31. Sebastian
Chapter 31
Sebastian
T he door to her office is locked. But I know she’s in there.
I stand there longer than I should, my hand still pressed to the handle, absorbing the fact that she’s really on the other side of it—aware I’m here—and still refusing to open it. A smarter man would walk away. But I just can’t.
I could force the door. I could rip the damn thing off its hinges if I wanted to. But I already broke too many things when I pushed her away, and kicking down a door isn’t going to fix what really matters.
Instead, I pull out my phone and fire off a text. Please open the door.
I wait. Thirty seconds. A full minute. Nothing.
I’m not asking for anything. Just a chance to talk.
Still nothing.
The urge to slam my fist through the nearest wall is strong. Instead, I exhale through my nose and turn, forcing every muscle in my body back under control. Losing it now would be useless. Worse—it would prove her right to lock me out.
I should call Dom. Focus on something I can control. Hunt down whoever pulled Heather’s strings and make sure they regret it. That’s the part I’m good at—tearing things apart until nothing’s left but the truth. But even as I think it, I know it’s a delay tactic. A distraction. The truth that matters most is standing behind that door, choosing not to open it.
But then my phone buzzes. A calendar notification—an alert Dom set without asking.
Doctor's appointment. 3:15 PM.
Perfect.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m standing in the fluorescent-lit lobby of the OB’s office, ignoring the curious glances from the receptionist. My gaze scans the waiting room until it lands on her. Genevieve.
Max and Silas are here, too. Of course. With their attention focused entirely on her, it takes them a moment to notice my presence. Their heads lift at the same time when they finally spot me.
They both stare at me as if they want to rip my head off. The hostility bleeding from them is enough to stop most men in their tracks.
I’m not most men.
Genevieve watches me as I cross the waiting room. She appears composed, but her hands betray her—clutching the edge of the chair hard enough that her knuckles turn white.
I come to a halt a few feet away, close enough that they have to acknowledge my presence but far enough that they can’t accuse me of crowding her. I meet Max’s gaze first, then Silas’s. Silent assessments pass between us. None of them are favorable.
I ignore them. I’m not here for them. I’m here for her.
My eyes lock on Genevieve. She lifts her chin by a fraction, the smallest tilt of defiance, but it’s there. Still fighting. Still refusing to crumble under the weight I put on her shoulders.
If she were anyone else, I would walk away. Cut my losses. Salvage what I could. But she isn’t anyone else. And there’s nothing left worth salvaging that doesn’t begin and end with her.
“I want to see the baby.”
She doesn’t answer immediately. Her eyes flicker to Max, to Silas, then back to me. I see the debate playing out across her face—the war between the old bruises I left and the part of her that hasn’t finished bleeding.
The nurse calls her name.
Genevieve stands, one hand drifting instinctively to her stomach. She hesitates.
Just for a second, but long enough that I feel it. Then she nods at me, and I have to fight the urge to throw my hands in the air in celebration.
The nurse eyes us warily, but keeps her mouth shut as she leads the way back. Max and Silas are close behind, both casting occasional looks back at me, making it abundantly clear that if I step out of line even once, they will not hesitate to intervene.
I don't blame them.
Inside the exam room, Genevieve sits carefully on the edge of the table, her palms flattening against the crinkling paper beneath her.
The doctor enters—an older woman with kind eyes but a no-nonsense demeanor. She greets Genevieve warmly, throwing a quick, cursory glance toward the rest of us. She doesn’t ask questions. I’m sure she’s seen worse.
Genevieve leans back against the table as the doctor preps for the ultrasound. Her shirt drifts higher, revealing the little bump beneath it, and every protective instinct I’ve spent the last two months trying to kill roars back to life.
The doctor presses the wand to her abdomen. She moves it around until she finds what she’s looking for. For a moment, there’s silence.
And then—there it is.
A heartbeat.
It fills the room, eclipsing everything else. The tension. The anger. The regret.
Everything I am—everything I’ve tried so hard to control—fractures under the sound of it. It’s not just a heartbeat. It’s my baby’s heartbeat.
Max looks down sharply, jaw working as he struggles to contain whatever he’s feeling. Silas turns his head slightly away, but not before I catch the flash of emotion in his eyes.
And Genevieve. Genevieve closes her eyes, a single tear slipping free before she can catch it. She wipes it away quickly, but I see it.
I feel it.
The doctor smiles gently and adjusts the machine, pointing out the different readings, but the words barely register. All I hear is that heartbeat.
We made that.
When it’s over, Genevieve sits up slowly, pulling her shirt down with shaking hands. She doesn’t look at me. Max steps in immediately, helping her off the table, saying something low under his breath. She nods, giving him a small, grateful smile that guts me.
When she turns to leave, her gaze brushes mine for half a second. I have so many things I want to say to her, but now isn’t the time.
Outside, the late afternoon heat cuts through the cool air of the building.
Silas brushes Genevieve’s elbow. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off, Gen.”
Genevieve presses her lips together, her gaze flickering up to meet his. There’s exhaustion etched into the delicate lines of her face, but there’s something harder there, too. A stubborn pride I recognize because I broke it once.
“I might,” she says, her voice quieter than usual.
Max steps in, his posture tighter than before. “What would it take?” he asks, the words rougher than he probably intended. “To forgive him.”
The question hangs there, a jagged blade suspended between us.
Genevieve’s eyes flicker—not to me, not to either of them, but somewhere farther away.
“I don’t know,” she says finally. “I don’t know if I can.”
I feel the words land inside me, ripping me to shreds with clean precision.
I earned this. Every ounce of her doubt, her distance, her refusal to hand over trust, I shattered with my own hands.
I step closer, ignoring the way Silas stiffens and Max steps toward her. I need her to hear me. I fucked up. In so many ways. But I will do anything for another chance.
“I understand. I do. But I’m not ready to give up either. Let me take you to dinner.”
She brow furrows.
“Not a date,” I add quickly. “I just want to talk. No pressure. No demands. Just…an hour. One hour to say what I should have said months ago.”
Silas looks ready to object. Max shifts his weight, calculating risks. But Genevieve is the only one whose decision counts. She studies me for a long moment, weighing the offer.
Finally, she nods. “Okay.”
Relief surges through my body.
It’s not a second chance. But it’s something. And it’s more than I deserve.
* * *
I watch her across the table, studying every small shift—the way her fingers twist on the stem of her water glass, the tight set of her shoulders. She’s on edge, worn thin from everything I’ve dragged her through, but she’s here. And I am not stupid enough to waste that.
I lean forward slightly. “Thank you,” I say, my voice low and steady. “For letting me hear the heartbeat today.”
Genevieve’s gaze flickers to mine, wary, as if she’s still trying to decide whether this is a mistake. I don’t blame her. I gave her every reason to walk away. But some stubborn, reckless part of me needs her to see I’m not letting go again. Not without a fight.
I clear my throat, a rare show of nerves. “I was wondering...” I trail off for a second, the words sticking harder than they should. “Could I...have a copy? Of the ultrasound?”
She blinks, surprised. Then something in her face softens, just barely. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small, folded printout, smoothing it between her fingers before sliding it across the table. Our hands brush briefly as I take it, and the contact—barely a touch—is enough to make my heart soar.
I study the grainy black-and-white image and my throat tightens. We’re having a baby.
When I glance up, Genevieve is watching me. Not with anger or bitterness. Just...sadness. Like she’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I’m not going to abandon you,” I say, forcing the promise past the thickness in my chest. “Not again. I’ll take the paternity test. I’ll jump through whatever hoops you want. Just…please.”
Genevieve’s mouth lifts in something that’s almost a smile. “It’s not just about showing up, Sebastian,” she says quietly. “It’s about staying. You don’t have the greatest track record there.”
I sigh, because she’s not wrong. “I didn’t bring you here to fix everything.”
She doesn’t respond, but her fork stills.
“I know I can’t fix what I broke that quickly.”
Genevieve glances up, her eyes wary, but clearer than before. “Then why are we here?”
I take a breath. “Because I fucking miss you. And you deserve the chance to say the things I wouldn’t let you say the first time.”
“You abandoned me with a note, Sebastian. After calling me yours, demanding I let you lay claim to me.”
“I didn’t expect this,” I say, and the admission costs me more than I like.
“No one did,” she says. “But it’s happening.”
And she’s right.
I open my mouth to say something else. I don’t know what. Something about being there. About stepping up. About what this could still be, if she’d let it—but the fragile moment we were building shatters into a thousand pieces.
Heather.
She walks in with that same calculating sway. She zeroes in on me immediately, cutting across the room without hesitation, ignoring everyone in her path.
Genevieve’s body goes rigid. The warmth drains from her face so quickly, I’m not even sure it was there in the first place.
Heather reaches my side and, before I can stop her. “There you are,” she says brightly.
Genevieve rises without a word. Her chair scrapes back, her napkin drops to the floor, and I feel the air change.
“Right,” she says, her voice clipped, hollow. “This was…this was a mistake, Sebastian. You’ll have a role in their life, but not mine. We should…let’s just communicate through our lawyers going forward.”
Then she walks away. Is this what she felt like when I left her on that island? I am a fucking bastard and I don’t deserve any amount of her attention. But I can’t walk away now.
Heather says something, but I don’t hear it.
Because I’m already on my feet, moving after the only person in this room that matters.
I’m out the door before the rest of the dining room can register the commotion. The evening air is chilly, but not enough to numb the edge cutting through my chest. Genevieve’s already halfway down the block, moving fast, arms wrapped around herself like armor.
“Genevieve,” I call, sharp enough to cut through the noise of the street.
She doesn’t stop.
I lengthen my stride, closing the distance until I’m directly behind her. “Stop.”
She spins, chin high, eyes flashing with fury.
“What, Sebastian?” she demands, voice shaking. “What do you want now? Haven’t you done enough?”
The words hit hard, but I take it. I deserve worse.
“I never slept with her,” I say, the words tearing out raw. “Heather. Nothing ever happened between us. Not before. Not now. It never will.”
Genevieve crosses her arms tighter over her chest, holding herself together with sheer force of will. I see her replaying every interaction, every doubt I didn’t silence when I had the chance.
“She’s been showing up. Everywhere. Uninvited,” I continue. “She doesn’t get it. I want nothing to do with her.”
Genevieve shakes her head slowly, disbelieving. “You didn’t deny it. When I asked you?—”
“I froze,” I snap, sharper than I intended. I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling hard. “I fucked up. I hesitated, and you thought it meant guilt. It wasn’t. It was...fear.”
She blinks, caught off guard. “Fear?”
I nod. “I don’t do relationships. I don’t do permanent. And you—” My voice drops, rough and unsteady. “You make me want things I don’t know how to deal with.”
Genevieve’s face softens, just a fraction. Enough to make the ache in my chest sharpen.
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” I say. “Letting you go. Letting you find someone who could give you the kind of life you deserve. Someone better. Safer.”
Her eyes widen, but she says nothing.
“I never stopped thinking about you.” I step closer, crowding into her space, daring her to push me away. “Not for a fucking second.”
I frame her face with my hands, savoring the feel of her skin against mine. I missed this. How did I ever think I could live without this woman?
The door to the restaurant bangs open behind us. Of course.
She stalks toward us, mouth already twisted into something triumphant. “Sebastian, what is going on? You’re making a scene.”
Genevieve stiffens, and for a second, I think she’s going to bolt again.
No. Not this time. I won’t let it happen.
I turn, intercepting Heather mid-step. “How did you know where I was?”
She blinks, thrown off by the question. “What?”
“I didn’t tell many people where I was going, certainly not you.” I step closer, forcing her back a step. “How. Did. You. Know?”
Heather falters, her mask cracking just enough for the truth to bleed through.
She tries to recover, plastering a coy smile across her face. "Sebastian, you’re being ridiculous. It’s a public restaurant. I just happened to be nearby."
"You’ve happened to be ‘nearby’ a lot lately. My office. My events. Now here."
Her mouth twists, defensive and desperate all at once. "I just thought?—"
"You didn’t think," I cut in, my voice dropping to something lethal. "You followed me. That’s stalking, Miss Langley, and that is grounds for legal action. Should we alert the authorities, Genevieve?"
I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting her to be gone. But she’s still there, standing stiff and uncertain a few feet away.
I refocus on Heather, who’s wilting under the weight of my stare.
"You will not come near me again. You will not show up at my office. You will not show up at my events. You will not involve yourself in my life. If you do, I will ruin you so thoroughly no one will remember your name."
Heather's throat works as she swallows, her bravado crumbling. "Sebastian?—"
"No," I bite out. "You’re done."
For a long moment, she just stands there, shaking with anger and something close to humiliation. Then, with a sharp pivot, she spins on her heel and storms off.
I wait until she disappears down the block before I turn back to Genevieve.
She hasn’t moved.
Her arms are still wrapped around herself, her face still tight and guarded, but there’s something else there now, too.
Hope.
I cross the distance between us slowly, careful not to push too hard. I fucked up too many times concerning her. One wrong move could undo everything.
Her mouth trembles before she firms it into a line. "You hurt me."
I nod, accepting the truth, letting it cut clean.
"I know. And I’ll spend every goddamn day proving I won’t make the same mistake twice. Or, a third time, I guess."
For a long, endless moment, she just stares at me, the war playing out across her face.
"Start by backing off," she finally says. "Give me space. I need time."
I nod once. Because if space is what it takes to have any chance at getting her back, I’ll give it to her.
Even if it kills me.