Chapter 24 Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
I don’t go inside the café.
Instead, I stand across the street, far enough away that my reflection is not in the windows, but close enough that I can see Ivy clearly once she gets here.
I lean against the brick wall, my hands in my coat pockets, my posture loose enough that no one would look twice at me.
I’ve done surveillance in worse places, with higher stakes.
This should be nothing. I have, however, never conducted reconnaissance on a woman I’m pretending not to want while actively monitoring her café schedule.
I see her on the sidewalk, heading toward the café. She’s wearing dark jeans, a black top, and heels she doesn’t need but wears anyway. Her shiny brunette hair hangs in loose curls around her face.
I suck in a breath. She wears it like that for me.
Which is an absurd thing to think. Unfortunately, it is also correct.
My jaw tightens.
She takes a seat near the window. Visible to anyone on the street. Exactly where I’d see her if I were watching.
Which I’m not doing.
This isn’t watching. This is… situational awareness.
Or so I tell myself.
Someone lingers near the corner of the block.
I clock him without turning my head. Broad shoulders. Cheap leather jacket. Weight shifted onto one heel like he’s waiting instead of passing through.
Silas.
The recognition is immediate and unwelcome. He’s cleaned himself up since the bar—no split lip, no visible bruise—but his posture is the same. The kind of man who mistakes persistence for entitlement.
He’s not looking at me. He’s staring at the café. At Ivy.
My hands clench into fists. I angle my body slightly, enough to keep him in my peripheral vision so I can keep an eye on him.
He doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t retreat either.
Just stands there, checking his phone, glancing up now and then like he’s deciding whether something inside is worth the effort.
Ivy doesn’t see him.
Of course she doesn’t. When Ivy focuses on something, the rest of the world becomes irrelevant.
Silas eventually drifts off down the sidewalk, disappearing into foot traffic like a problem that hasn’t been solved—just postponed.
Men like him don’t forget being humiliated. Especially when they think someone else took what they were entitled to. They just wait until they think it’s safe to strike.
He won’t get the chance.
I’ll make sure of it.
The door to the store opens behind me. Someone brushes past. I don’t move.
Aaron spots her almost immediately. I recognize the shift in his body language—the way men do when something good walks into their space. I don’t appreciate him recognizing her value that clearly.
He smiles. She smiles back.
Something in my chest tightens, sharp and sudden. I ignore it.
This is what boundaries look like, I remind myself. Distance. Control.
She laughs at something he says. I can’t actually hear it from across the street, but it rings in my ears anyway.
Her smile is genuine. The way her eyes crinkle at the corners shows unadulterated happiness.
I liked it better when that smile was aimed at me.
I watch the way she wraps her hands around the mug. The way she leans in slightly when he talks. Not flirtatious—comfortable. Present.
She checks her phone.
Once.
Twice.
Then again, a third time.
Her eyes flick to the door when someone walks inside. Then she looks back at him.
She does that a couple more times before she stops.
She checks her phone once more.
Then she doesn’t look at the door again.
That’s when it hits: She wanted me to come.
I wish I were the kind of man who didn’t need that spelled out in body language and missed expectations pieced together through a café window while she’s laughing with another guy.
Evidently, I am not.
Aaron says something that makes her laugh again. He looks pleased with himself.
I don’t move. Don’t interrupt, even though every instinct in my body tells me to.
If I step inside and reclaim the space like every instinct in my body demands—which is an entirely unreasonable urge for a grown man standing across the street pretending he’s not emotionally compromised—I’ll confirm everything she already knows.
That I was watching.
That I care.
That the distance wasn’t indifferent.
It was restraint.
And my restraint is thinner than it’s ever been.
When she stands, I straighten without meaning to. My body reacts before my brain catches up.
She steps outside and pauses on the sidewalk. For half a second, I think she might look around, but she doesn’t.
I watch her leave. She walks with confidence, her pace unhurried.
She adjusts her bag on her shoulder and walks toward the waiting car like she never doubted how this would go. Like she didn’t lose anything by showing up.
I stay where I am until the car pulls away. Until the space she occupies is undeniably empty.
Only then do I exhale.
I told myself I wanted boundaries. Distance. Control.
What I didn’t anticipate was how much it would cost me to keep them.
I turn away from the café and start walking back to my office.
And the entire walk back, my thoughts haunt me.
I didn’t go inside.
But Ivy still won.
Even if she doesn’t know it.