Page 44 of Bought By Santa

There, I said it.

Sitting on one of the stools in the kitchen, I twirl a lock of my hair around my index finger while humming to myself. I’ve tried making small talk with Greta, I’ve learned that’s the name of the woman who brought me food when I was locked in the bedroom, but she’s only giving me one-word answers.

“Tea?” she asks, which I suppose is her way of asking if I want more tea.

I shake my head. “No, thank you.” What’s the point of hanging around one of the few people I see around here when she won’t talk to me?

As I shift on the stool, I wince when I accidentally drag the bottom of the plug between my legs against the hard surface. But despite the initial discomfort, it quickly morphs into lust, making my clit throb.

Damn this thing, and Nicklas’ orders to only wear skirts or dresses without panties. Then again, it feels sexy and forbidden to walk around commando like this. Okay, so maybe I don’t hate it entirely.

It’s been two days since the odd dinner with Nicklas’ family. Where I thought it was a disaster, Nicklas saw it differently. At least, that’s what he told me when we got home. Home… what a joke. I might live here for now, but my home it is not.

Yesterday, I spent the day with Willow. I visited her in the care home, and then we went to this little cafe nearby for hot chocolate. Our first outing together in years. Not because she can’t go out, of course she can. But I’ve never had money to spare, not even on something as simple as getting a hot beverage.

But thanks to Nicklas already having paid all my bills, I do have a bit of cash. And since he insisted on having one of his men drive and follow me, I didn’t have to worry about spending money on transportation. Thankfully, the guy stayed at a discreet distance, so I didn’t have to explain his presence to Willow.

But ugh, I did have to tell my sister about Nicklas, all thanks to Ruby and her… meddling. Since I neither can, nor want to, explain our arrangement, I kept it simple by saying I’ve gotten a new job. I mean, it’s not exactly a lie. Actually, it’s completelytrue since he’s paying me to use my womb. A bit like a rent agreement.

I snort to myself, hating how clinical it sounds, especially when every interaction between us is everything but. If I thought I’d just need to spread my legs while he pumped away, I’m proven sorely mistaken. Nicklas is… intense. And with every touch, I feel like he’s awakening something inside me. Maybe he is.

Reaching for my phone on the kitchen island, I check the time again. It’s barely ten in the morning, and with Willow busy on some outing with the care home today, I have no idea how to spend my time. But I can’t stand Greta’s judgmental glances anymore, so I push the cup away and get off the chair.

“I’ll… umm… see you later.” She doesn’t even acknowledge my words, just continues whatever she’s doing at the sink.

With boredom clawing at my mind, I decide it’s high time I explore the expanse of Nicklas’ penthouse. As I leave the kitchen, the air becomes laced with the scent of sandalwood, a constant reminder of my wicked Santa’s presence.

Room by room, I wander with a sense of curiosity sharpening my senses. The modern art pieces adorning the walls are striking—a blend of bold colors and abstract shapes. I can’t quite understand them, but there’s something captivating about their chaos.

The living area transitions into a gallery of sorts, and I find myself standing before a painting that snatches my breath. It’s a dark, tempestuous sea with a single beacon of light shining through the storm. Does this reflect the turmoil beneath Nicklas’ stoic façade?

I wander aimlessly through the penthouse, my fingertips grazing over sleek surfaces and plush fabrics. Nicklas’ home is a trove of distractions, with so many more rooms than I ever imagined.

Some doors are locked, but instead of lingering in front of those, I quickly leave them behind. Since I’ve seen him kill one man in cold blood, and he’s admitted to killing another just for watching me get myself off, I’m too scared of what I could possibly find.

Reaching a room sequestered at the back of the apartment, I push open the door. It creaks with disuse, a stark contrast to the rest of Nicklas’ meticulously kept domain. The air inside tastes stale, heavy with secrets and silence. Dust motes dance in the slanting light as I step forward, curiosity piqued by this neglected space.

A loose floorboard underfoot gives me pause. Kneeling down, I pry it open with more eagerness than finesse. Beneath lies a collection of papers and a diary, aged leather cracked and worn. It’s an intimate artifact, one that seems out-of-place amid the sterile legal documents.

The diary belongs to a Sienna Knight… Oh! As I continue leafing through the yellowed and worn papers, I remember she was Nicklas’ mom.

May 15th, 1996

I still can’t believe it!! I’m pregnant again!

I took the test this morning, and there it was, clear as day. I feel like the luckiest woman alive, but also a bit nervous. This is the third, the one that completes the magic number.

The Knight family always says three is the key. One heir isn’t enough. Fate can be cruel, and it seems like there’s always tragedy waiting to strike, but with three, we stand a chance.

Caspian says it’s some old superstition, but it’s hard not to think about it now.

We already have two wonderful boys, and now, I’m hoping with all my heart that this one’s a girl.

A little girl to balance out the chaos, to bring something new to our lives. I’m already imagining her, hoping she’ll be the one who changes everything, the final piece to our family’s puzzle.

Here’s to hoping fate is kind this time.

“Three,” I murmur, tracing the words with a finger.

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