39. Sebastian
Chapter 39
Sebastian
T he media is still in a frenzy. Photographers camp outside my office building, snapping pictures of nothing, desperate for a glimpse of the spectacle they think they understand.
I’m used to the attention by now. But Genevieve isn’t, and I hate what this is doing to her. Silas has mitigated the issue as well as he can, but the vultures are still circling.
I can manage my own destruction. I’m built for it. But watching her pay for it too? It makes me want to tear the city apart and make people pay for what they’ve done.
Still, there’s a strange peace underneath the anger. A sense of inevitability. No amount of whispered gossip or pixelated photos will ever touch what we’ve built. What we’re still building.
Genevieve gave me a second chance. It guts me in ways I’m still trying to understand.
There’s nothing casual about it. Nothing clean. Loving her isn’t a simple thing. It’s brutal and consuming and so far outside the careful lines I spent my life drawing that sometimes I hardly recognize myself. But it isn’t just her anymore.
It’s the child she’s carrying. It’s Max and Silas, standing beside her, not as obstacles, but as part of the life she’s chosen to build. A life I never expected to want—and sure as hell never expected to be invited into.
After what I did, I knew I didn’t have a leg to stand on. I was the one who broke us. I was the one who ran. If she was willing to let me come back at all, it was a goddamn miracle.
And the truth is, I don’t want her to give them up.
I’ve seen the way they look at her. I’ve never seen them like this—never seen them want anything the way they want our girl and the life she’s growing inside her.
It should make me jealous. Maybe it would have, once. Now, it just makes me grateful.
Because I know the man I was before wouldn’t have been enough. Not on my own.
She deserves the world. And if it takes three of us to give it to her, then so be it.
I head toward the car, hitting the unlock button on the fob, the lights flashing in the early dusk—illuminating a silhouette I thought I’d rid myself of for good.
Heather.
She’s leaning against the hood of my car like she owns it, one heel propped against the tire, arms crossed, expression carefully arranged into something soft and coy.
For a split second, I consider turning around.
Not because I’m afraid—she’s hardly a threat. But because I don’t waste time on things that don’t matter, and Heather Langley has been irrelevant for a long time.
"Move," I say, voice flat, disinterested.
Heather’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth she can’t quite hide. “Sebastian. You can’t tell me you didn’t miss me even a little.”
"You’re blocking my car.”
She laughs—a sound so forced, it barely sounds real—and pushes off the hood. “Oh, come on, Sebastian. Don’t be like that.”
I don’t respond. She fills the silence the way insecure people always do, by talking too much.
“I was just thinking…” She trails a finger along the curve of the hood, deliberate. "You and me...we could have a lot of fun together. No expectations. No messy feelings. Just good old-fashioned entertainment."
She flashes a smile meant to be seductive.
I tilt my head slightly, studying her with a cold, detached interest. "You’re really not good at reading a room, Heather."
Her smile wavers for a fraction of a second before she recovers, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a practiced move. "Or maybe I’m just not ready to give up. Not when it’s obvious you’re only pretending with her."
That gets my attention.
But not the way she wants.
I fold my arms across my chest, letting my silence stretch long enough to make her shift uncomfortably. She mistakes it for encouragement. She always did have a problem telling the difference between opportunity and impending doom.
"You really think she’s in this for love?" Heather says, her voice losing its syrupy coating, hardening into something brittle. "You think a girl like that ends up with three billionaires out of love ?"
My jaw tics once. A warning. She doesn’t catch it.
“She’s playing you," Heather presses. "All of you. And when she’s done, when she’s squeezed every last dollar, every last ounce of attention out of you—what do you think she’ll do? Stay loyal? Have your baby and live with you happily ever after? Please. She’ll leave the moment a better offer comes along."
I don’t react. Not outwardly. But a slow, sharp anger unfurls in my chest. I let it sharpen every word as I step closer, so close she has to crane her neck to maintain eye contact.
"And yet, she’s the best fucking thing that ever happened to me."
Without waiting for a response, I step around her, slide into my car, and slam the door hard enough that the frame shudders.
I don’t give her the satisfaction of a second glance. I start the car, pull into traffic, and leave her behind.
I don’t see the figure lurking in the shadowed alley across the street until I’m already merging onto the main road.
But I know the posture. Dom.
He steps forward just enough for me to catch the glint of a lighter in his hand, the flash of his face illuminated for a heartbeat.
I keep driving.
But the storm still simmers under my skin.
* * *
The city bleeds into dusk around me, the streets blurring into shadow as I pull into the garage beneath my building. I check my phone as I wait for the elevator. One new message.
Dom: You’re being stupid. She’s using you. But don’t worry… you’ll see soon enough.
My fingers tighten around the device as I stare at the screen for a long moment. Reading the words. Memorizing them. Weighing them the way I would any threat. Because that's exactly what this is.
Dom isn't done.
Heather isn’t, either.
I pocket the phone without responding. I won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he got under my skin. It’ll only fuel the fire.
Genevieve’s face flashes in my mind. The sound of her laugh. The way her eyes soften when she looks at me.
I spent years cultivating loyalty in others. Buying it. Demanding it. Never once letting myself believe that it could be real. And now, when it matters more than it ever has, I have to trust that what we’re building isn’t as fragile as Dom would have me believe.
Because if I let the seed of doubt he planted take root, I will tear it all down myself.
I unlock the door to my penthouse, step inside, and engage the security systems with a few quick swipes across the console. Lights bloom to life overhead, casting long shadows across the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I pour a drink without thinking—whiskey, neat—and toss it back with a sharp, burning swallow.
The phone buzzes again.
Another message. Another empty threat.
I power it off and toss it onto the kitchen counter. I'm done giving them my attention.
They want a war?
They’ll get one.
But it won’t be the kind they’re prepared for.
Because this time, I'm not fighting for money or power or reputation.
I'm fighting for her.
For us.
And I will burn the world to the ground before I let anyone take that from me.