Chapter 51 Olivia
Chapter fifty-one
Olivia
Thursday
One more day. I have one more day.
War is mine.
I want to be with War.
Tonight I’m telling him. Tonight he won’t pass me by last minute. No more hiding. No more last-second shrug-offs.
No more of this hiding shit.
I watch him from the window.
Like some creepy voyeur.
I chuckle to myself.
He’s my voyeur. Always watching me.
Camera in my office. Probably one in the apartment.
Definitely in his penthouse.
But here?
Here he doesn’t watch me.
Doesn’t command me.
Doesn’t take what I willingly want to give.
He just waits.
I never thought I’d hate a patient Warren Beaumont. But I do.
I liked the command. The control.
I loved never having to think about clothes, or food, or toiletries.
Anything I needed, it was just there.
And not just stuff.
It was the way he picked it all. Carefully. Expensively.
Like I was something worth curating.
He made me feel like I deserved it.
Never once did I feel less than.
And the praise.
God, I miss the praise.
And his filthy fucking mouth.
Damn it, War.
I sigh.
I should be saying Damn it, Olivia.
Listening to stupid Brody about cages and freedom and all that bullshit.
I like being trapped.
What woman in this world says, ‘No thanks, no billionaires for me, I’m good.’
I hate that shit in movies.
‘I can’t take your money. I just can’t.’
Why the fuck not?
I leave the window. I’m not even watching him anymore.
I’m just brooding.
This is what missing the one you love—and dick deprivation, does.
It makes a woman brood.
I flop on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Enough brooding. Enough waiting for him to come to me.
If War were me? He wouldn’t sit here, sighing into the quiet.
He’d plan.
He’d move pieces on the board.
He’d make sure he got what he wanted.
So fine. Tonight, I’m War.
And War wouldn’t sit still. He’d sneak. Scheme.
He’d get into that inn, no matter who stood in his way.
Sneaking into the inn shouldn’t feel like plotting a heist, but with Logan at the front desk it may as well be. He’s still got that older-brother scowl, the one that used to catch me sneaking out at sixteen with a boy’s address scrawled on my arm. He’d never let me past without an interrogation.
So. Work around him.
I grab my phone and type to Ella quick.
Distract Logan tonight. Get him away from the desk. At ten. You in???
El
Do I get to know why?
No.
El
?? Liv! calling Logan to my room is going to be uncomfortable.
I didn’t say call him to your room. I said distract him! Make him go out back.
El
Fine.??
I grin, toss the phone aside. Step one: complete.
I drag my suitcase from the closet onto the bed and unzip it.
I know I left it in here…
There it is.
Lingerie.
I grabbed it in the panic that day, shoving anything from the closet into the case.
Now I’m glad I did.
I lift a green slip between my fingers. Then a blue. Hold them up to the light.
“Green or blue?” I whisper to myself.
Tonight, War’s not the only one who gets to set the rules.
***
The slip clings beneath my dress, silk whispering against my skin like a secret. The coat over me does nothing against the freezing night air.
I’ve been overthinking it all night; green or blue, too much or not enough, what if he doesn’t even look at me?
I wore it anyway.
Because tonight has to be different.
The frosted glass door of the Inn glows with lamplight. I press my palms against the cool pane, peering in. Empty. No Logan at the desk. Relief spills through me.
Thank you, Ella.
I slip inside, the hush of the lobby wrapping around me. Everything smells new—polish, fresh wood, warm paint. My chest tightens. He did this. For my family. For me. My throat aches as I run a hand over the gleaming counter.
Then I freeze.
“Oh, shit.”
The old key board is gone. Just sleek little card slots now. My stomach sinks. Of course. War updated the locks. I can’t just sneak in anymore.
New plan.
Just going to have to knock and hope he answers.
He’s a light sleeper. A knock should wake him.
I take the stairs, heart hammering harder with every step. The hall is spotless, walls painted in soft cream, brass sconces glowing warm. It’s beautiful. It’s his mark on everything.
I’m happy.
I let out a breath, I’m so damn happy.
But nerves coil sharp in my stomach. What do I even say?
I don’t want free. I love you. Let’s go home.
Ugh. Too much. Too little. Nothing feels right.
Room ten waits at the end of the hall. My pulse thrums in my ears. I lift my fist.
Knock once.
Nothing. He’s not here?
No. I saw him come in at eight.
I knock again, softer this time.
Shuffling.
The door swings open, and there he is, hair damp, towel slung low on his hips, chest gleaming warm and bare.
Droplets slide from his hairline, trailing down the hard lines of his shoulders.
His eyes lock on me, sharp as always, but softer too, like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing. His brow furrows.
“Olivia?” My name rumbles out of him, rough and husky, like gravel dragged over velvet. It curls low in my stomach, makes my knees wobble. “Are you okay?”
God. His voice. I forgot how much it undoes me, like every syllable has weight, pulling me closer. Like he owns my name, not just me.
Now or never.
I shake my head, “No, I’m not okay.”
I press both hands flat to his chest, heat sliding under my palms, damp skin giving way to solid muscle.
He’s warm—scalding, and my fingers twitch, wanting to cling.
I push him back, firm enough to shock him into motion.
He stumbles a step, eyes flaring, and I slip inside, breath catching as I kick the door shut.
I kick off my boots, the soft thud of leather hitting the floor barely audible over the thundering of my pulse. My feet are cold on the polished wood, toes numb from the walk, but I don’t care. I need to feel the ground. I need to feel him.
My arms loop around his neck, desperate, greedy. I drag him down before I can lose my nerve, before reason can drag me back into the girl who hides instead of takes.
I crush my lips to his.
He groans into my mouth; deep, low, feral. The sound vibrates through me, breaks me wide open. My chest caves, my knees buckle, every wall I built between us melting like wax in fire. His taste floods me, clean soap and pure War, and I drink him in like oxygen.
I whimper, pressing closer, clutching the back of his damp neck as if I could crawl inside his skin. His towel brushes my thigh, a reminder of just how bare he is, how close I am to losing everything if he pushes me away.
But he doesn’t. He groans again, hungrier this time, and I know—I know, he’s seconds from taking over.
And I want him to.
I break the kiss, breathless. His lips chase mine, unwilling to let go, his eyes molten as I take one shaky step back. Unzip my coat and let it drop. My fingers grip the hem of my dress. I pull it up and over my head.
Green silk clings to my skin, sheer and daring. His eyes flash, dark and hot, as he takes me in.
I meet his gaze.
“I don’t want to be free.”