I'm Pregnant, And It Isn't My Husband's

Olivia Pearson had always known men like Sebastian Blackwood existed, but she never thought she'd be sitting across from one, watching him slide a marriage contract across a desk.

"Sign here, initial here, and finally, your full signature on the last page."

She stared at the heavy cream parchment before her, her father had already signed his portion. James Pearson had signed away not just their company, but her future.

"I want to read it first," she said quietly, surprised by the steadiness in her voice when everything inside her was screaming.

Sebastian Blackwood leaned back in his chair, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.

"By all means," he replied. "I admire thoroughness."

Olivia forced herself to focus on the document instead of the man. At thirty-eight, Sebastian Blackwood had built an empire that struck fear into the hearts of businessmen across the globe. The "Shark of Wall Street," they called him-a man who didn't just acquire companies but devoured them whole, leaving nothing but bones.

The contract was clinical in its brutality. In exchange for saving Pearson Innovations from bankruptcy and keeping her father out of federal prison, she would become Sebastian Blackwood's wife in every sense of the word. The document detailed everything-from mandatory public appearances to private obligations that made her skin flush with equal parts rage and humiliation.

"Section 8 is particularly interesting," Sebastian offered casually, watching her expression with those piercing blue eyes that reminded her of arctic ice. "You might want to pay special attention."

Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned to the section. Sexual obligations of the wife. Each line was more explicit than the last, detailing not just frequency but specific acts that would be required of her. Heat rushed to her face-not embarrassment, but pure, molten fury.

"This is medieval," she hissed, slamming the contract down with enough force. "I won't be your glorified prostitute."

Sebastian immediately reached for his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. "Then your father goes to prison tomorrow. The FBI has enough evidence to put him away for twenty years." His voice was matter-of-fact. "At his age, that's essentially a life sentence. The choice is simple, Ms. Pearson."

The air rushed from her lungs as though she'd been punched. Her father was many things-distant, cold, obsessed with his legacy-but he was all she had left. She thought of him in a prison cell, gray-haired and broken, and something inside her crumbled.

"Why me?" The question burst from her before she could stop it. "There must be a hundred women in New York who would jump at the chance to be Mrs. Blackwood. You could have anyone."

Something shifted in those ice-blue eyes-a darkness, an obsession that sent a chill down her spine.

"Because," he said, leaning forward, "you're the only one who looked at me with defiance instead of fear or greed. Because when we met at that charity gala last year, you told me exactly what you thought of my business practices, then walked away." His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "No one walks away from me, Olivia."

She remembered now-the brief, heated exchange at the Metropolitan Museum fundraiser. She'd called him a corporate vampire. He'd looked at her like she was a puzzle he intended to solve, then destroy.

"You're insane," she whispered, suddenly understanding the depth of his fixation.

"I'm thorough." He pushed the Mont Blanc pen toward her. "Now sign, or I make the call that ends your father's freedom."

Olivia stared at the pen. It gleamed like a knife in the afternoon light.

"And if I sign? What guarantee do I have that you'll keep your word?"

Sebastian smiled, more like a devil waiting to draw blood. "I never break contracts, Ms. Pearson. It's bad for business."

As Olivia reached for the pen, the door opened without warning. A man stepped in-tall, with sandy-blond hair and a face that shared enough features with Sebastian to mark them as brothers, yet somehow held a warmth that Sebastian's lacked entirely.

"Sorry to interrupt," the newcomer said, though his tone suggested he wasn't sorry at all. His eyes found Olivia's, and something like concern flashed across his face when he saw the contract before her.

"Ethan," Sebastian's voice went cold enough to freeze the air between them. "We're in a meeting."

"So I see." Ethan's gaze dropped to the contract, then back to Olivia. "Making another life-altering decision for someone else, Sebastian?"

The tension between the brothers crackled like electricity. Olivia sensed a history there-deep, painful, unresolved. Her fingers tightened around the pen as she watched them, suddenly feeling like she'd stepped into a battlefield where the terrain was unknown to her.

"Ms. Pearson," Ethan said softly, addressing her directly now. "Whatever he's offering, it's not worth the price."

Sebastian's laugh was sharp and without humor. "And what would you know about worth, little brother? You threw away your birthright for..."

"Principles?" Ethan suggested, crossing his arms. "Something you wouldn't recognize if they bit you on your Armani-clad ass."

In that moment, something sparked inside Olivia-a dangerous hope. The Blackwood brothers clearly despised each other. And in their mutual hatred, she might find leverage.

She stood, smoothing her skirt, buying time to think. "Perhaps I should give you two a moment to resolve your... family dispute."

"Sit down," Sebastian commanded, his eyes never leaving his brother. "This doesn't concern him."

"Doesn't it?" Ethan walked further into the room, his movements fluid and controlled-military precision, Olivia realized. "Because it looks like you're about to ruin another life for your collection."

Sebastian rose slowly, his height matching Ethan's, though his build was leaner, more predatory. "You forfeited any right to opinions about my business when you walked away from Blackwood Industries."

"I walked away from corruption," Ethan countered. "From what you and Father turned it into."

The air between them felt combustible. Olivia watched, fascinated despite herself, as years of resentment played out in glacial stares and rigid postures.

"Ms. Pearson," Ethan said without breaking eye contact with his brother, "did Sebastian tell you about the women who came before you? The ones he broke?"

Sebastian moved with startling speed, grabbing Ethan by the collar. "Get out," he snarled. "Now."

For a heartbeat, Olivia thought they might come to blows.

Then Ethan stepped back, a bitter smile on his face.

"Think about what you're signing," he told Olivia, his eyes finding hers over Sebastian's shoulder. "Some chains can never be broken."

As he turned to leave, he placed something on the edge of the desk-a business card with a handwritten number on the back. "If you need help," he said quietly, "day or night."

The door closed behind him, marking his exist.

Sebastian turned to her, his composure restored with frightening speed. "My brother is a sentimental fool. It's why he failed in business and crawled back to the military." He gestured to the contract still open before her. "Your decision, Ms. Pearson. Your father's freedom or yours."

Olivia looked from the contract to the business card, then back to Sebastian's cold, calculating eyes. There was no choice-not really. Not when her father's life hung in the balance.

She picked up the pen and signed.

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.

The dining room was pure intimidation tactics. A table big enough for a board meeting set for just two people, with enough distance between them that conversation would require deliberate effort.

Olivia walked in at exactly seven, the black dress swirling around her like she was made of shadows. Sebastian was already there, head buried in his tablet, not bothering to look up. She awkwardly stood there before pulling out her chair.

"Wait." His command froze her in place. Now he looked up, eyes traveling over her with lust dancing in those eyes. "Turn around."

Heat flooded her face-not embarrassment but pure, molten rage. She remained still, her fingers white-knuckled on the chair back.

"Section 8, paragraph 2," Sebastian reminded her, his voice terrifyingly soft.

The wife will comply with all reasonable requests regarding physical presentation and comportment.

Slowly, hating herself with every movement, Olivia turned in a complete circle..

Sebastian stood, tossing his tablet aside as he walked over to her. Through the thin fabric, he traced a finger from her chest down between her breasts, then grabbed her ass with a squeeze that made her skin crawl.

"Acceptable," he said, walking back to his seat. "Now you can sit."

As she sat down, the chef appeared with the first course-some fancy scallop thing with foam. Olivia stared at it, appetite nonexistent.

"Eat," Sebastian commanded. "I won't have you passing out at the Garner Foundation Gala next week."

"Next week?" The words exploded out of her. "You've just hijacked my entire life, and you expect me to play happy wife at some gala in a week?"

Sebastian sipped his wine, watching her over the glass. "I expect you to hold up your end of the contract. That includes public appearances as my wife. Our marriage license will be finalized tomorrow. The press release goes out the day after announcing our whirlwind romance and private ceremony."

"No one will believe that," Olivia said, forcibly unclenching her jaw. "People know we're not-that we haven't-"

"People believe what wealth and power tell them to believe." Sebastian cut into his scallop. "Our story is simple: we met at the Metropolitan gala last year, kept our relationship private due to the sensitive business negotiations regarding your father's company, and decided to marry quickly rather than endure a public circus."

The calculated fiction made her want to vomit. "And what do I say when they ask how you proposed? Or about our first date? Our first kiss?"

Something dark flashed in Sebastian's eyes. "You'll give them that defiant little smile of yours and tell them it's private. That's what most infuriates me about you, Olivia-you've never simpered or giggled or tried to please. That fire in your eyes when you hate something..." He trailed off, then seemed to collect himself. "It's far more convincing than artificial adoration."

The fact that her hatred turned him on made Olivia's skin crawl. She forced herself to take a bite she couldn't taste.

"One more thing we need to discuss," Sebastian continued, all business. "The physical side of our arrangement."

Olivia's fork clattered against her plate. "Seriously? Over dinner?"

"Would you rather I surprise you later?" His smile could cut glass. "Section 8, paragraphs 3 through 7 spell it out pretty clearly, but I'm willing to be... flexible on the timeline."

Suddenly she couldn't breathe. "I need time," she said, hating how desperate she sounded.

Sebastian studied her, head slightly tilted. "Time," he repeated thoughtfully. "Fine. One week. After the Garner Gala, we consummate this marriage. You have until then to... get used to your new reality."

Olivia took a shaky breath, knowing exactly what that meant. One week before she had to give up her virginity to this monster.

"Thank you," she forced out.

"Don't thank me yet." Sebastian's eyes glittered dangerously. "Use the week wisely. Read your contract again, especially the appendices. There might be a pop quiz."

She couldn't tell if he was joking. She doubted it.

"Can I be excused?" she asked, unable to take another bite or another second with him.

Sebastian waved his permission. "Remember-you don't leave the penthouse without my say-so."

Olivia stood. "And what exactly are you afraid I'll do if I leave? Run to the press? Make myself look like an idiot just to spite you?"

"I'm not afraid of anything you might do," Sebastian replied with ice-cold confidence. "But you should be very afraid of what I'll do if you disappoint me."

The threat hung in the air between them, invisible but suffocating.

Fighting back tears, she walked away without another word. Back in her room, she locked the door, knowing damn well it was pointless. If Sebastian wanted in, a lock wouldn't stop him.

But it was enough to give her the privacy to finally break down, crying herself to sleep.

❧

The slap of cold water against Olivia's face did nothing for the hollow ache in her chest. She gripped the bathroom counter, watching water droplets race down her reflection. God, who was this woman staring back at her in silk pajamas? A stranger.

She'd lost track of time in this luxury prison. Her father's house arrest had at least given her some freedom-a nanny to cuddle with, sneaking out for novels, making calls to no one. Sebastian's gilded cage? Pure hell. All her needs met except the ones that mattered. Even the damn housekeepers avoided her like she carried something contagious.

"Mrs. Blackwood."

Sebastian's voice made her jump. He never knocked. Never.

"I see you're awake."

Olivia spun around, clutching her gaping pajama top over her exposed breast. For days he'd treated her like furniture-coming and going from the penthouse as if she didn't exist. Part of her had started to enjoy the silence.

But now he stood there, filling the space with his presence. Gosh! Olivia couldn't help the moment but observed how infuriatingly sexy he looked in his Tom Ford suit at 7 AM.