Chapter 828

For a heartbeat, Oscar believed the impossible had happened. Hannah’s kiss was a shock to his system, sending his heart racing with an excitement so intense he feared he might die of it. He remained paralyzed, terrified that even a slight movement would break the spell.

He had prepared himself for a lifetime of coldness—a lifetime where she might never allow him to touch her again. He had spent every waking moment fighting to quench his desire, but her touch leveled his defenses in an instant. The air in the room thickened, heavy with hormones and a desperate, burning need. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and responded with a kiss that spoke of everything he couldn't put into words.

As he pushed her onto the bed, his mind remained tethered to her safety. "I will be careful," he rasped.

"The doctor said sex is safe in the sixth month," Hannah whispered back. But then, as he hovered over her, she delivered the blow that extinguished the fire. "Oscar... will you let me go after this?"

The world turned cold. The lust that had consumed him moments ago evaporated, replaced by a hollow, jagged ache. Hannah knew exactly where to strike; she had the surgical precision to hit the one spot that would hurt him most. She was offering a trade—her body for her freedom.

Oscar let go of her, the silence of the room returning with a vengeance. "If you want to trade sex for freedom," he said, his voice devoid of its earlier heat, "the answer is no."

Never.

He threw back the quilt and walked out, leaving the room heavy with the scent of a passion that had died before it could begin. Alone on the bed, Hannah began to weep. It was a cycle of torment they seemed destined to repeat forever.

Outside in the hallway, Oscar leaned against the door, his composure finally failing. He didn't want her to see his vulnerability, so he let his tears fall in the dark. He had considered setting her free thousands of times, but the thought of a life without her was a physical pain he couldn't endure. Something deep inside him—selfish, desperate, and unyielding—told him he had to insist. He could never give in.

"Oscar?"

The female voice made him freeze. Oscar, a man whose instincts were usually sharp enough to detect a shadow moving, hadn't even heard Lillian approaching. He quickly wiped his face, his mask sliding back into place before he turned to look at her.

"Why are you standing out here?" Lillian asked softly, her eyes searching his. "Did you quarrel with her?"

Lillian had been unable to sleep, her mind churning with agitation at the thought of Oscar and Hannah sharing a bed. But seeing him like this—vulnerable and shaken—filled her with a different kind of resolve. She noticed the slight delay in his reaction, a sign of how deeply he was hurting.

"I couldn't sleep," Lillian lied, her voice honeyed with concern. "I was going to get a glass of water."

"It's late. I'll have Max bring it to your room," Oscar said, his voice restoring its cold, impenetrable edge.

Lillian tried to push further, offering platitudes about how a baby changes a mother's mindset, hoping to find a crack in his armor. But Oscar’s patience had evaporated. "Time for bed, Lillian."

The dismissal was sharp, almost repulsive. Lillian forced a smile and retreated, but the moment her door closed, her expression turned venomous. The harder Oscar pushed her away, the more determined she became. In her mind, Oscar was a prize that belonged to her, and she would do whatever was necessary to claim him.

After the hallway fell silent, Oscar returned to Hannah’s room. She appeared to be asleep now, her face pale and beautiful in the dim light. He sat by the bed, watching her—the woman who was his greatest love and his most painful enemy.