Caitlyn
I keep waiting for reality to crash down on me.
The silk dress is wrinkled, the zipper fragile, my hair a wild mess I can’t fix with my fingers.
I should look ridiculous walking through the hotel lobby with Sebastian’s hand firm at the small of my back.
Instead, people part for us without hesitation, eyes flicking once toward him before sliding away.
It’s like an invisible shield follows him, made of authority and fear.
And I’m inside it.
The rational part of me whispers that this is madness.
I don’t belong at his side. I belong in my lab, with orchids and test tubes and quiet.
My sister only gave me the ticket so I’d have an excuse to get out of the lab for one night, and somehow I ended up here; claimed, undone, agreeing to follow a stranger home for the weekend.
No, not a stranger.
Sebastian.
The name alone makes my chest tight.
He guides me into a sleek black car waiting at the curb.
The driver doesn’t ask questions, just opens the door and dips his head like he’s greeting royalty.
The interior smells of leather and pine.
I slide into the backseat, pulse racing, as Sebastian settles beside me, his thigh pressed firmly to mine.
“Relax,” he says softly, his hand covering mine where it twists in my lap. “No one will touch you. Not while you’re with me.”
The possessive certainty in his voice should scare me. Instead, it sends a strange, electric calm through me.
We pull into the stream of traffic, the city blurring past. I watch skyscrapers flash by, people hurrying along sidewalks, horns blaring. All of it feels distant, like I’ve slipped into another reality.
Sebastian watches me instead of the skyline. His gaze is heavy, searing. I turn to him, cheeks heating. “What?”
“You’re thinking too much.”
“I’m a scientist. Thinking too much is kind of my job.”
His mouth curves faintly. “Tell me.”
I hesitate, then sigh. “I’m wondering what I’m doing here. Why I said yes. Why I’m still sitting next to you instead of running back to my lab.”
“And?”
“And…” My voice trails off as I look at him. His eyes are sharp, dark, dangerous, but they soften when they meet mine. My chest tightens. “And I don’t want to run.”
His hand squeezes mine, a quiet victory, before he lifts my fingers to his mouth and kisses them. The simple gesture wrecks me more than last night’s intensity.
The car slows, turning down a private drive flanked by tall iron gates. They open without hesitation.
Sebastian’s home, or fortress, rises ahead. A modern mansion of steel and glass set back from the street, surrounded by manicured gardens that look more like a show of dominance than decoration. It’s beautiful in a cold way, like an orchid kept alive under glass, perfect and untouchable.
My stomach knots as we pull up the drive.
Inside, the air smells faintly of wood polish. Marble floors gleam under soft lighting. Everything is minimalist, expensive, controlled. There are no family photos, no clutter, no softness.
It feels like him.
He doesn’t release my hand as he leads me deeper into the house. The silence is heavy, broken only by our footsteps.
“What do you think?” he asks, his voice low, curious.
I glance around at the flawless furniture, the enormous windows, the sleek art. “It’s beautiful. And cold.”
His mouth curves. “So are you, little botanist. At first glance.”
My breath hitches. “I’m not cold.”
“No,” he agrees, stepping closer, crowding me against the edge of a glass table. His hand skims down my arm, goosebumps rising in its wake. “You burn. And I like it best when you burn for me.”
I shiver, caught between wanting to argue and wanting him to touch me again.
Instead, I clear my throat. “You asked about my research earlier.”
He tilts his head. “Yes.” His eyes stay locked on me, sharp and focused, as if every word matters. “And what drives you?” he asks.
The question stops me. No one’s ever asked me that either. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s… the idea that beauty shouldn’t have to die just because the world changes. That it deserves a chance to adapt, to keep thriving.”
His expression softens in a way I’ve never seen before. He steps closer, his thumb brushing my jaw. “Then you and I aren’t so different.”
“How?”
“I kill to protect what’s mine. You create to protect what’s yours.”
The starkness of his words makes me shiver. But instead of recoiling, I find myself leaning into his touch.
“You’re not alone anymore,” he whispers. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself. Not your work. Not your life. Not your loneliness.”
The last word hits me like a blow. My throat tightens. He sees too much.
I look away, blinking hard. “You don’t know me.”
He tips my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I know enough. Enough to know I want you forever.”
And then he kisses me, not with the wild hunger of last night, but with slow, devastating certainty. His lips move against mine like he’s writing a promise I’ll never be able to erase.
When he pulls back, my knees are weak, my mind spinning.
He smiles faintly, triumphant. “Come upstairs. Let me show you your room.”
My laugh is shaky. “Your room, you mean.”
“No.” His gaze burns. “Ours.”
The word steals my breath.
I follow him.