CHAPTER 40: CHAPTER 40 THERE’S SOMETHING I NEED TO TELL YOU

Serena’s POV

The moment the door closed behind us, regret crashed over me like a tidal wave. What was I thinking, inviting Ryan Blackwood into my room?

The man who had shattered my heart and left me to pick up the pieces alone.

But it was too late now. He stood in the center of my suite, tall and imposing, his presence filling every corner of the room. His eyes swept over the space—noting my open laptop on the desk, the design sketches spread across the desk.

"Nice décor," he said, breaking the silence.

I hugged myself, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "Thanks... it’s all thanks to the money you gave me."

He went silent, his expression unreadable, and the pause seemed to stretch. My stomach tightened, unsure if I’d said too much, or not enough.

"Dreamland’s doing well, then." His tone was casual, almost deliberately so."

"We manage," I replied stiffly, unsure what to do with my hands, with myself. "Would you like something to drink? There’s a minibar."

Ryan shook his head, his gaze never leaving me. "I’m fine."

Another awkward silence stretched between us. I moved to gather the sketches from the desk, needing something to occupy my trembling hands.

"These are beautiful," he said, stepping closer to examine one of the designs I’d left on the nightstand. "For the winter collection?"

"Yes," I answered, surprised he remembered. "How did you know?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The snowflake motif. "

"Oh... yes." I turned away, placing the sketches on the desk. I just didn’t know how to face him—every time I saw him, the memory of what happened in the elevator came rushing back.

"Serena," Ryan’s voice was closer now. "Look at me."

I forced myself to turn around. He stood just a foot away, close enough that I could smell his cologne—the same one he’d worn for years, woodsy and warm.

"Why did you ask me to stay?" he asked quietly.

I swallowed hard. "I told you. I was still shaken from the elevator."

"Bullshit," he said, though his tone remained gentle. "You’ve never needed anyone to hold your hand through a crisis. Least of all me."

My eyes narrowed. "Then why did you accept the invitation?"

"Because I’ve been waiting two years for you to give me even the smallest opening," he admitted, his honesty disarming me. "And I’m selfish enough to take it, even if you regret it tomorrow."

"I regret it already," I whispered.

Ryan took another step forward, close enough now that I had to tilt my head to maintain eye contact. "Do you? Really?"

My breath caught in my throat. "I should."

"But you don’t."

His hand came up slowly, giving me plenty of time to back away. When I didn’t, his fingers brushed along my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I’ve missed you," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that I felt more than heard. "Every fucking day."

"Don’t," I warned, even as I leaned imperceptibly into his touch. "Don’t say things you don’t mean."

His eyes darkened. "I’ve said many things I didn’t mean, Serena. But never that."

My body betrayed me, responding to his proximity like it always had—heart racing, skin warming, breath quickening. I stepped back, bumping into the desk behind me.

"You did that to yourself," I reminded him, though my words held less bite than intended.

"I know." He ran a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of frustration. "Christ, Serena, don’t you think I know that? I’ve replayed every mistake in my head a thousand times."

"No," I said softly, my gaze locking with his. "You just can’t stand to let me go. You’re too proud for that."

He closed the distance between us in two long strides, his hands gripping my shoulders.

"Is that what you believe?" His eyes searched mine with an intensity that made my knees weak.

I tried to look away, but he caught my chin between his fingers, forcing me to meet his gaze.

"Answer me, Serena."

"What else was I supposed to think?" I whispered, hating the vulnerability in my voice.

Without warning, his mouth crashed down on mine, desperate and demanding. Then hiis hands slid down my back, gripping my hips and pulling me flush against him.

I should have pushed him away. I should have slapped him.But instead, he ignited my desire with disarming ease.

"Does it feel different now?" he growled against my lips, one hand tangling in my hair.

I gasped as he backed me against the wall, his body hard and unyielding against mine. His lips moved to my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath my ear.

"Ryan," I breathed, my head falling back, giving him better access.

"Say it again," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Say my name."

"Ryan," I repeated, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

He lifted me suddenly, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried me to the bed. We fell onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing.

His hands were everywhere—under my blouse, skimming my ribs, cupping my breast through the lace of my bra. Each touch ignited a fire that had been smoldering for years.

"I’ve missed you," he confessed against my collarbone, his breath hot on my skin. "Every fucking day."

I arched into his touch, too far gone to deny the truth. "I’ve missed you too."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at me. "Let me show you," he said, his voice a husky whisper. "Let me prove how much I want you. Only you."

His fingers worked the buttons of my blouse, exposing more skin with each one. When he’d undone them all, he pushed the fabric aside, his gaze hungry as it swept over me.

"Beautiful," he murmured, leaning down to press his lips to the swell of my breast above my bra. "So fucking beautiful."

I reached up, my fingers trembling as I unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen. My nails scraped lightly down his torso, savoring his sharp intake of breath.

When he kissed me again, it was slower, deeper—a kiss that spoke of possession and promise. His hand slid up my thigh, pushing my skirt higher until his fingers brushed against the edge of my underwear.

"Tell me you want this," he demanded, his voice rough with restraint. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," I admitted, the words torn from somewhere deep inside me. "God help me, I still want you."

With a groan, he captured my mouth again, his tongue tangling with mine as his fingers slipped beneath the lace barrier.

I gasped at the intimate touch, my body instantly responding to him as though we’d never been apart.

He knew exactly how to touch me, how to make me tremble and moan. My hips rose to meet his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction.

"That’s it, baby," he encouraged, his lips trailing down my neck. "Let go for me."

I was close—so close—when a sudden realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. The doctor’s words from earlier today echoed in my mind: "Congratulations! You’re going to be a mom."

I was pregnant. And Ryan had no idea.

With a gasp, I pushed against his chest. "Wait—Ryan, stop."

To his credit, he froze immediately, though his breathing was ragged and his eyes were dark with unfulfilled desire.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, concern replacing the passion in his expression.

I struggled to find the words, my heart pounding against my ribs. "There’s something I need to tell you—"

Before I could continue, the shrill ring of his phone cut through the charged atmosphere. Ryan cursed, clearly intending to ignore it, but the persistent ringing continued.

"You should get that," I said, using the interruption to pull away from him, hastily rebuttoning my blouse with shaking fingers.

He looked at me for a long moment, then retrieved his phone from his pocket. His expression darkened as he checked the caller ID.

"This is important," he said reluctantly. "I have to take this."

I nodded, grateful for the reprieve as I smoothed down my skirt and tried to gather my scattered thoughts. What had I been about to do? More importantly, what had I been about to tell him?