LOGINPOV: Nick By the time night settles in, the cabin feels smaller. Dinner passes with forced normalcy. We eat at opposite ends of the table. She talks about nothing and everything. I answer in short sentences. I don’t drink. I don’t look too long. I don’t breathe too deep. When she thanks me for dinner, her voice soft, polite, I almost believe I’ve got this under control. She heads upstairs in one of my old T‑shirts. Way too big on her shoulders. Way too short on her thighs. No bra. Bare legs. The shirt clings to her chest like it knows better than I do. “Good night, Nick,” she says at the top of the stairs. I nod. “Night.” The door to her room clicks shut. The silence that follows is worse than noise. I stand there for a long second, then exhale and head for the shower like it’s an emergency exit. Hot water hits my shoulders. Steam fills the small bathroom. I brace one hand against the tile and let my head fall forward. “Get it together,” I mutter. But my body doesn’t liste
Nick's POV I stare at the sink like it’s gonna tell me what the fuck to do. Steam rolls from the kettle, snow blurs the world outside, and my thoughts are a mess I can’t scrub clean. The cabin’s quiet—almost—but not really. There’s humming upstairs, soft and off-key, paired with the rhythmic sound of drawers opening, closing, opening again. She’s up there. Settling in like it’s her damn house. Jessa Henderson. Rick’s little girl. His pride and joy. The one who used to crash into my house like a glitter bomb, trailing sparkles and sass. She used to call me “Uncle Nick” with peanut butter on her face and no volume control. Now? Now she walks like temptation’s wearing leggings. I rub a hand over my jaw, trying to force logic through the heat building in my chest. She’s twenty-two. Technically grown. Adult enough to know better. But that doesn’t mean I get to look. Doesn’t mean I get to stand in my own kitchen replaying the way her ass swayed up those stairs. Christ. I reach f
His Christmas brat POV: Jessa “I’m not doing Christmas this year.” I mutter it while tossing clothes into my red weekender bag, folding nothing, dancing in nothing but a thong and an old college tee that barely covers my ass. Mariah’s hitting her high notes through my speaker like she’s personally sick of my seasonal depression. The plan? Solo winter break. Just me, a few bottles of Moscato, and some emotionally stunted men on N*****x. Then the door slams open like a DEA raid. “Pumpkin!” I shriek, nearly twisting my ankle trying to hide my ass with a pillow. My dad barrels in, smelling like celebration and midlife crisis. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s holding a glass of something that screams expensive and unfiltered. “Guess what! Me and Kathy—” cue the violent eye twitch, “—we’re heading to Europe for the holidays. Surprise honeymoon! Paris, Rome, that place with the boats.” I blink. “Venice?” He points at me like I just unlocked a new level in a video game. “That’s the o
One and a half Year LaterIvy’s POVThe mansion is quiet… too quiet.And that usually means two things: either something’s broken, or my husband and our son are up to no good.Spoiler alert: it’s both.I round the corner into the sunken living room—and there they are. My entire world. Chaos and charm wrapped in two very dangerous packages.Alexander’s lying on his back on the massive velvet rug in nothing but gray sweats and smug satisfaction, while our one-year-old son climbs his chest like it’s a jungle gym. He’s got Alexander’s dark hair and my eyes, with this smirk that’s definitely not innocent. His tiny hand tugs at his father’s chain, and the other is holding… oh my God.“Is that—” I gasp. “Did he break your Rolex?!”Alexander lifts his head like he’s not even the slightest bit concerned. “Technically, he dismantled it. That’s innovation.”“Alexander!”He shrugs. “He’s got good taste.”“Our son is chewing on a watch that costs more than my entire degree!”“He’s a Wolfe, sweethe
Ivy’s POVTwo months after the weddingI stare at the stick in my hand like it might explode.No—scratch that. I’m staring at it like it already has. Like it's detonated my heart, flipped my soul inside out, and left me standing in the master bathroom of Alexander’s mansion, barefoot, with my fingers trembling and my lungs refusing to breathe.Two lines. Bold. Unapologetic.Pregnant.I swallow hard, my other hand gripping the edge of the marble sink. My knees feel like they might give out, and for a second I wonder if I should sit down—but I can’t. My body’s frozen. My mind is racing. My stomach twists in slow, hot spirals of fear and joy and memory.The last time...I press a hand against my stomach, instinctively. There’s nothing yet. No bump. Just the tiniest bloom of something new. Something terrifying. Something hopeful.And this time, it feels different.This time, my body doesn’t feel broken. It feels... ready. Like my heart knew before my brain did.A quiet knock at the bathro
Alexander’s POVShe’s still shaking. Wrecked from my mouth.Eyes glazed. Thighs trembling. Lips swollen from all her moaning. And fuck, her pussy’s pulsing—clenching around nothing like it’s begging to be filled.“Color?” I ask, low and rough.She swallows hard. Her voice is hoarse when she whispers, “Green, Daddy.”Goddamn right.I grab her hips, flip her effortlessly onto her stomach, and yank her ass high. She gasps as her knees slide apart on instinct, back arching for me.“Look at you.” My voice is gravel and want. “Fucking dripping for me. Begging without saying a word.”I lean down, lips brushing her ear. “Do you know how dangerous that is, Baby Girl? Offering yourself like this to a man like me?”She whimpers, grinding back into me, completely gone for it.“Say it,” I growl, lining up behind her. “Say who owns you.”“You do,” she moans, breathless. “You fucking own me.”I slam into her in one brutal, claiming thrust—and we both break.Her scream tears through the room as her b
Ivy’s POVAnother knock. “Open the door, Ivy.”“I will when I check,” I say.Silence again.The timer buzzes on my phone.This is it.I step forward like I’m walking toward an execution chair.Look down.One line.My knees go weak.Negative.“Oh, thank God,” I whisper.Jess yells, “YOU’RE NOT PREGN
Ivy’s POVBrunch with Jessica was never meant to be innocent.It was meant to be messy, loud, probably involve one of us saying something completely inappropriate in front of children, and 100% end in some scandalous detail being yelled across the table.And today? It delivers.Jessica’s already tw
Ivy’s POVThe car ride back is silent… except it’s not. There’s something buzzing between us, thick, electric, pulsing like a live wire.Alexander hasn’t said a word since we left the store, but his hand is on my thigh, his grip firm, fingers twitching every time I shift. He’s seething under the su
Alexander's POV She paces, throwing her hands around like she’s directing a dramatic opera. “You’re supposed to be the rich, overprotective, psychotic, alpha male fiancé, remember?! How the hell did someone get to her?”I don’t answer. Because she’s right.I failed.Jess finally drops into a chair







