Chapter 30 War
Chapter thirty
War
I’ve never been this happy in my life.
With Olivia beside me, I don’t just own the building, I own the whole fucking world.
She’s glowing.
Mine.
Every inch of her stamped with me.
The bracelet glinting on her wrist? I bought it.
The clothes hugging her curves? Mine.
Even the shimmer in her hair and the color on her mouth, I put those there.
She’s mine from head to toe, and she doesn’t just accept it.
She loves it.
And fuck, I love her for it.
I steal a kiss and swat her ass as she slips into her office. She glances back, cheeks pink, and my chest tightens so hard it almost hurts.
I can picture it—
A ring on her finger.
My last name stamped across her future.
Forever.
By the time I settle into my chair, I already know what I want: emerald-cut, platinum band, flanked by two diamonds, clean and bold and timeless. Just like the look in her eyes when she calls me hers.
I pull up jewelers, scanning bands, cuts, clarity. Visualizing how it’ll shine on her hand as I pin her wrists.
The wedding can be in Paris… though I don’t want my family around.
Then I pause.
Her family.
She told me that their inn was struggling.
That she didn’t want me involved.
The little twist in her voice when she tried to get me to drop it.
She didn’t ask for help.
She probably wouldn’t want it.
But I can’t sit back and watch her carry that weight alone.
I dig. Searching the inn’s records.
Nothing.
No mortgage holder.
No clear chain.
Like it’s been intentionally buried.
My jaw tightens.
So I open her employee file. Scroll. Stop at the line marked Emergency Contact.
Her mother.
Before I can second-guess it, I hit dial.
The line rings once, twice.
“Hello?”
Her voice is warm. Weary. The sound of years lived in the same place, carrying the same weight.
“Mrs. Baker,” I say evenly, leaning back in my chair. “This is Warren Beaumont. I’m calling about the inn.”
A pause. “I—what? I’m sorry, who did you say?”
“Warren Beaumont,” I repeat. “Olivia’s… boyfriend.”
I hate that fucking word.
Boyfriend…. it’s juvenile.
Another beat. Then a smile in her voice. “Oh! Well. Liv Bug didn’t mention she was seeing anyone.”
Liv Bug.
A low chuckle. “Aren’t you her boss?”
“Technically,” I say smoothly. “But that’s because I own the company. She’s more like the best right hand I’ve ever had.”
A soft hum, somewhere between amused and curious.
“That is our Liv, always a hard worker.”
I push forward before she asks more. “I wanted to talk about the inn. I’d like to pay it off.”
Silence. Then a careful, “Pay it off?”
“Yes. Whatever’s owed—I’ll send a check today. Just tell me the number.”
There’s a long pause on the other end.
“Mr. Beaumont… it’s not quite that simple. It’s not a loan we’re paying down. It’s more of a… quarterly debt.”
My brows pull together. “Quarterly?”
She hesitates again. “Yes. We don’t really own the property in the traditional sense. We just… keep it. In exchange for payments.”
I tilt my head. That hesitation wasn’t casual. The way she says it makes me want to pry further.
Red alarms ringing.
Understanding hits slow and cold.
Her mother is just as evasive as she is.
“How much?” I ask tightly.
“Ten thousand a quarter,” she says softly. “It’s always been that way. Since before Olivia left home.”
“I’ll have it handled today. You’ll get a check, and a contact to deal with going forward.”
“Oh… Mr. Beaumont. Liv wouldn’t want—”
“This is between us Mrs. Baker.”
A pause.
“You can call me Jillian.”
I nod, even though she can’t see it. “Thank you, Jillian.”
And I mean it.
Because she’s just given me another piece of the puzzle.
One Olivia didn’t want me to find.
But I found it anyway.
And I’ll fix it. Quietly.
Thoroughly.
Permanently.
I hang up, lean back in my chair, and stare at the screen still open to solitaire jewelers.
I’m going to put a ring on her finger.
Wipe every shadow from her past.
Give her a life so far from that debt-soaked inn she’ll never have to look back.
She’ll never carry anything alone again.
Knock knock.
“Come in,” I call.
The door opens.
Broderick steps inside.
And he looks…pissed.
Which throws me.
His jaw is tight, hands clenched, something burning behind his eyes. He crosses the room and slams something onto my desk.
A camera.
Not just any camera.
The camera.
The one I had planted in his office when he and Olivia were having those daily lunches for a full fucking month.
I stare at it.
Then my eyes meet his.
I don’t say a word.
Just lean back, calm and silent, letting the tension fill the room like smoke.
Break puppy.
And he does.
“You planted this,” he snaps. “Without my knowledge. Without anyone’s knowledge. That’s illegal. Unethical.”
I let the silence stretch until the air feels thin. Then, low and even, “My building. My rules.”
His mouth twists. “You think I’m going to what? HR? No. Fuck no. I’m going to the press.” He jabs a finger at the camera. “Voyeur War Beaumont spies on his employees without their knowledge. Front page. Everyone gets to see the empire’s golden boy fall.”
That pisses me off.
My name. Dragged through mud. Smeared. Not because I give a fuck about public opinion, but because it would touch her.
I stare at him. Silent.
He shifts under it, but keeps his chin up. For once, he doesn’t look like a grinning puppy. For once, he bares his teeth.
Since when did Brody grow a backbone?
My voice drops. Dangerous calm. “What do you want?”
And just like that, the rage in his eyes flickers.
Confusion seeps in.
There he is.
The puppy.
My puppy.
All bark, no bite.
Holding leverage he doesn’t know how to use.
His brows pull together, lost.
He came in here with something that could break me.
And no idea what to ask for in return.
He fumbles, lips parting, trying to find an answer he doesn’t have.
And then her voice cuts in as she opens the door.
“War? I think—”
Fuck.
Olivia steps in, tablet in hand, eyes flicking up from the screen, and freezes.
“Oh. Sorry,” she says, gaze bouncing between us. “I didn’t see a meeting on your calendar.”
My jaw tightens.
I didn’t want her walking into this.
Didn’t want her anywhere near him.
But before I can say anything, she lights up.
Eyes softening, lips curving.
“Oh my God, Brody!” she says brightly, crossing the room. “It’s so good to see you.”
And then she hugs him.
She hugs him.
Her hands on him.
His hand resting low on her back like he’s used to touching her there.
That’s my hand’s spot. Mine.
Brody chuckles, slipping back into that golden boy charm. “It’s been a lot. But I can tell you all about it later.”
My fists curl at my sides.
Too close.
Too familiar.
Too fucking comfortable.
“Olivia,” I snap.
She startles, pulling back from Broderick and looking at me, brows furrowed.
I stand, closing the space between us, taking her hand, my hand, and tug her gently but firmly to my side.
“I was just telling Broderick,” I say, eyes locked on his, “that he’ll be taking over the California flagship.”
His face twists in confusion.
“Wait, what?”
“Yes,” I say smoothly. “He’s been showing a lot of promise. Broderick’s on the path to becoming the next me.”
A lie.
A gamble.
One I hope the golden retriever understands.
Broderick blinks once. Twice.
Then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face. “Yes. That works perfectly.” His gaze cuts to mine, sharp. “No need to tell the press about it. I’d prefer a quiet climb up the ladder.”
Smart puppy.
Olivia beams. “Wow, congratulations!” She starts to move toward him again. Again, but I tighten my grip on her waist.
She falters. Looks up at me.
Confused. A little breathless.
Good.
“Broderick, you should go,” I say without looking at her. “I’ll have a contract drawn up and sent your way soon.”
He nods, but lingers.
“Thank you again, War,” he says, stepping toward the door. Then he pauses, smile smug. “And for the pay raise. Really generous.”
I smile.
Tightly.
“Of course.”
He leaves.
The door clicks shut.
Silence.
I turn to her.
My eyes drop to where her chest is rising just a little too fast.
She’s breathing harder now.
Nervous.
Mine.
“You don’t hug him like that again,” I say, voice low, dark, final.
Her lips part. “War—”
“No,” I cut her off. “No excuses.”
I back her toward the desk, step by slow step.
“You. Are. Mine. Say it.”
She looks up at me, rolls her eyes, tablet clutched against her chest like a shield.
I take it. Rip it from her hands. Toss it onto the desk.
“War!” she snaps, hands flying to her hips, eyes narrowing.
I step closer, looming. “Say it.”
Her chin tips up. Defiant. “Say what?”
I arch a brow. “That you’re mine. Or do you need a reminder?”
Her eyebrows lift. And then I see it—the flicker.
Not fear.
Curiosity.
Heat.
She wants the reminder.
Good.
I grab her wrist, spin her, and press her front against the glass. The floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the skyline, city glittering beyond them. My chest pins her back as my hands drag up her thighs, grip, lift. Her skirt rucks up high.
Her breath hitches. “War, someone could—”
My hand drops to my belt. The sharp snap of it coming undone fills the silence. I unzip, shove my pants down just enough to free my cock, heavy and aching for her.
“Could what?” I growl, fisting myself once before yanking her panties aside. “See?”
I thrust into her in one brutal, unyielding stroke. No preamble. Just me, buried to the hilt in one slick, hot, perfect push.
She cries out against the glass, palms flattening, body jolting forward from the force.
Fuck.
Tight. Wet. Mine.
I groan into her hair, grinding deep, savoring the way her cunt grips me like a fist.
“No one’s watching, Olivia,” I murmur against her ear. “And even if they were? I assumed you liked the attention.”
Her heart pounds so hard I can feel it through her back. Her breath fogs the glass. She squirms, hips jerking, torn between restraint and need.
I slam into her again, hard enough to make her cry out.
“You’re squeezing me so fucking tight,” I snarl, dragging my cock out slow, then driving it back in, deep and rough. “You like this. Don’t you? Being reprimanded. Pinned here where anyone could see.”
Her pussy clenches around me, fluttering.
I laugh, low and dangerous. “I can feel how much you like it. Your cunt doesn’t lie, Olivia. It’s begging for me.”
Her head drops forward, forehead pressed to the glass, a broken sound spilling out of her.
And I don’t stop.
Won’t stop.
Not until she says it.
Not until she remembers she belongs to me.