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February 9 - February 11, 2025
“Don’t be so harsh. I’m sure the Grim Reaper has some redeeming qualities.”
FOLD??? I would dedicate my life to being his personal origami.
Briar unbuckled herself from the passenger seat, shimmying her dress down. She could tug it down as much as she wanted, I still knew my cum was dripping along her inner thigh under those panties.
“Are you asking me to behave myself?” “Just this once.” I pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “And just with them. I want the unfiltered version any other time.”
“They’ve been dying to see you again ever since the New York Times spread. The only reason it hasn’t happened yet is because I didn’t want to share you with anyone else.” “And now? Grew tired of me?” “Never.”
“Just got better at pretending my obsession for you is under control to avoid being institutionalized.”
Respecting my boundaries would require acknowledging they existed, and that would require acknowledging I existed, which they only seemed to do when they wanted something from me.
“Who knew that abandoning a child would mean abandoning a child? Revolutionary, right?”
“Not getting tangled in legal troubles and bankruptcy does wonders to the skin. You should really try it.”
I’d grown up. I’d found worth in myself and accepted that my parents’ rejection meant nothing.
“Sweetheart?” He offered me his palm. “My father would like to make a toast, and frankly, I miss you too much to share you with the Wicked Witch of the West.”
For people who birthed two full-grown soap opera addicts, the von Bismarcks hated drama.
“Where were we?” “My biological dad,” I reminded him. “And his identity, which your wife is refusing to share with me.”
“It’s okay, Cuddlebug. I just said that to piss them off. You do you.” And me, please. Three times a day.
YOU NEED A FUCKING WIFE AND I NEED A FUCKING YACHT, OKAY?
With the way his wife spends, let’s hope he can afford a Disney+ subscription, let alone a yacht.
At the very least, I’ll be poor and fashionable, unlike whatever the fuck I caught you wearing this morning.
“No offense, but I need more money like the Duggars need more kids.”
With that, I dragged Sebastian out of the room by force. He planted his heels into the hardwood, refusing to budge. And because the bastard worked out like a fucking Olympian, he succeeded.
“Briar, how does a ten-tier cake sound?” “A heartburn waiting to happen,”
“I just…it seems so redundant, seeing as there won’t be a wedding.” “You don’t know that.” “Considering I have to consent to the wedding, I do.”
But consider this—if you’re not the same person you were fifteen years ago, why would Oliver be?
“It’s amazing how I grew up thinking you would be in my epilogue when it turns out you’re nothing but a badly written prologue.”
Recovery doesn’t shout. It whispers—and it needs time to be heard.
What I loved most about Oliver—what I’d always loved the most—was his willingness to sacrifice his own happiness for the people he loved.
“I know I’m still drunk off my ass, and this is probably taking the sting out of this impending love declaration, but fuck, I love you.” He closed his eyes, breathing heavy. “I love you so damn much, Briar. Sometimes, it’s hard to fucking breathe when you’re gone.”
“I still get a little sick thinking about giving you a fake diamond. It’s like walking around in knockoff Jordans. But anything for you, baby.”
“That’s not the sustainable diamond making you ill. It’s the booze.”
“Cuddlebug,” he said as serious as a nuclear threat. “Hot mess,” I responded.
“How much do you like this dress?” “Well, it is Target’s finest…” I rode his leg, desperate for contact. “From about seven seasons ago.” “Would you be very mad if I tore it to shreds?” “I’d be very mad if you didn’t.”
And there, in the midst of Oliver’s personal hell, I found my heaven between his arms.
“Can it wait until after the room stops spinning? I don’t like this ride. I want a refund.”
Briar stared at the tent forming around my hips, her mouth parting—hopefully to wrap around it and not “to talk,” because that sounded serious, and I couldn’t handle serious with this hangover.
Briar’s ringtone was the Succession theme song. I was going to marry the fuck out of this woman if it was the last thing I did.
“Huh. Unknown number.” “Don’t answer those,” I warned. “You don’t need your credit card debt lowered. You’re about to marry a billionaire, who is too crazy about you to ask for a prenup.”
“I wish you’d call me Mom.” “I wish I had wings and a cute, fluffy tail. We all wish for impossible things sometimes. What’s your point?”
You would look adorable with a fluffy tail,
I’d buy the fucking sun for a chance to give Briar her closure.
“What if he is a grifter? A sex offender? A terrible person?” “Then you did the impossible and managed to become the most flawless person on Earth, even though your DNA worked against you.”
“You can never be too sure.” “If only you had that energy when you cheated on Jason with whoever-the-heck my father is and used protection, we wouldn’t be here.”
The second you made the woman I love cry was the second you signed your death warrant.
“Hey. You can’t take that back.” “I can, and I am. No contract, no fucking money. Hound me with lawyers, baby. Let’s see who wins.”
“That’s illegal.” “So are fraud, theft, and Ponzi schemes. I’m sure the authorities would love to see all the evidence I’ve gathered.”
But alas, it would be cruel to kidnap Oliver’s dogs on top of dumping him.
I love you. I truly do, but I don’t understand why you toasted bread that’s already hard. Are you not fond of your teeth?
“Why couldn’t I fall in love with someone like the Townsend sisters, who would single-handedly burn down an entire rainforest if it helped them plow their way into a designer sale?”
“We film weeks at a time, and it’s a hectic schedule. Often twenty-hour days.” “That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.
“I lost you once because of Sebastian. I love my brother, but not enough to lose you again. You come first. No matter the outcome. It’s you, Briar. Not him.”
“It feels like the sky is falling,” I confessed. “You’re strong enough to hold it up,”
“You gave me wings, my dark tragic prince.”
