Page 68 of Nine Months to Bear

I’ve dismembered men for lesser insults. Not that Margaret Aster realizes she’s insulting her daughter—or me. Her dismissal of Olivia is so casual that she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

But Olivia’s spine straightens—the posture of someone bracing for a blow.

“I’ve always been drawn to exceptional talent,” I say. “In fact, I’m setting up investor meetings for Aster Fertility Solutions next week. Her innovations deserve proper backing.”

I sense Olivia’s surprise. I don’t blame her—I’m as surprised as she is. What I just described is impulsive, unprecedented. I don’t make promises, especially financial ones, without exhaustive due diligence.

Yet here I am, pledging millions to a venture I planned to acquire and dismantle just days ago.

Margaret’s jaw drops before she remembers to reel it in. “Well! How exciting! And how… unexpected.”

There it is again—that tone from Margaret that suggests her daughter couldn’t possibly hold my attention. As if the only reason I’m here must be pity or charity or manipulation.

It shouldn’t bother me. I’ve heard worse from people whose opinions actually matter. But something about the way Olivia shrinks almost imperceptibly beneath her mother’s gaze, the slight tremble in her usually steady hands…

It pisses me the fuck off.

I give both women a half-bow. “I do have to go, unfortunately. Olivia, Margaret—it’s been a pleasure.”

I nod politely to Margaret before stepping past her into the hallway, already reaching for my phone. I need to arrange those investor meetings immediately—not because I promised Olivia’s mother, but simply because the look of disbelief on Margaret’s face has crystallized something in me.

No one would question why Olivia Aster belongs at my side. Not even her mother.

Especiallynot her fucking mother.

29

STEFAN

I drum my fingers against the steering wheel as I cut through Boston’s morning traffic in my Maybach. I’m still too many things at once to figure out what’s fueling me.

I’m horny. I’m exhausted. I’m wary. I’m fuckingpissed.

I’ve already texted Taras to set up an investor meeting for Olivia. I’m sure he had a lot more questions than he was asking, but he must’ve been able to tell I wasn’t in the mood to answer them.

I’m not sure I have answers anyway. I mean, what the fuck just happened?

I defended Olivia. Me—the man who plans to take everything from her.

The irony isn’t lost on me as I tug at the neck of my cashmere sweater. I plan to bring her to her knees—and not in the way I did last night.

I’m going to take everything from her.

But first, I’m going to give her all of it.

A dozen hours ago, that contradiction would’ve made me laugh. Now, though, all I feel is a sickening, churning nausea in the pit of my stomach.

“Focus,” I mutter to myself, gripping the wheel tighter. “This is just business.”

My mind flashes unbidden to my first major acquisition as CEO. I remember months of work coalescing into a single moment. I was supposed to feelproudas I stood and watched that geriatric old businessman sign over his life’s work with trembling hands. I was supposed to feel like a fucking conqueror.

I had orchestrated everything perfectly: the shell companies, the leverage, the precise moment to strike. But as that man slid the papers across the table, I saw my father in his eyes—a weak, dying man with all the hope long since drained from his heart.

I went home and vomited for an hour afterward.

That’s how I feel now. I don’t do regrets. But until recently, I also didn’t do sleepovers with women.

Things are fucking changing.