Page 45 of Bought By Santa

I continue to flick through the diary at random, drawn to the scrawled confessions like a moth to a flame.

August 22nd, 1996

She’s kicking up a storm today. A tiny flutter, as if she’s saying hello.

It’s incredible to think I’ll be holding her in just a few months.

I’ve chosen her name: Ruby. It feels perfect, strong and vibrant, just like I imagine she’ll be. I’m already dreaming of her nursery, soft pastels with touches of deep red, maybe a little ruby gemstone tucked somewhere special.

I can’t wait to meet you, Ruby. You’re already my everything.

I devour the entries, each one painting a picture of the Knight’s enigmatic empire. The Hatt family looms over the narrative like specters, their presence a constant reminder of the power that binds Nicklas to this grand, yet shadowed existence.

My mind swirls with newfound knowledge, the pieces of Nicklas’ puzzle slowly fitting together. Understanding dawns,and with it, a fierce determination to learn more—to see beyond the man of iron and ice, to the vulnerabilities he guards so ruthlessly.

“Three,” I find myself saying as I finish yet another entry highlighting the magic number. Three children for survival, for power, for continuation. A shiver runs down my spine—this isn’t just about being provided for; it’s about being irrevocably woven into the tapestry of an empire.

I’m on the floor, the rough texture of the old carpet biting into my skin through my thin dress, but I hardly notice. The diary’s yellowed pages whisper secrets with every turn, and I’m lost in the world of Nicklas’ mother—a woman whose strength seems to have bled into the very fibers of this hidden book.

I close the diary and clutch it to my chest. The contract Nicklas drew up only mentioned one heir, so what does that mean? Does he not believe in this superstition? Or is he planning to have other women—better women—conceive the last two heirs? For some reason, that thought makes me angry.

The air changes, shifts with an energy I’ve come to recognize as Nicklas. My heart stutters, thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. I lift my head, and there he is, standing over me—a dark shadow against the dying light filtering through the window.

“Nicklas,” I breathe out, and his name feels like a brand on my lips, powerful and possessive.

“Kitten, what have you found?” His voice is a low rumble, vibrating through the room. It’s commanding, yet laced with an eagerness that’s almost palpable.

“Your mom’s diary,” I admit, feeling like a thief caught red-handed. But instead of anger, there’s an intense curiosity in his gaze—as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

“Let me see.” He doesn’t ask; he never does. His large hand envelops mine, gently prying the leather-bound book from mygrasp. The heat from his touch races up my arm, igniting a fire that spreads through my body.

“Nicklas…” I start, feeling as though I should explain myself. But he’s already pulling me to my feet, his hands firm on my waist.

“Look at me.”

I do, and I’m caught in the storm of his dark eyes, so full of questions and a hunger that mirrors my own. It’s a look that says he’s as enmeshed in this connection as I am, whether he likes it or not—whether I like it or not.

“Now that you know more about my family, it’s only fair you tell me something about you.”

I clear my throat. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me what drives you,” he says, and there’s something raw in his command—a need to understand the woman in his arms.

“Survival,” I confess, the word torn from somewhere deep inside me. “For me, for Willow.”

“Survival,” he echoes, and it’s not a question but an acknowledgment of our shared reality. The pull between us intensifies, magnetic and undeniable.

Feeling braver now that he hasn’t scolded me for snooping, I ask a question of my own. “Who’s going to carry your other two heirs?” When he arches an eyebrow, I continue. “Your mom wrote about needing three heirs. You’ve only paid me for one.” Try as I might, I fail at keeping jealousy from bleeding into my tone.

Of course, Nicklas hears it, it’s evident in the Cheshire grin splitting his lips. “Are you jealous, Kitten?” He moves his hands from my hips, wrapping his arms tightly around my back, and I melt into him.

My soft breasts flatten against the hard ridges of his chest, making me wonder if he can feel my hardened nipples poke into him through our clothing. The bra I’m wearing isn’t padded,and the thin fabric of my dress barely counts as a barrier. So, maybe?!

“No,” I say, answering him with a shake of my head. “Not jealous. Just…” I don’t know what I am. No matter my tone, I’m not jealous. It’s more like… no one likes to be replaced, or knowing they’re going to be.

“Would you like to give birth to all my kids?” Nicklas asks, cupping my chin and forcing me to look up at him. “Is that what this is about?”

I lick my lips as I ponder the question. Is that what I want? I don’t think it is… but maybe. “I don’t know,” I admit on a whisper.

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