I'm Pregnant, And It Isn't My Husband's

Olivia Pearson had always known men like Sebastian Blackwood existed, but she never thought she'd be sitting across from one, watching him slide a marriage contract across a desk.

"Sign here, initial here, and finally, your full signature on the last page."

She stared at the heavy cream parchment before her, her father had already signed his portion. James Pearson had signed away not just their company, but her future.

"I want to read it first," she said quietly, surprised by the steadiness in her voice when everything inside her was screaming.

Sebastian Blackwood leaned back in his chair, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.

"By all means," he replied. "I admire thoroughness."

Olivia forced herself to focus on the document instead of the man. At thirty-eight, Sebastian Blackwood had built an empire that struck fear into the hearts of businessmen across the globe. The "Shark of Wall Street," they called him-a man who didn't just acquire companies but devoured them whole, leaving nothing but bones.

The contract was clinical in its brutality. In exchange for saving Pearson Innovations from bankruptcy and keeping her father out of federal prison, she would become Sebastian Blackwood's wife in every sense of the word. The document detailed everything-from mandatory public appearances to private obligations that made her skin flush with equal parts rage and humiliation.

"Section 8 is particularly interesting," Sebastian offered casually, watching her expression with those piercing blue eyes that reminded her of arctic ice. "You might want to pay special attention."

Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned to the section. Sexual obligations of the wife. Each line was more explicit than the last, detailing not just frequency but specific acts that would be required of her. Heat rushed to her face-not embarrassment, but pure, molten fury.

"This is medieval," she hissed, slamming the contract down with enough force. "I won't be your glorified prostitute."

Sebastian immediately reached for his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. "Then your father goes to prison tomorrow. The FBI has enough evidence to put him away for twenty years." His voice was matter-of-fact. "At his age, that's essentially a life sentence. The choice is simple, Ms. Pearson."

The air rushed from her lungs as though she'd been punched. Her father was many things-distant, cold, obsessed with his legacy-but he was all she had left. She thought of him in a prison cell, gray-haired and broken, and something inside her crumbled.

"Why me?" The question burst from her before she could stop it. "There must be a hundred women in New York who would jump at the chance to be Mrs. Blackwood. You could have anyone."

Something shifted in those ice-blue eyes-a darkness, an obsession that sent a chill down her spine.

"Because," he said, leaning forward, "you're the only one who looked at me with defiance instead of fear or greed. Because when we met at that charity gala last year, you told me exactly what you thought of my business