Chapter 5

Ryan’s POV

Stephanie hesitated in the doorway, her eyes darting between Olivia and me. Her expression was a mixture of exasperation and something softer—pity, maybe. She didn’t say anything, but the silence carried an unspoken accusation. The weight of it pressed on me even after she turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

The air was thick, charged with tension. Olivia sat on the bed, her small frame stiff as a board, ash-blonde hair cascading around her face, concealing her expressions. She glanced up at me briefly, her gaze darting away as soon as our eyes met. It wasn’t fear exactly—but it wasn’t comfort either. She looked like a cornered animal, wary of every move I made.

I walked over to the window and pulled the curtains aside. Sunlight spilled into the room, warm and golden, cutting through the tension like a knife. It highlighted every detail: the neat bed, the soft lines of her face, the slight tremor in her hands as they lay folded on her lap. For a moment, I just looked at her, not saying anything.

Going forth, occasionally, she’d glance at me, a fleeting, nervous look that she quickly averted as if eye contact might burn her. Her unease made me feel... uneasy. Not angry, not frustrated—just uneasy, and maybe even guilty.

The golden rays illuminated the room, but they did little to dispel the cloud of unease between us. She looked even smaller in the light, a fragile figure weighed down by more than just the exhaustion etched into her face.

I should’ve felt compassion—maybe even guilt—but the truth was, I felt trapped. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

I thought back to the moment I’d carried her into this room. She had been unconscious, her body limp in my arms, her hair falling over her pale face. I’d laid her on the bed carefully, almost afraid to break her. Her hair had reminded me, strangely, of a Swiss roll—soft, delicate, sweet. The thought had seemed absurd then, and it still did now. But I couldn’t deny the memory.

Regarding the situation, firstly, I had a plan—a clean, logical solution. Compensate her generously and part ways. No loose ends, no ongoing obligations. But now? Now she carried my child. A financial settlement no longer sufficed; my name, my reputation, and a new kind of responsibility tied me to her.

And she wasn’t the kind of woman I liked.

I didn’t mean it cruelly. She seemed sweet, yes—too sweet, the kind of girl who wore her emotions on her sleeve, who couldn’t hide her vulnerability even if she tried. It wasn’t her fault, but that kind of transparency unsettled me. Sweet girls like Olivia broke too easily, and I didn’t know how to handle them without causing damage.

I turned from the window, the bowl of herbal soup on the bedside table catching my eye. Picking it up, I walked to her and sat on the edge of the bed, leaving a careful distance between us.

“You need to eat,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.

She didn’t move.

“Olivia,” I tried again, leaning forward slightly, “you’ve been through a lot. You need to regain your strength. Please.”

Finally, she looked up at me, her eyes wide and wary. There was something in her gaze—something that made my chest tighten. Fear? Distrust? Or maybe just exhaustion? Whatever it was, it made me feel worse than I already did.

I placed the bowl on the table again, realizing she wasn’t going to touch it. “I know this isn’t easy for you,” I said after a moment. “And I know... I’ve made things harder.”

Her head tilted slightly, a flicker of curiosity breaking through her guarded expression.

“I’ve gone over your situation,” I continued, trying to keep my tone neutral. “And it’s clear you can’t keep living like this. Barely getting by, trying to manage everything on your own—it’s not sustainable. It’s not safe. Not for you, and not for the baby.”

The word ‘baby’ seemed to hit her like a physical blow. Her shoulders stiffened, and her hands clenched into fists on her lap. I almost regretted saying it, but there was no way around it.

“I want to help you,” I said quickly, before she could retreat further into herself. “Not because I pity you, but because it’s the right thing to do. Because you deserve better than this.”

She flinched at my words, and I realized too late how condescending they might have sounded.

“I’m not saying you’re weak,” I clarified, my voice softer now. “I know you’re not. You’re stronger than most people would be in your situation. But even the strongest people need help sometimes. Let me help.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable.

“I can arrange the best care for your sister, Layla,” I added, hoping that might reach her. “Whatever she needs—doctors, treatment, medication—it’ll all be covered. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

She remained silent, her shoulders tense, her eyes fixed on a spot just past my shoulder.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I’ll also make sure you’re taken care of,” I said. “Your tuition, your accommodation—anything you need to feel safe and comfortable, I’ll handle it.”

Still, she didn’t respond.

The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. I felt a wave of frustration, not at her but at myself. I’d been so focused on what I thought was the right thing to do that I hadn’t stopped to consider what she wanted.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally, the words coming out quieter than I intended. “I’ve been so caught up in trying to fix everything that I haven’t stopped to ask what you want.”

Her head shot up, her eyes wide with surprise.

“This is your life, Olivia,” I continued, my voice steady but softer now. “And I know I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now. I just... I want you to know that whatever you decide, I’ll support you. Even if you don’t want me involved.”

The words were harder to say than I expected, but they felt right. She deserved that much.

I stood and walked to the door, calling out to my beta, who had been waiting just outside. When he stepped in, I gave him clear instructions to settle Layla’s medical bills immediately. He nodded and left without hesitation.

When I turned back to Olivia, she was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite place—part confusion, part disbelief, and maybe a hint of something else.

“Aren’t omegas unwanted?” she asked suddenly, her voice quiet but steady.

The question hit me like a punch to the gut. For a moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

Her gaze didn’t waver this time. She looked at me directly, her eyes filled with something raw and unguarded. Vulnerability, maybe. Or pain.

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. How could I explain that she was wrong? That she wasn’t unwanted, not to me, not in the way she feared? How could I erase years of rejection, of being made to feel less than, with a few words?

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “Olivia,” I said finally, my voice firm but gentle, “you’re not unwanted. Not to me.”

The truth in my voice surprised even me. But as I held her gaze, I realized I meant it—though not in the way she might have hoped.

I didn’t want Olivia in my life. Not like this. Not as a partner or a lover or anything more than the mother of my child.

But I couldn’t abandon her either.

She deserved more than a check and a goodbye. She deserved stability, security, a life where she didn’t have to fight for every scrap of happiness. And if I had to be the one to give her that, so be it.

Even if I didn’t like the sweet girl sitting across from me, I couldn’t ignore the responsibility I now carried.