Soon enough, the hotel comes into view. Though not up to my usual standards, its clean, understated facade is a stark improvement over the Bennetts’ home. I ensured we had the best suite available—though calling it a “suite” stretches the limits of my generosity.
Olivia steps out of the car gingerly, like every ounce of energy has been wrung from her. I grab her bag from the trunk, slinging it over my shoulder, and place my hand at the small of her back to guide her inside.
The suite is modest but immaculate. The bed is freshly made with crisp white linens, and the faint scent of lavender wafts in the air. Olivia hovers near the doorway, her eyes scanning the room before settling on me.
“Thank you,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
I turn to her fully, letting her see the sincerity in my expression. “For what?”
“For coming to get me,” she murmurs, taking a tentative step closer. Her gaze drops to the floor. “I…missed you. Even though it was only a day, I missed you.”
Her words send a jolt of electricity through me, sharp and searing. My heart leaps, and I close the distance between us in a single step.
“Olivia,” I whisper, threading her name with all the reverence it deserves.
She lifts her gaze to mine, her lips trembling, and then she steps into my arms without hesitation.
“I was so relieved when I saw you at the door this morning,” she confesses against my chest, her voice breaking. “I didn’t realize how much I needed you here.”
I hold her close, reveling in the feel of her body against mine. Her words sweep through me like a drug, heady and intoxicating.
I knew it.She needs me.
She’s starting to lean on me, to let herself trust me, and the thought sends a tender ache rippling through my chest.
“I have you now,” I murmur, brushing a kiss to her temple. “I will look after you.”
She nods, her body relaxing against mine.
I cup her face, lifting it gently to meet my gaze. “You are everything to me,” I whisper before leaning down to kiss her.
This time, it isn’t gentle. It’s deep, intentional, every ounce of devotion and possessiveness pouring through that connection. She melts into me, her hands sliding up to my shoulders.
When we finally break apart, her cheeks are flushed, her breathing shallow, and I press my forehead against hers. “I’ll draw a bath for you.”
She nods, slightly dazed, and lets me guide her toward the bathroom.
Once she’s settled, I set her bag down near the dresser and go to the desk, pulling out the room service menu and scanning it with clinical precision. Nothing on the list is remotely impressive, but I choose the most indulgent options available.
I place the order and lean against the desk, my gaze falling on the closed bathroom door. My thoughts turn dark, the simmering anger from earlier coiling tighter, sharper.
Her family has no right to treat her like this.
The audacity of their selfishness fuels my resolve. They don’t deserve her. They never have. And I won’t let them keep taking from her, draining her light until there’s nothing left.
My jaw tightens as I turn toward the window, the pale daylight casting long shadows across the room. I will sever her ties to them, one way or another. She doesn’t need them. She only needsme.
I push the darker thoughts aside, my expression softening as I turn back to the room. By the time she steps out, I will be ready—calm, composed, every bit the protector she needs me to be.
There’s a soft knock at the door, and I rise to answer it. The server wheels in a tray with a spread that’s the closest this place can get to indulgence. Eggs Benedict, a stack of Belgian waffles dusted with powdered sugar, a bowl of fresh berries, warm croissants, and a small carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice.
It isn’t the level of opulence I want for her, but it is worlds above anything her parents would have provided.
Olivia emerges from the bathroom moments later, wrapped in a robe, her damp hair falling over her shoulders. She looks better—still pale, still far too tired—but the bath softened some of the tension etched into her features.
“Come eat,” I say, pulling out a chair for her. She pauses briefly, then sits, her fingers tugging at the robe’s belt.
I place a plate in front of her, piling it carefully with food before sitting beside her. She picks at it at first, nibbling on a croissant, but as the minutes pass, her appetite seems to return. I watch as color creeps back into her cheeks, her movements becoming less sluggish with each bite.
