Chapter 17 Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
This morning, I awoke with a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. And it has everything to do with Ivy.
Last night’s dinner was too comfortable. Too easy. Too normal.
By the time my head hit the pillow, I was so freaked out, I could barely sleep. It made me question everything. Fear rolls through every orifice as I replay every moment since the day I met her.
I crawl out of bed, surprised that my clothes are still on the floor. I grab my sweatpants and put them on, going about my normal routine, trying not to think of her.
My shoulders tighten as I descend the stairs, listening for her voice.
But it is silent.
When I walk into the kitchen, I clock two things immediately: Ivy isn’t in it, and the familiar aroma of coffee and breakfast is missing.
“Hey,” I say to Drew, who is sitting at the table, a mug of coffee in one hand, his phone in the other.
“Mornin’.” He briefly meets my gaze, then looks away.
“Where’s Ivy?” I ask.
“No idea. I figured something happened after I went to bed. Did you guys have a fight?”
I shake my head. “No. Everything was fine when she left.”
Drew looks skeptical but doesn’t say anything.
I run a hand through my hair. “I think I’ll leave early. Get coffee and breakfast.”
“Good idea.” His eyes are on his phone. “Hopefully she’s here for dinner.”
All I can do is nod. I have no idea. Ivy’s never done this before. It’s so out of character.
I spin around and head back to my room. It’s too quiet since she left. I know I should feel relieved. Instead, I feel like I’ve missed an appointment I didn’t know I made.
I leave early, tossing a casual “See you later,” over my shoulder as I head to the garage.
It’s odd how I keep looking for her. When I entered the garage, I expected her to pop out of a darkened corner. When I backed out of the driveway, I expected her to step out from behind the shrubs.
Nothing.
I drive by her house, but there is no sign of her.
After stopping and getting a coffee and a donut, I go to the office, half expecting her to appear and lecture me about eating a donut for breakfast.
“Empty calories,” she’d say, wagging her finger at me. “You need protein.”
But that doesn’t happen.
My steps feel heavy as I enter my office and shut the door behind me.
By ten-thirty, I’ve rewritten the same sentence four times.
Normally, this kind of work centers me. I’m paid to see what others miss—to identify risks before they metastasize, to tell people the truths they don’t want to hear.
CEOs, board members, men with more money than sense.
They trust me because I don’t get emotional. I don’t attach. I assess and move on.
Today, none of it holds.
I stare at the glass wall of my office, the city stretching beyond it in sharp lines and motion, and all I can think about is last night.
The way Ivy sat beside me at the table like she belonged there—the warmth of her presence close enough to feel without touching.
The sound of her laughter blending with Drew’s, soft and unguarded.
It was comfortable.
That’s the word that keeps circling.
And it scares the hell out of me.
I don’t do comfortable. Comfortable leads to habits. Habits lead to dependence. Dependence leads to loss of control.
This—whatever this is with Ivy—has already gone too far.
I need distance. Boundaries.
Not the obvious kind. Locking her out wouldn’t work. It hasn’t ever worked. I’m fairly certain she found the spare key I hid outside months ago. Given her talent for emerging from shrubbery and shadows, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’d located it the first week.
It has to be subtle. Predictable changes. Shifts in routine. Less availability.
I’m halfway through bullet-pointing my own emotional detachment when it occurs to me that I’m treating my feelings like a security breach.
A knock taps against the glass, saving me from myself. “Ready?” Marcus asks, already checking his watch.
Marcus Hale. Mid-forties. Clean-cut and pragmatic. One of the few people whose opinions I respect without reservation.
“Yeah,” I say, closing the file. “Let’s grab lunch.”
We step into the elevator, the hum of descent filling the silence.
“Café sound good?” Marcus asks.
“Sure,” I say. “Lead the way.”
I haven’t been there in a while. But the food is always good.
The walk clears my head a little. The cold air, movement, and noise are refreshing. I almost convince myself the knot in my chest is fading.
Then Marcus reaches for the café door and opens it, gesturing for me to enter. The bell chimes as I step inside.
A familiar, warm, and bright voice cuts through the space. It’s too damn recognizable. One I’d know in my sleep.
Of course. The universe has jokes today.
Like a moth to a flame, I head to the counter, my eyes never leaving Ivy.
“I’m telling you, it’s all about timing,” Ivy says, one hip cocked casually, a smile on her lips that looks…
different. She’s not wearing my oversized sweatshirt.
Instead, she’s clad in tight black skinny jeans, heeled boots that lengthen her legs, and a fitted black top that clings to her waist like it was made for her.
Her hair is down, glossy and loose around her shoulders.
She looks gorgeous.
This feels unnecessary. And personal.
A deep, male laugh rings out across from her. It’s casual. Easy.
I follow the sound.
He’s leaning against the counter, his attention riveted on her. I take him in. Dirty blond hair, a little messy like he didn’t bother taming it. Early to maybe mid-twenties. Younger than me. Around Ivy’s age.
His posture is relaxed. He’s watching her like he enjoys the view.
Something tightens low in my chest.
Ivy turns slightly—and then she sees me.
Our eyes lock.
For half a second, something flickers across her expression. Surprise, maybe. Or satisfaction. It’s gone too quickly to name.
Her smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens.
And in that moment, I understand exactly how badly I’ve underestimated her.
Marcus says something from behind me, but I don’t hear it.
All I can hear is Ivy laughing softly as the blond man says something I can’t hear, her body angled toward him.
A sharp, unfamiliar emotion coils through me. Possession.
The realization lands hard and undeniable: I wanted boundaries. Ivy is giving them to me.
And now, she’s testing how much of me she already owns.
“Marcus,” I say quietly, looking at him over my shoulder. “Give me a minute.”
He glances at me, then follows my line of sight. His brows lift—just a fraction—but he nods and peels off toward a table near the windows.
I move closer.
Ivy and the blond guy continue chatting. Her fingers are curled around a coffee cup like she has nowhere else she needs to be.
I hate how natural it looks.
I stop beside her. “Ivy.”
Her head turns.
There it is—that flicker again. Satisfaction this time. Clean and unmistakable. She takes me in slowly, deliberately, like she’s memorizing the version of me I brought into her day.
“Sebastian,” she says, bright and calm. “Hello.”
The blond guy straightens, glancing between us. “Hey,” he says, his voice friendly. “You want to order? We’re—”
“I’ll have a black coffee,” I say, my eyes never leaving Ivy.
The guy blinks. “Uh. Sure.”
When he moves, ringing up my order, I glance over at the nametag on his shirt. Aaron. Of course, that’s his name. It fits his face.
Ivy tilts her head. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I don’t come here often.”
She nods, already knowing that.
I lower my voice. “We need to talk.”
“We are,” she says easily. “Right now.”
Aaron turns and sets my coffee on the counter. His gaze lingers on Ivy just a second too long. A wire pulls tight inside my chest.
I slide a bill across the counter without looking and grab the coffee. “Thanks.”
He nods, then hesitates. “So, uh—Ivy, I have a fifteen-minute break. I’ll be at the back table.”
“Save me a seat,” she says, sweet as anything.
My hand wraps around her arm, leading her to the opposite side of the café for privacy.
I release her just as quickly, like my hand made a decision my brain didn’t authorize. “You didn’t come by this morning.”
“I know.”
“That’s new.”
“So is this,” she replies, gesturing lightly around us. “You’re in the city. I’m in the city. It happens.”
I take a measured breath. “You’re changing the rules.”
She steps closer—close enough that I can smell her floral shampoo. “No,” she says softly. “You don’t get to be the only one with options.”
Options. The word lands where she intends it to.
I don’t like the implication that I’m an option.
I especially don’t like that I made myself one.
I glance past her to the table where Aaron is sitting. He’s watching us now. I size him up. He’s young. Open. Unafraid. He probably locks his doors.
I immediately dislike him.
I look back at Ivy. “This isn’t a game.”
Her eyes soften. “I know.”
“And yet,” I say, “you’re playing.”
She smiles. “Only because you are.”
I grip the coffee cup harder than necessary. Heat bites into my palm. I welcome it.
“I don’t like it,” I tell her. “I don’t like being surprised.”
She considers that. Truly considers it. Then she nods. “I know.”
She regards me for a moment, green eyes assessing me. “We aren’t anything, Sebastian. You said so yourself.”
Ouch. She’s right. I told her that.
I realize then that this wasn’t her testing my boundaries. It was her showing me where they are.
“I have a meeting,” I say, already stepping back.
“With Marcus,” she says. “You always take the corner table when you come here.”
I stop.
She just watches me. Patient. Pleased. Certain.
I turn and walk away before I do something irreversible.
Behind me, I feel her eyes linger.
When I reach Marcus, he looks up. “Everything okay?”
I take a seat, open my laptop, and lie through my teeth. “Fine.”
I try to ignore Ivy passing my table and sliding into the seat opposite Aaron. Even though my fingers curl into a fist when I see him smiling at her.
“Okay, so where were we?” I say, trying to distract myself.
Marcus glances past me, then back again. “Trouble in paradise?”
“No,” I say, immediately.
Across the room, Ivy laughs. I bristle.
Marcus hums. “Sure.”
I’ve built my life around control. Distraction-free. Just the way I like it.
For the first time, I realize I’m out of control.
And I don’t like it.