Page 138 of Modern Romance December 2025 1-4

He says nothing, but doesn’t look away, and I can see the truth in his eyes. Yes, that’s exactly what he intends, and it makes sense. Ulysses is an infamous bachelor. He’s sworn never to marry and never to have children and everyone knows that.

Rafael told you that he is a bad man, remember?

I turn away from him then, the feeling of being punched in the gut getting stronger. Ulysses told me that there was a reason I had a security detail whenever I went out of the house. A reason why he was always so concerned with my safety. He had enemies and I was a chink in his armour that had to be protected at all costs.

I thought he was being too over-protective, that he was suffocating me, preventing me from living my life, and I’d pleaded with him to let me go to Singapore because I was tired of my life in the villa at home. I wanted to see different things, meet different people, and he’d agreed.

I was so happy, so thrilled, and when I’d escaped my security to go to Rafael’s hotel suite, I’d felt so pleased with myself, thinking I was a woman of the world. But I was stupid. I’d let myself be taken advantage of, just the way Ulysses had feared, and now here I am, a prisoner. A tool to be used by Rafael to take my brother down.

‘So that’s all I am to you?’ I ask into the suffocating quiet, staring at the white wall in front of me. ‘An “opportunity”?’ I don’t know why this is so painful. Rafael shouldn’t matter to me in any way, because, as he’s already pointed out more than once, he’s a stranger to me. And what we’d shared that night was only sex, nothing more, and yet…

You were a sop to your brother’s guilt and now you’re a tool for his demise.

My voice sounds weak, the questions pathetic, and suddenly I’m tired of all of this. Tired of being used by the men in my life, tired of being Ulysses’s china doll, and tired of being a tool for Rafael’s revenge.

He can’t make me marry him and I won’t let him. I won’t let him use our child as a threat to hold over Ulysses’s head either.

‘Yes,’ he says implacably. ‘You’re a means to an end, Olympia. But I can make things comfortable for you. I can make you—’

‘Youcan’t make me do anything,’ I interrupt sharply, turning around to face him. ‘And you’re right. This conversation is at an end. Now show me where I’m to sleep tonight.’

CHAPTER NINE

Rafael

It’s Christmas Dayand I’m standing in the kitchen putting the last touches on the omelette I’ve made for Olympia’s breakfast. Full of cheese and ham and peppers, good protein for her and the baby. There’s orange juice and fresh brioche too. I didn’t sleep much last night, so I got up at dawn to cook. My mother was of the opinion that all grown men should know how to feed themselves, so she taught me how. I don’t do it at lot since these days I’m often travelling, but when I have the time to cook, it always calms me.

Olympia will be hungry when she wakes since she refused dinner last night. After our argument, when she demanded to know where she’d be sleeping, I took her upstairs to my bedroom, whereupon she promptly closed the door on me then locked it.

I’d stood there a couple of moments, debating whether kicking down the door in a fury was reasonable or whether it was better to walk away, because, after all, what did I expect? After I’d told her she was merely a means to an end? She was angry and she had a right to be.

In the end, good sense prevailed and I walked away. Later, after putting the meal my housekeeper had left for me into the oven to warm up, I went back upstairs and knocked on the door to tell her that she needed to eat. But she didn’t respond other than to tell me in no uncertain terms to go away.

Sleeping alone in one of the guest rooms was not how I’d envisaged my first Christmas Eve with her, but I certainly wasn’t going to force myself on her. That wouldn’t advance my cause, especially when she’d made it very clear she wasn’t going to marry me.

I shouldn’t have told her the truth about my revenge plans last night, but she’d pushed me and I’d lost patience. She’d already made it clear that marrying me willingly wasn’t on the cards, so I wasn’t going to lose anything by telling her. Of course, now she knows my real motivations, shedefinitelywon’t marry me—she’ll want to protect her brother—but I’m sure I can convince her otherwise. I just need to think about how.

Telling her she was just a means to an end didn’t help.

No and that was another thing I shouldn’t have said. But I’d had to say it. I’d had to be clear about my intentions and about what she was to me, because while there’s attraction between us, there can’t be anything more and I won’t pretend that there could be. I have never wanted a relationship, not when I have to give all my attention to my company and my revenge plans. Besides, love makes everything far more complicated than it needs to be and my life is much simpler without it.

I go over other options in my head as I arrange her breakfast on a tray. I could give her money to marry me and promise her a life of luxury but, with her brother being as rich as Midas, I have a feeling that won’t move her.

The other, more logical option is use to the physical attraction between us. It’s still burning as bright and hot as it did that night in Singapore, and she wasn’t proof against it last night. She came apart so beautifully in my arms, clinging to the lapels of my coat as if clinging to life itself.

Using sex would certainly be a much more pleasurable way to convince her than anything else, and one I’d very much enjoy myself.

I pick the tray full of breakfast up and leave the kitchen, making my way upstairs to the upper hallway. The door to my bedroom is still firmly closed. Since I’m holding the tray, I kick the door with my foot. ‘Wake up, dragonfly,’ I call. ‘I have your breakfast here and you need to eat.’

There is a silence and I wonder if she’s still asleep. Then I wonder if she’s all right, that perhaps something has happened to her in the night, something to do with the baby. I kick the door again, harder this time. ‘Olympia,’ I say, trying to keep the concern from my voice. ‘Talk to me. Let me know you’re okay at least.’

Again, there’s silence and I’m just about to put down the tray and kick the door in when there’s a fumbling on the other side and the sound of a lock being turned. Then the door opens a crack and she’s standing there, glaring angrily at me.

I can’t deny the relief that fills me at the sight. Her long black hair is tousled from sleep and she’s still wearing her stretchy black dress. It’s looking a little creased and I wonder if she’s slept in it, not that it detracts from her inherent sex appeal. Just looking at her I can feel my body respond with predictable speed.

‘What do you want?’ she demands. ‘I haven’t changed my mind if that’s what you think.’

‘I don’t think that,’ I say mildly, since arguing with her will likely result in the door of my own bedroom slamming shut in my face again. ‘I’m only here to bring you breakfast and, since you missed dinner last night, you’re going to need it. Or at least, the baby will.’