made of Love img
Chapter 82 The Fortress of My Prison img
Chapter 83 The Ghost's Mercy img
Chapter 84 Rome Awaits The Blow img
Chapter 85 Digging Up Graves img
Chapter 86 Watching His Ghost img
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Chapter 2 Golden Handcuffs

That same night, Sebastian's driver picked Olivia up. Her stomach was in knots the whole ride over. She remembered her father who didn't give a damn but made merry with some of his business colleagues. It was obvious, he's always seen her as his ill luck-the bad omen that's snatched his beautiful wife away from him while giving birth to her.

"Penthouse," the driver said, punching the button before disappearing.

This is temporary, she told herself. Just until I find a way out.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal Sebastian Blackwood waiting for her.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Blackwood," he said, like he was announcing a death sentence.

His penthouse was exactly what you'd expect-the kind of place that screamed "compensating for something." Two floors at the top of Blackwood Tower, that glass phallus stabbing the Manhattan skyline. Floor-to-ceiling windows showing off Central Park like he owned that too. Everything was monochromatic luxury-white marble, black leather, chrome accents, not a speck of dust or hint of disorder.

"Your things have been disposed of," he announced, leading her through the vast open-concept living space. Olivia stopped short.

Olivia stopped dead. "Disposed of? You threw away my stuff?" The rage she'd been swallowing since morning burned up her throat.

Sebastian turned, eyebrow raised in that way that made me want to slap him. "Not all. Your books remain, after being... evaluated for... appropriateness. Everything else has been replaced."

"You had no right-"

"I had every right." He stepped closer, not touching but making sure she felt him there, forcing her to look up. "The contract you signed was quite specific about your transformation into a suitable Blackwood bride. Did you think that merely meant a ring and a new last name?"

That's when it hit Olivia like a subway at rush hour-she'd massively underestimated what she'd signed away. Not just my body or my name. It wasn't just her body or her name-it was her fucking entire identity.

"Your new wardrobe is in your closet. Marissa will help you learn what's appropriate for different occasions." He gestured to a sleek, ash-blonde woman who materialized from another room. "She'll be your personal stylist, though I've already approved all selections."

"And if I don't like your... selections?" Olivia challenged, refusing to acknowledge Marissa.

Sebastian's eyes went cold. "Then you'll learn to. Section 12, paragraph 4: 'The wife's public appearance will at all times reflect the standards established by the husband.'"

Of course he'd memorized it. Probably got hard reciting contract clauses while other men watched sports.

"Marissa isn't your only staff member," Sebastian continued, walking again, forcing Olivia to follow or be left standing foolishly alone. "You'll meet Richards, our chef; Elena, the housekeeper; and Marcus, my personal assistant, who will coordinate your schedule with mine when joint appearances are required."

"Joint appearances," she echoed hollowly. "Like a performing seal."

Sebastian stopped at a sleek black door. "More like a valuable acquisition requiring strategic display." He pushed it open. "Your bedroom."

Olivia stepped past him, her breath catching despite herself. The space was beautiful-airy, those same massive windows, a huge bed with creamy linens, elegant minimal furniture. Like living in an Instagram post.

"My bedroom is through there." Sebastian pointed to another door at the far side of the room. "I expect it to remain accessible at all times."

Her momentary appreciation for the aesthetics evaporated instantly. "Of course you do."

"Your attitude suggests you've forgotten our arrangement." His voice dropped, danger in every syllable. "Should I remind you what happens if you fail to uphold your end of our contract?"

Images of her father in prison orange flashed before her eyes. Olivia swallowed her retort.

"No."

"No, what?" Sebastian stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne.

She forced the words out. "No... Sebastian."

He studied her like she was a lab rat. "We'll work on that." His phone buzzed. He checked it, frowning. "I have calls. Dinner's at seven. Marissa will show you your new wardrobe and help you pick something... appropriate."

As he turned to leave, Olivia couldn't stop herself. "And if I just walk out that door?"

Sebastian paused, not bothering to turn. "The moment you signed, I transferred funds to keep Pearson Innovations afloat. The moment you break that contract, I call those loans due. Your father will be bankrupt by morning, in federal custody by noon." Now he turned, curious. "Is that what you want, Olivia? To destroy your father to spite me?"

The worst part wasn't the threat-it was his genuine interest in her answer. Like her moral dilemma was entertaining.

"You're a monster," she whispered.

"I'm a businessman. Monsters don't honor contracts." He checked his watch. "Six hours until dinner. Use them wisely."

When the door closed behind him, Olivia sank onto the edge of the bed, her legs suddenly unable to hold her. She glanced around her beautiful cage, wondering if she'd made the biggest mistake of her life.

From her purse, she pulled out the business card Ethan Blackwood had slipped her earlier. She ran her thumb over the hastily scrawled number on the back, temptation coursing through her as forbidden thoughts started building...

A discreet knock interrupted her thoughts. "Ms. Pearson?" Marissa's voice. "Ready to see your wardrobe?"

Olivia quickly tucked the card into her bra. "Yes," she called back, standing and smoothing her dress. "Let's see what clothes my husband thinks I should wear."

Husband. The word tasted like battery acid.

Olivia had never seen so many designer clothes in one place. The walk-in closet was larger than her entire apartment bedroom, with sections for every imaginable category-daywear, eveningwear, sleepwear, active wear, even a specialized section for what Marissa clinically referred to as "intimate occasions."

"Mr. Blackwood was most specific about his preferences," Marissa explained, showing her a section of lingerie that made Olivia's cheeks burn with humiliation and rage. Lace, silk, strappy contraptions-all in black, white, or blood red.

"Of course he was," Olivia muttered. "Does he have my dental floss preferences documented somewhere too?"

Marissa didn't react to the sarcasm. "The master bathroom is fully stocked with all necessary toiletries. If you require something specific, provide me with a list and it will be procured."

Marissa pulled out a black dress so simply elegant.

"For this evening, Mr. Blackwood suggested this. He likes to keep it simple for private dinners."

Olivia ran her fingers over the silk. Damn, it felt like liquid between her hands. "What if I want to wear something else?"

For once, Marissa's robot face cracked. Something like actual human emotion flickered in her eyes. "Look, Ms. Pearson... can I be real with you? I've been Blackwood's assistant for five years. I've never seen him obsess over anyone the way he has with you. Most women would kill to be in your shoes."

"In my shoes?" Olivia laughed bitterly. "You mean my prison?"

Marissa glanced nervously at the door and dropped her voice. "The women before you? They didn't last. None of them stood up to him like you do. None of them made him-" She caught herself, remembering who signed her paychecks. "The dress will work. Seven o'clock. Main dining room."

With that, she turned and left, leaving Olivia alone among clothes that cost more than most New York's bounty stores, yet somehow made her feel more exposed than if she were standing stark naked in Times Square.

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