Storyline of Trapped And Redeemed By His Love: Saddled with her father’s crippling debt, Yvette breaks up with her boyfriend Archer by pretending to sleep with another man. But while chasing her, Archer gets run over by a car and nearly dies. Years later, Yvette is secretly raising Archer’s son, while Archer’s conquered the business world. When their paths cross again, their mutual hatred and repressed love engulf them both like flames.
Chapter 1: The Return
The rain hammered against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Meridian Tower’s penthouse ballroom, each droplet a reminder of another storm five years ago. Yvette pressed herself deeper into the shadows of the terrace alcove, her fingers trembling around the champagne flute she hadn’t touched.
She shouldn’t have come. The catering company didn’t require her presence—she could have sent one of her employees to oversee the prestigious event. But some masochistic part of her had needed to see him again, even from afar.
Archer Blackstone commanded the room like a king holding court. The awkward, earnest boy who’d loved her with his whole heart had been replaced by a man who wore power like a second skin. His custom Armani suit emphasized shoulders that had broadened, a frame that had filled out with lean muscle. But it was his eyes that had changed the most—once warm amber, now cold as frozen whiskey.
She watched him work the room, watched how people gravitated toward him even as they maintained a respectful distance. He’d become everything she’d known he could be, everything her father’s crushing debts would have prevented. The accident had nearly killed him, but he’d risen from those ashes like a dark phoenix.
A phoenix who didn’t know he had a four-year-old son with his eyes.
“Hiding doesn’t suit you, Yvette.”
The voice, deeper now but unmistakable, came from directly behind her. Her champagne glass slipped from nerveless fingers, shattering on the marble floor. The sound seemed to echo in the sudden silence between them.
She turned slowly, her back pressed against the glass door that led to the terrace. He stood less than three feet away, close enough that she could smell his cologne—cedar and cold tobacco, a scent that haunted her dreams.
“Mr. Blackstone,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t realize—”
“Don’t.” The word cracked like a whip. He stepped closer, and she became acutely aware of how much taller he was now, how he had to look down at her. “Don’t pretend you don’t know me. Not when I can still see the scar on your shoulder from when we made love in my father’s rose garden.”
Heat flooded her face, her body betraying her with memories. “That was a long time ago.”
“Five years, two months, and sixteen days.” His precision made her flinch. “Not nearly long enough to forget how you looked in another man’s bed.”
“Archer—”
His hand shot out, bracing against the glass beside her head. The gesture caged her without touching, a display of controlled violence that made her pulse race. “Tell me, was it worth it? Was he worth destroying me?”
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she forced them back. He could never know the truth—that the “other man” had been a friend playing a role, that the entire scene had been staged to drive Archer away before her father’s loan sharks came collecting. Before they could use Archer’s love for her against him.
“Yes,” she lied, the word tasting like ash.
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. His free hand came up, fingers ghosting along her jaw with a gentleness that contradicted the rage she could feel radiating from him.
“Liar,” he breathed, leaning closer until his lips nearly brushed her ear. “Your pulse is racing. Just like it used to when I—”
“Stop.” She pressed her palms against his chest, intending to push him away. Instead, her traitorous hands registered the heat of him through expensive fabric, the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
“Why?” His thumb traced her lower lip, the touch electrifying. “Afraid you’ll remember how good we were? How perfectly you fit against me, under me, around me?”
“That’s not—we can’t—”
“Can’t we?” He pressed closer, his body a wall of heat that made thinking impossible. “You owe me, Yvette. You owe me for every surgery, every hour of physical therapy, every night I woke up screaming your name.”
The guilt crashed over her like a tidal wave. She’d known about the accident, of course—had haunted the hospital corridors like a ghost until his family had security remove her. But hearing him speak of it, feeling the subtle favor he still gave his left leg, was agony.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words inadequate but true.
“Sorry?” He laughed, the sound bitter and beautiful. “You think ‘sorry’ fixes anything? You think it gives me back the months I spent learning to walk again? The career I had to rebuild from nothing because my father disowned me for being fool enough to love a whore?”
The word hit like a slap. Yvette’s hand moved without conscious thought, but he caught her wrist before the blow could land, his grip firm but not painful.
“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?” He raised her captured hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm that sent electricity shooting up her arm. “But not as much as lies.”
Chapter 2: The Trap
“Let me go,” Yvette demanded, trying to ignore how her body responded to his proximity, how every cell remembered and craved his touch.
“No.” He released her wrist only to cage her more completely, both arms now braced against the glass. “You’re very good at running, but I’m done chasing. We’re going to settle this debt, you and I.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“Don’t you?” He leaned in until she could feel his breath against her throat. “Shall I list your debts? My heart, my trust, my body—all destroyed because you couldn’t keep your legs closed.”
The injustice of it burned, but she couldn’t defend herself without revealing the truth. And the truth would only put him in danger again. Her father was dead, but his creditors had long memories.
“What do you want?” she asked instead.
“Everything.” The word rumbled from his chest like thunder. “Everything you took from me, paid back with interest.”
“I have nothing to give you.”
“Another lie.” His hand slid down to her throat, fingers resting against her pulse point. “You’re catering this event, which means you have a business. You’re wearing a dress that, while inexpensive, is clean and pressed, which means you have a home. And you keep glancing toward the exit like you need to be somewhere, which means you have something—or someone—waiting for you.”
Ice flooded her veins. He was too observant, too close to the truth. “My life is none of your concern.”
“Wrong.” His thumb stroked along her collarbone, the touch achingly familiar. “Everything about you is my concern. You made it my concern when you let me believe we had a future, then ripped it away.”
“Archer, please—”
“I like how you say my name.” His voice dropped to that dangerous register that had always made her melt. “Say it again.”
“This is insane.”
“Sanity is overrated.” He pulled back enough to look at her face, and what she saw in his eyes made her knees weak. Rage, yes, but underneath it, a hunger that five years hadn’t diminished. “I tried sanity. I tried forgetting. I tried fucking other women until I couldn’t remember the taste of you. None of it worked.”
The thought of him with others shouldn’t hurt—she had no right to jealousy. But it sliced through her anyway, sharp and deep.
“So what’s your plan?” she challenged, finding courage in desperation. “Seduce me? Humiliate me? Make me fall for you again just so you can walk away?”
“Who says I’d walk away?” He traced the line of her dress’s neckline, finger barely grazing skin. “Maybe I’ll keep you. Lock you up where you can’t run. Make you pay your debts every night until you can’t remember why you ever wanted anyone else.”
“You’re talking about imprisonment.”
“I’m talking about justice.” His hand slid into her hair, fisting the dark strands and tilting her head back. “Unless you prefer the alternative—I could destroy your little business, investigate your life, find out all your secrets. I’m very thorough when motivated.”
The threat hit its mark. If he investigated, he’d find Aiden. Their son, with his father’s amber eyes and stubborn chin. The thought of Archer’s reaction—the fury, the sense of betrayal at being denied his child—made her stomach clench.
“What do you want me to do?” The words came out broken.
Victory flashed in his eyes. He released her hair, reaching into his jacket to produce a key card. “Suite 4012. One hour. Come prepared to stay the night.”
“I can’t—”
“You can and you will.” He pressed the card into her hand, his fingers lingering against hers. “Unless you’d prefer I come to you? I’m sure your neighbors would love the show.”
The thought of him at her tiny apartment, so close to where Aiden slept, made her decision. “I’ll come.”
“Good girl.” The praise, twisted though it was, sent heat through her. “Don’t make me wait, Yvette. I’ve been patient for five years. That well has run dry.”
He stepped back, straightening his suit with practiced ease. To anyone watching, they might have been discussing the catering menu. Only she could see the predatory satisfaction in his eyes, the promise of retribution in the set of his shoulders.
“One hour,” he repeated, then walked away, leaving her trembling against the glass.
Chapter 3: The Suite
Fifty-eight minutes later, Yvette stood outside Suite 4012, her hand shaking as she raised the key card. She’d called Mrs. Chen from next door, fabricating a catering emergency that required her to stay late. The elderly woman had been happy to watch Aiden, as she often did when Yvette worked events.
The suite door opened before she could use the card. Archer stood in the doorway, jacket discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. He’d been drinking—she could see the crystal tumbler in his hand—but his eyes were sharp, focused.
“Cutting it close,” he observed, stepping aside to let her in.
The suite was enormous, all dark wood and leather, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a spectacular view of the rain-lashed city. It smelled like him, that intoxicating mixture of expensive cologne and something uniquely Archer.
“Drink?” He moved to the bar, all controlled grace despite the slight favor he still gave his left leg.
“I need to know what you want from me,” she said instead of answering.
“I told you. Everything.” He poured himself another measure of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light. “But we’ll start simple. Take off your coat.”
Yvette’s fingers fumbled with the buttons of her worn peacoat. Underneath, she still wore the simple black dress from the event, appropriate for catering staff but nothing like the designer gowns the guests had worn.
Archer’s gaze tracked every movement, lingering on the places where stress and insufficient food had made her thinner, where five years of single motherhood had left their mark.
“You’ve lost weight,” he said, something unreadable in his voice.
“Life hasn’t been easy.”
“Whose fault is that?” He finished his drink in one swallow, setting the glass down with deliberate control. “Come here.”
She forced herself to cross the room, stopping just out of reach. “This won’t change anything. Hurting me won’t make you feel better.”
“Who says I want to hurt you?” He closed the distance between them, circling her slowly, like a predator studying prey. “Maybe I just want to remember. To compare the reality to the fantasy I’ve been torturing myself with.”
“Archer—”
“Quiet.” He stopped behind her, his breath stirring her hair. “I’ve imagined this so many times. What I’d say, what I’d do. How I’d make you beg the way I begged.”
His hands settled on her shoulders, the touch burning through fabric. “I begged, you know. In the hospital, when the pain was so bad I wanted to die. I begged for you.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” His hands slid down her arms, leaving trails of fire. “Sorry you did it, or sorry you got caught?”
“Sorry I hurt you. Sorry for all of it.”
“Pretty words.” He turned her to face him, his expression unreadable. “But words are cheap. Actions… those have value.”
Before she could respond, he was kissing her.
It wasn’t gentle. Five years of rage and longing crashed together in the brutal press of his mouth against hers. He kissed like he was trying to consume her, to crawl inside her skin and take up residence. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming and punishing in equal measure.
Yvette’s hands came up to push him away, but the moment she touched him, muscle memory took over. Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer instead. She kissed him back with equal desperation, pouring all her regret and lingering love into the contact.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard.
“Still responsive,” he noted clinically, though his pupils were blown wide with desire. “Good to know some things haven’t changed.”
“This doesn’t mean—”
“Doesn’t it?” He backed her against the window, the cold glass a shock against her overheated skin. “Your body remembers me, even if your heart forgot. Shall we see what else it remembers?”
Chapter 4: The Reckoning
His hands were everywhere—relearning her curves, finding sensitive spots that made her gasp, reclaiming territory he’d once known by heart. But there was an edge to his touch now, a darkness that hadn’t been there before.
“You’re shaking,” he observed, lips trailing down her throat. “Afraid?”
“No,” she lied.
“You should be.” He nipped at her pulse point, soothing the sting with his tongue. “I’m not the boy you knew. That accident… it changed me. Broke something that couldn’t be fixed.”
“You seem plenty fixed to me.” The words came out breathier than intended as his hand slid up her thigh, pushing her dress higher.
“Surface repairs.” He lifted her easily, pinning her against the window with his body. “Underneath, I’m all sharp edges and scar tissue. The kind that cuts anyone who gets too close.”
“Is that a warning?”
“It’s a promise.” He claimed her mouth again, swallowing her moan as his hand found the edge of her underwear. “I’m going to ruin you, Yvette. For anyone else, for any life that doesn’t include me. You took five years from me—I’m taking forever from you.”
She should protest, should remind him that this was just one night, just payment for imagined sins. But his fingers were moving with devastating skill, and coherent thought became impossible.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as her head fell back against the glass. “Let go. Show me the real you, not the martyr you’ve been playing.”
“I’m not—oh, God—”
“Not a martyr?” He increased the pressure, watching her face with dark satisfaction. “Then why do you look like you’re being tortured? Why does pleasure make you look guilty?”
Because I don’t deserve it, she thought but couldn’t say. Because every moment of happiness feels stolen when I know what I took from you.
“Stop thinking,” he commanded, reading her too easily. “Just feel. Feel what you’ve been missing. What we’ve both been missing.”
He was relentless, driving her higher with touches that were perfectly calibrated to destroy her control. When she finally shattered, it was with his name on her lips and tears on her cheeks.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, carrying her to the bedroom while she was still trembling. “I’d forgotten how beautiful you look when you let go.”
He laid her on the bed with surprising gentleness, then stepped back to unbutton his shirt. The lamplight revealed what his clothes had hidden—a body honed by physical therapy and determination, but also marked by trauma. Surgical scars traced pale lines across his left ribs, down his hip, disappearing beneath his waistband.
“Don’t,” he said sharply when she reached toward the marks. “Don’t you dare pity me.”
“I don’t pity you,” Yvette said softly. “I just… I never knew how bad it was.”
“Because you ran.” He shed the rest of his clothes with efficient movements. “Because you were too busy spreading your legs for another man to check if I survived.”
The words were meant to wound, but she heard the pain beneath them. Five years of believing she’d betrayed him, of not understanding why. It would be so easy to tell him the truth, but her father’s creditors had made it clear—involve Archer Blackstone, and they’d destroy him. Even now, with his newfound power, she couldn’t risk it. Not when they had Aiden to consider.
He joined her on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress, his heat surrounding her. “Nothing to say? No protests of innocence?”
“Would you believe me if I did?”
“No.” He positioned himself above her, supporting his weight on his forearms. The position put their faces inches apart, their bodies aligned but not quite touching. “I saw the pictures, remember? Very artistic composition—you in his bed, his hands on you, the ecstasy on your face.”
Staged, every moment of it staged, she wanted to scream. Her friend Marcus, now happily married to his husband in Seattle, had helped her create the “evidence” needed to drive Archer away. The “ecstasy” had been carefully practiced expressions, the positions chosen for maximum impact in still photography.
“Just get it over with,” she said instead, closing her eyes.
“Get what over with?” His lips brushed her ear. “This isn’t a quick fuck, Yvette. This is a reckoning. Open your eyes.”
She obeyed, finding his gaze burning into hers.
“There you are,” he murmured. “I want you present for this. Want you to feel every moment of what you threw away.”
When he finally joined with her, it was with devastating slowness. Her body, dormant for five years, awakened like wildfire. Every nerve ending sparked to life, every cell remembering and craving this connection.
“Still perfect,” he groaned, his control visibly fraying. “Still fucking perfect. How is that fair?”
She couldn’t answer, too overwhelmed by sensation. He moved with careful precision, relearning what made her gasp, what made her arch, what made her nails dig into his shoulders. It was nothing like their youthful fumbling had been—this was skilled, intentional, designed to destroy her defenses.
“I hate you,” he said conversationally, even as his hand cradled her face with heartbreaking tenderness. “I hate how you feel, how you taste, how you still fit against me like you were made for me.”
“I know,” she gasped, her body betraying her with its eager response.
“I hate that I still dream about you.” His pace increased, driving deeper, harder. “That I compare every woman to you and find them wanting. That I can’t fuck anyone without seeing your face.”
“Archer, please—”
“Please what?” He shifted angles, hitting a spot that made her see stars. “Please forgive you? Please love you again? Please pretend the last five years didn’t happen?”
“Please just—” She broke off on a moan as he did something particularly devastating with his hips.
“Just what?” He was relentless, driving her toward a peak she could see coming like a freight train. “Use your words, Yvette. Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she admitted brokenly. “Just you. Always you.”
Something in his expression cracked. He crushed his mouth to hers, kissing her like he was drowning and she was air. When she came apart beneath him, he followed, her name on his lips like a prayer and a curse combined.
Chapter 5: The Truth in Darkness
They lay in the aftermath, bodies cooling, reality creeping back in. Archer had rolled onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes. In the dim light, she could see the full extent of his scars, could trace the path the surgeons had taken to put him back together.
“Why?” The question emerged raw from his throat. “Just tell me why. Was I that bad? That insufficient?”
“You were perfect,” Yvette whispered. “That was the problem.”
He lowered his arm, turning to study her. “Cryptic bullshit won’t save you now.”
She sat up, pulling the sheet around herself. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Running again?”
“Just… please.”
He gestured toward a door. “Leave it unlocked.”
In the bathroom, Yvette splashed cold water on her face, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. Her phone buzzed—a text from Mrs. Chen saying Aiden was asleep, not to worry. The reminder of her son, their son, made her stomach clench. She’d have to leave soon, before Archer started asking questions she couldn’t answer.
When she emerged, he was standing by the windows, pajama pants low on his hips, watching the rain. He’d poured two glasses of whiskey.
“Liquid courage,” he said, offering her one.
She accepted it gratefully, the burn a welcome distraction. “I should go.”
“No.” He didn’t turn from the window. “You’ll stay the night. That was the deal.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” He finally faced her, and something in his expression had shifted. “Tell me about him.”
Ice flooded her veins. “Who?”
“The man you left me for. The one from the photos.” His jaw worked. “Are you still with him?”
“No.” That, at least, was true. “He’s… he’s married now. Lives in Seattle.”
“Married.” Archer laughed bitterly. “So you destroyed us for nothing. A fling that didn’t even last.”
If only you knew, she thought. Marcus and David sent Christmas cards every year, photos of their adopted daughter, their happy life. The life they’d built after Marcus helped her stage the most painful lie of her existence.
“I was young,” she said instead. “I made a mistake.”
“A mistake.” He moved closer, predatory again. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“What do you want me to say? That I’ve regretted it every day for five years? That I’ve lived like a ghost, going through the motions? That I—” She cut herself off before she could say too much.
“That you what?” He backed her against the wall, caging her with his arms. “Finish the sentence.”
“That I never stopped loving you.” The words emerged in a rush. “There. Happy? I’ve loved you every day since I left, and it hasn’t mattered because I can’t undo what I did.”
His eyes searched hers, looking for the lie. “Convenient timing for declarations of love.”
“You asked for the truth.”
“I asked for the truth five years ago. You gave me photos of you in another man’s bed.” His hand came up to cup her throat, not squeezing, just resting there. “Why should I believe you now?”
“You shouldn’t.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “You shouldn’t believe me, shouldn’t want me, shouldn’t be here. You should have moved on, found someone worthy of you.”
“Instead, I’m here with you.” His thumb brushed away the tear. “What does that say about me?”
“That you’re still too good for your own good.”
“Or maybe I’m exactly as fucked up as you made me.” He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “Maybe we deserve each other—the liar and the fool who still wants her.”
Chapter 6: Breaking Points
The second time was different. Slower, tinged with a desperation that had nothing to do with revenge and everything to do with the connection neither could deny. Archer touched her like he was memorizing her, like he was trying to imprint himself so deeply she’d never be free.
“I tried to forget this,” he admitted against her throat. “Tried to convince myself it was just physical. Just chemistry.”
“Is it?” She arched beneath him, meeting his thrusts with equal need.
“You know it’s not.” He captured her mouth, swallowing her moans. “It’s never been just physical with us. That’s why it hurt so much. That’s why I can’t let go.”
They moved together with the sync of long-time lovers, bodies remembering rhythms and preferences. But underneath the pleasure was an edge of sorrow, the knowledge that this stolen night couldn’t fix five years of damage.
When they came apart this time, it was with tears on both their faces.
“Stay,” Archer said into the darkness afterward. “Not just tonight. Stay.”
“I can’t.” The words physically hurt to say.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.” She turned in his arms, memorizing his face. “You think you want me, but you don’t. You want who I was. That girl is gone.”
“Then let me know who you are now.” His hand splayed across her stomach, possessive and tender. “Let me learn this version of you.”
“You’d hate her.” Yvette thought of Aiden, of the choices she’d made, of the secrets she carried. “She’s tired and bitter and has done things that can’t be forgiven.”
“Try me.”
The offer hung between them, tempting and terrifying. For a moment, she considered it—telling him everything, showing him pictures of their son, explaining about her father’s debts and the threats. But then she imagined his rage at being denied his child, imagined the custody battle that would follow, imagined loan sharks targeting not just her but Aiden.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Something shuttered in his expression. “Then we’re at an impasse.”
“We always were.” She sat up, reaching for her clothes. “This was a mistake.”
“Was it?” He watched her dress with hooded eyes. “Because from where I’m lying, it felt like the first right thing in five years.”
“Archer—”
“I know you’re hiding something.” He sat up too, the sheet pooling at his waist. “I can see it in your eyes. Whatever it is, whoever you’re protecting, it won’t work. I’ll find out.”
Fear spiked through her. “Leave it alone. Please. For both our sakes, just let me go.”
“Like I did five years ago?” He laughed bitterly. “Look how well that worked out.”
She finished dressing in silence, her body still humming from his touch, her heart breaking all over again. At the door, she paused.
“For what it’s worth,” she said without turning, “loving you was the only true thing I ever did. Everything else… everything else was just survival.”
“Yvette—”
But she was already gone, fleeing into the hallway like the coward she’d become.
Chapter 7: Unraveling
Three days passed in a haze of normalcy. Yvette threw herself into work, into Aiden, into anything that didn’t involve thinking about that night. But Archer was everywhere—his cologne lingering on her skin despite multiple showers, his touch echoed in phantom sensations, his voice haunting her dreams.
“Mommy sad?” Aiden asked over breakfast, his amber eyes—so like his father’s—studying her with four-year-old wisdom.
“Just tired, baby.” She ruffled his dark hair, forcing a smile. “Eat your cereal.”
“Cheerios are circles,” he informed her seriously. “Like wheels. Vroom vroom!”
“That’s right.” She watched him play with his food, seeing Archer in every gesture. The way he concentrated, tongue poking out slightly. The stubborn set of his jaw when he didn’t want to do something. The natural charisma that made strangers stop and coo over him.
Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
“We need to talk. – A”
Her heart stopped. She deleted the message, but another came immediately.
“Ignoring me won’t work. I meant what I said about finding out.”
Then another: “Black sedan outside your building. You have five minutes.”
Yvette peeked through the blinds. Sure enough, a sleek town car idled at the curb. Her hands shook as she called Mrs. Chen, fabricating another emergency.
“Go play with your trains,” she told Aiden, kissing his head. “Mrs. Chen will be here in a minute.”
“Okay, Mommy.” He zoomed off, making engine noises, blissfully unaware of how his world teetered on the edge of upheaval.
Chapter 8: Confrontation
The sedan’s interior smelled like leather and him. Archer sat in the back, iPad in hand, looking every inch the billionaire CEO except for the tension in his shoulders.
“Kidnapping now?” Yvette slid in reluctantly.
“Dramatic.” He didn’t look up from his screen. “Driver, circle the block.”
The car pulled smoothly into traffic. Yvette pressed herself against the opposite door, needing distance.
“Interesting business model you have,” Archer said conversationally. “Catering, but specialized in small events. Modest but steady income. Apartment in a decent neighborhood, nothing fancy but safe. Very… careful.”
“Is there a point to this?”
“The point is that you’re living like someone in hiding.” He finally looked at her, eyes sharp. “No social media presence, business registered under an LLC, payments mostly in cash. What are you afraid of, Yvette?”
“Privacy isn’t fear.”
“No, but this level of caution is.” He set aside the iPad. “I had you investigated. Don’t look so shocked—you knew I would. What surprised me was how little there was to find. It’s like you ceased to exist five years ago and only recently rematerialized.”
Her pulse hammered. “People reinvent themselves. It’s not a crime.”
“No, but it’s curious.” He leaned forward. “Almost as curious as the fact that you listed your emergency contact as a Mrs. Chen, not family. Or that you pay for a parking spot you don’t use—one with a clear view of your apartment entrance.”
“You’re paranoid.”
“Am I?” He pulled out a folder. “Medical records are harder to hide. Especially when someone pays cash at emergency clinics. Broken ribs two years ago. Dislocated shoulder three years ago. Various contusions and lacerations. Either you’re very clumsy or—”
“Stop.” The word came out sharp. “Just stop.”
“Who hurt you?” His voice had gone deadly soft. “Give me a name.”
“It’s over. It doesn’t matter.”
“Everything about you matters.” He echoed his words from the hotel. “Was it him? The man from the photos?”
“No!” The idea of gentle Marcus hurting anyone was absurd. “God, no. It was… it was nothing.”
“Try again.”
Yvette closed her eyes, exhausted by the weight of lies. “My father owed money. To the kind of people who collect in blood. I tried to pay them off, but the interest… it got out of hand. They used me as an incentive for others who were late. A warning.”
“Your father.” His voice was flat. “The man who died four years ago?”
She nodded. “Heart attack. But the debt didn’t die with him. These people… they don’t forgive. They just transfer the balance.”
“So you’ve been paying your dead father’s debts. With what money?”
“Whatever I could earn. It’s almost done. Another year, maybe two—”
“No.” The word was final. “Give me names. Amounts. Everything.”
“I can’t involve you!”
“You involved me five years ago when you made me think you betrayed me.” He gripped her chin, forcing eye contact. “You involved me when you let me believe I wasn’t enough. You involved me every night I woke up wondering what I did wrong.”
“That’s why I left!” The words exploded out of her. “They knew about you. Knew I loved you. They said they’d hurt you, use you, destroy your family’s business. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let that happen.”
“So you destroyed me yourself instead?”
“I set you free!” Tears streamed down her face. “I gave you a reason to hate me, to move on, to build the life you have now. Look at you—you’re everything you were meant to be. Powerful, successful, untouchable. None of that would have happened if you’d been dragged into my father’s mess.”
Chapter 9: Revelations
The car had stopped moving. They sat in tense silence, the weight of truth heavy between them.
“The photos,” Archer said finally. “Tell me about the photos.”
“Staged.” The admission felt like pulling glass from a wound. “My friend Marcus—he’s gay, happily married now. He helped me create evidence that would make you hate me enough to stay away.”
“Jesus Christ, Yvette.”
“I know how it sounds. But you didn’t know these people. What they were capable of. What they’d already done to my father, to me. I couldn’t risk you.”
“That wasn’t your choice to make,” Archer said, his voice dangerously quiet. “You decided my fate without giving me a say. Do you have any idea what that did to me? Thinking the woman I loved, the woman I would have died for, threw me away for someone else?”
“You nearly did die!” The words ripped from her throat. “That accident—”
“Happened because I was driving too fast in the rain, trying to catch you. Because I was out of my mind with pain and betrayal. Because you made me believe I was worthless.” He punched the seat beside him, making her jump. “I would have fought them, Yvette. I would have fought anyone who tried to hurt you.”
“And they would have destroyed you. Don’t you understand? You were twenty-three, idealistic, in love. They were career criminals who’d killed for less than what my father owed. I couldn’t—” Her voice broke. “I couldn’t lose you that way.”
“So you chose to lose me another way.”
“Yes.” She met his eyes, letting him see the full weight of her choice. “And I’d do it again. Because you’re alive. You’re successful. You’re safe. That’s all that mattered.”
“You’re still lying.” He studied her with that laser focus that had made him millions. “You’re still hiding something. What aren’t you telling me?”
The moment stretched between them, taut as a wire. This was it—the point of no return.
“Driver, take us to Ms. Taylor’s apartment,” Archer ordered suddenly.
“No!” Panic flared. “You can’t—”
“Then tell me what you’re hiding.” His hand caught hers, thumb stroking over her racing pulse. “Trust me, Yvette. For once in your life, trust me with the truth.”
She looked at him—really looked. Saw not just the man he’d become but traces of the boy who’d loved her. The boy who’d planned their future down to the names of their children. The boy who’d held her after her mother died and promised she’d never be alone again.
“There’s someone you need to meet,” she whispered.
Chapter 10: The Son
Archer followed her up the narrow stairs to her third-floor apartment, his presence overwhelming in the small space. Yvette’s hands shook as she unlocked the door.
“Mrs. Chen,” she called softly. “I’m home.”
The elderly woman emerged from the living room, eyes widening when she saw Archer. “Mr. Blackstone! My goodness, what an honor. I’ve read about you in the papers.”
“Mrs. Chen watches…” Yvette swallowed hard. “She helps me sometimes.”
“Such a good boy,” Mrs. Chen continued, gathering her things. “Just like his pictures in the business section. Same eyes as—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Chen.” Yvette ushered her toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Same eyes as who?” Archer asked, his voice deceptively calm.
That’s when Aiden appeared in the hallway, rubbing sleepy eyes with one small fist, his favorite toy train clutched in the other. He was barefoot, wearing dinosaur pajamas, his dark hair sticking up at odd angles.
“Mommy?” he said, then noticed Archer. Those distinctive amber eyes—exact replicas of his father’s—widened with curiosity. “Who’s that?”
The silence was deafening. Yvette watched the blood drain from Archer’s face as he stared at the child who was so obviously his. Watched comprehension dawn like a nuclear explosion.
“Baby, go back to bed,” she managed. “Mommy will be there in a minute.”
“But I’m not tired,” Aiden protested, taking a step toward them. “Is he your friend? He’s really tall.”
Archer dropped to one knee, bringing himself to Aiden’s eye level. His hand trembled as he reached out, then pulled back, unsure of his welcome.
“What’s your name?” he asked hoarsely.
“Aiden Marcus Taylor.” The boy puffed out his chest proudly. “I’m four and three-quarters. What’s your name?”
“Archer.” The word came out strangled. “I’m… I’m an old friend of your mom’s.”
“Cool.” Aiden stepped closer, studying Archer with that intense focus that was purely Blackstone. “You have eyes like mine. See?” He pointed to his own eyes, then Archer’s. “Amber. That’s a color and a rock.”
“That’s right.” Archer’s voice cracked. “You’re very smart.”
“I know.” Aiden beamed. “Mommy says I get it from my dad. But I don’t have a dad. Do you want to see my trains?”
“Aiden, bed. Now.” Yvette’s tone brooked no argument.
The boy sighed dramatically but obeyed, padding back down the hall. “Night, Mr. Archer. You can see my trains next time.”
The moment his door closed, Archer rose slowly, his face a mask of barely controlled fury.
“Five years,” he said, each word precise as a blade. “You kept my son from me for five years.”
“I can explain—”
“Explain?” He backed her against the wall, his body caging hers. “Explain how you stole five years of his life? His first words, first steps, first everything? Explain how you let me believe I was the last of my family line while my son was growing up without me?”
“I was protecting him!”
“From me?” The hurt in his voice was devastating. “You thought I’d hurt my own child?”
“From them. From the people who—”
“The people you should have let me handle!” He punched the wall beside her head, making her flinch. “I had resources, connections. I could have protected both of you. Instead, you chose to what—raise him alone? In this tiny apartment, scraping by, while I had everything he could ever need?”
“He has everything he needs.” Maternal instinct flared, giving her courage. “He’s loved, he’s safe, he’s happy. That’s what matters.”
“He doesn’t have a father!”
“Because his father was supposed to be safe! Free! Building his empire without the burden of—”
“Burden?” Archer’s hand wrapped around her throat, not squeezing but holding her in place. “You think our child would have been a burden to me?”
“I think you would have thrown everything away to protect us. And they would have destroyed you for it.”
“That should have been my choice.” His forehead pressed against hers, his breath ragged. “My choice, Yvette. My son. My family. My fucking choice.”
“I’m sorry.” The words were inadequate, but they were all she had. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t give me back five years.” He released her, stepping back. “Get your things. Both of you. You’re coming with me.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Pack what you need for a few days. We’ll send for the rest later.”
“We can’t just—”
“You can and you will.” His CEO voice was in full effect. “My son has been living in hiding because of your father’s mistakes. That ends now. You’re moving into my penthouse where I can protect you both properly.”
“Archer, be reasonable—”
“Reasonable?” He laughed bitterly. “I’ve just discovered I have a four-year-old son. Reasonable is not on the table. You have two choices: come willingly, or I file for emergency custody and let the courts sort it out. What’s it going to be?”
Chapter 11: New Arrangements
The penthouse was overwhelming in daylight. Aiden stood in the middle of the vast living room, clutching his train and staring with wide eyes at the panoramic city views.
“Is this a hotel?” he whispered to Yvette.
“No, baby. This is… this is where we’re going to stay for a while.”
“With Mr. Archer?”
“Yes.”
Aiden considered this, then walked over to where Archer stood by the windows, watching them with an unreadable expression.
“Do you have trains?” the boy asked seriously.
“No,” Archer admitted. “But I can get some. What kind do you like?”
“All kinds. But especially Thomas. He’s blue and the number one.” Aiden studied Archer with that disconcerting intensity. “Are you rich?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Mommy says rich people sometimes forget to be kind. But you seem kind.”
Something shifted in Archer’s expression. He crouched down again, meeting Aiden’s eyes. “Your mom is very smart. Sometimes people do forget. But I promise to try very hard to remember.”
“Okay.” Aiden nodded, apparently satisfied. “Can I explore?”
“Of course. This is your home now.”
The casual claim of ownership made Yvette’s chest tight. She watched Aiden wander off, touching things carefully, his natural curiosity overcoming shyness.
“We need to talk,” Archer said quietly. “About everything. But first—” He pulled out his phone. “I need to make some calls. Security arrangements, legal matters. The people who hurt you—do you have names?”
“Archer—”
“Names, Yvette. I won’t ask again.”
She gave them, watching his face darken with each detail. When she finished, he nodded once.
“It’ll be handled. They won’t come near you or Aiden again.”
“You can’t just make them disappear.”
“Watch me.” He moved closer, backing her against the kitchen counter. “I’ve spent five years building power, influence, connections. Time to put them to use.”
“This isn’t what I wanted.”
“No? What did you want? To keep lying? To keep my son from me? To go on pretending we’re strangers?”
“I wanted you safe!”
“I’m not safe.” His hands gripped the counter on either side of her, caging her in. “I haven’t been safe since the day I met you. You’re in my blood, Yvette. You and now him. Did you really think you could keep us apart forever?”
“I thought… I thought you’d moved on. Found someone else. Started a family the right way.”
“The right way?” He laughed humorlessly. “There is no right way without you. I tried, God knows I tried. Brought women to galas, went through the motions. But they weren’t you. They didn’t challenge me, didn’t make me want to be better, didn’t set my blood on fire with just a look.”
“Archer—”
“I’m going to marry you.” The statement was matter-of-fact, like he was discussing a business merger. “For Aiden, for appearances, for a dozen practical reasons. But mostly because I can’t stand the thought of you belonging to anyone else ever again.”
“That’s not a proposal.”
“No, it’s a fact.” He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “You can fight me on it, but we both know how this ends. You in my bed, wearing my ring, raising our son together. The way it should have been from the start.”
Chapter 12: Learning Curve
The next weeks passed in a blur of adjustments. Aiden adapted with the resilience of childhood, delighting in his new room (“It’s bigger than our whole old apartment!”), the endless supply of trains, and especially in Archer’s focused attention.
“He’s so like you,” Yvette said one evening, watching them build an elaborate track system across the living room floor. “The concentration, the determination to get it perfect.”
“He’s better than me,” Archer replied without looking up. “Kinder. That’s you in him.”
They’d fallen into an awkward routine—Archer working from home more often, family dinners, bedtime stories. Playing house while the tension between them simmered just beneath the surface.
“Train goes through the mountain,” Aiden explained seriously. “But it’s dark, so he needs to be brave.”
“Sometimes darkness is necessary,” Archer agreed. “To appreciate the light.”
The boy nodded sagely, then looked between his parents. “Are you going to get married? Brendan’s parents got married and now he has a baby sister.”
Yvette choked on her wine. “Aiden—”
“Yes,” Archer said simply. “If your mom agrees.”
“Cool.” Aiden went back to his trains. “Can I be in the wedding? I want to wear a suit like yours.”
“Of course. You’ll be the most important person there.”
Later, after Aiden was asleep, Yvette confronted him. “You can’t just tell him we’re getting married.”
“Why not? It’s true.” Archer poured himself a scotch, lounging on the sofa like a lazy predator. “The paperwork is already drawn up. Prenup that ensures you’re protected, custody arrangements that give us equal rights, trust fund for Aiden. All very civilized.”
“How romantic.”
“You want romance?” He set down his glass, rising with fluid grace. “Fine.”
Before she could react, he’d pulled her into his arms, dipping her dramatically. “Yvette Taylor, love of my life, mother of my child, destroyer and rebuilder of my world—will you marry me?”
“Archer—”
“Will you let me wake up next to you every morning? Will you let me prove that forgiveness is possible? Will you give me the chance to love you the way I should have five years ago—with my eyes wide open and my heart fortified?”
“This is crazy.”
“Sanity is overrated.” He pulled her upright but didn’t release her. “Say yes.”
“Yes.” The word escaped before she could stop it. “But—”
He silenced her with a kiss that incinerated her protests. When they finally broke apart, her knees were weak and her resolve shattered.
“No buts,” he said against her lips. “Just yes. Just us. Just finally.”
Epilogue: Six Months Later
The wedding was small—just family and close friends in the penthouse garden terrace. Aiden, resplendent in his matching suit, carried the rings with solemn pride.
“You may kiss your bride,” the officiant said, and Archer did, thoroughly and with enough heat to make the guests chuckle.
“Gross,” Aiden announced, making everyone laugh. “But also nice. Does this mean I have a dad now?”
“You’ve always had a dad,” Archer said, scooping him up. “I just had to find my way home.”
Later, as guests mingled and Aiden charmed everyone with his train facts, Yvette found herself on the same terrace where everything had started months ago.
“No escape plans?” Archer asked, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
“No.” She leaned into his warmth. “I’m done running.”
“Good.” He pressed a kiss to the spot where her shoulder met her neck, the place that always made her shiver. “Because I’d just chase you. I’ll always chase you, Yvette. In this life and the next.”
“Even though I kept Aiden from you? Even though I cost you five years?”
“You gave me him. You protected him when I couldn’t. You loved him enough for both of us.” His arms tightened. “The past is past. We have now. We have forever.”
“Forever is a long time.”
“Not long enough.” He turned her in his arms, cupping her face. “I love you. I’ve loved you through betrayal and lies and truth and forgiveness. I’ll love you through whatever comes next.”
“I love you too.” The words came easier now, weighted with truth instead of fear. “I never stopped.”
“I know.” He kissed her again, soft and sweet. “You loved me enough to break my heart to save my life. Now let me love you enough to heal us both.”
As the sun set over the city, painting the sky in shades of amber that matched their son’s eyes, Yvette finally believed in second chances. They’d been trapped by circumstances, by fear, by love itself. But in the end, that same love had redeemed them.
“Mommy! Daddy! Come see!” Aiden’s voice carried across the terrace. “Uncle Marcus brought trains!”
They went together, hand in hand, toward their son and their future. The past would always be part of them—scars and secrets and stolen years. But it no longer defined them.
Love did. Love, and the family they’d fought through hell to become.
In the end, that was redemption enough.
Trapped And Redeemed By His Love — A Short Bedtime Story (End) 👉 Customize Your Own Bedtime Story
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