Chapter 28 - Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
Drew is going on about the new pool table, his excitement evident by the way he’s flailing his hands around.
But I’m barely paying attention.
The second I stepped inside the house, the air felt… different. My eyes darted around, but everything was as I left it.
Drew followed me to the kitchen, still rambling about the pool table. But I wasn’t listening.
I swear I smell Ivy’s vanilla-sugar scent.
Maybe I’m going crazy.
The urge to check my bedroom hits hard. But I can’t have Drew following me.
I reach into the fridge and grab the wine. “How about a celebratory glass?”
Drew stops mid-sentence, blinking at me. “Sure.”
I grab it, then two glasses. I pour one for him and hand it to him. Then I pour one for me, knowing what I have to do.
Here goes nothing.
I raise my glass. “To new beginnings.”
Drew lifts his glass, bumping it against mine. He takes a sip, his eyes shining with happiness. For a moment, I’m envious.
As I lower my glass, I deliberately spill it on my shirt, hoping it looks like it slipped from my hand. “Shit.”
Drew laughs. “Clumsy today, bro?”
I give him a grin, reaching for some paper towels. “Apparently.” I dab at it, then gesture toward the stairs. “I’m gonna change.”
He nods and resumes drinking his wine, humming happily.
My heart pounds as I leave the room.
Once I’m out of his view, I bolt up the stairs and down the hall. My eyes are fixed on the closed door.
Was she here? Did she come over while we were gone?
I open my door and slip inside, shutting it behind me. I inhale deeply, then exhale.
But her scent isn’t in here.
Disappointment hits hard and fast. I spin around, looking at my bed. It’s still exactly the way I left it, bed still perfectly made.
My eyes drop to the floor. My sweatpants are still crumpled up where I left them.
I tear off my shirt and throw it at the hamper. Irrational anger rolls through me.
Taking my phone from my pocket, I sit on the bed and pull up the camera feed. I rewind it to the time we left, watching intently.
The doorknob doesn’t even turn the slightest bit.
I keep watching.
Nothing.
No sign of her.
I must be going fucking crazy.
I toss my phone on the nightstand and rub my forehead, debating if I should attempt to sneak over to her house tonight.
Part of me hoped she knew it was me tripping over the trash can and that she’d come over. It stings that she didn’t.
I should’ve gotten cameras for the downstairs. But I didn’t.
Not that it would matter. She wasn’t here.
It was just wishful damn thinking.
With a sigh, I put on my sweatpants and a sweatshirt, then head back to the kitchen. Drew is still there, staring at the picture of his new pool table on his phone.
“I’ve got a few things to do for work. I’ll be in my office.”
“Cool,” he says, distracted. “Have fun.”
My voice is dry. “Yeah. Loads.”
I glare at the bottle of wine before putting it away, then stomp to my office. Drew is oblivious to my tantrum. He was stroking the damn picture like he could feel the wood and velvet.
Dude needs a girlfriend.
I brood in my office for a bit before opening up Instagram and typing in her name. My breath hitches when I see her profile picture.
She doesn’t have anything set to private, which seems damn risky. Not that she posts often. She has some pictures of the garden behind her house. A few of her in an office… I squint and click on one. I study the bookshelf behind her.
That’s right. She mentioned writing books.
I zoom in on one, then pull up another browser window and type the name into . Paperback will take two days to get to me. I don’t have that long.
I check the app store on my phone. Sure enough, there’s a Kindle app. I download it, and create an account.
Her books are on Kindle Unlimited. I download all three of them.
I choose one that has a man in an unzipped hoodie, abs on display. I snort. My abs are just as good as his, if not better.
I’m really going crazy. Now I’m jealous of a book cover.
I sit back in my chair and begin reading.
A chapter later, I’m chuckling. Ivy wrote a book about a man stalking the female protagonist. What’s more, the male lead has some of my physical description and characteristics.
It’s getting late. I exit my office, deciding to go to bed and read some more. Drew’s door is closed, and when I check the house, he’s not there. Must’ve gone to bed.
I climb the stairs, still thinking of Ivy’s book.
I can’t wait to get back to the story.
Sunday mornings are supposed to be quiet. Restorative. Predictable.
But not this one.
First of all, I stayed up way too late reading. Once I hit that first sex scene, that was the end of me pretending I didn’t miss her.
Good thing I could hold my phone in one hand while the other was busy stroking myself, fantasizing I was doing those things to Ivy.
After I orgasmed, a sense of shame and longing rolled through me in equal parts. I grabbed a towel from my bathroom and cleaned up, then climbed back in bed.
It took me a while to fall asleep. I kept wondering if Ivy would like me to do those things to her. The idea was so thrilling, I felt myself growing hard again.
I refused to pleasure myself. I wanted her touch, not my own.
I finally fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of chasing Ivy through the forest and then carrying her to my bedroom.
But I didn’t sleep long.
The sun was barely over the horizon when I woke.
The first thing I did was grab my phone and check my camera feed to see if she climbed the balcony and snuck in.
Nope.
I run a hand through my hair, gritting my teeth. For the first time in a long time, I feel… hollow.
It’s quiet. Too quiet. The house is unnaturally still. No soft footfalls. No barely-there hum drifting down the hall. No faint scent of vanilla sugar clinging to the air like she was here.
I lie there longer than necessary, staring at the ceiling, waiting for a sound that doesn’t come.
I sit up, irritation tightening my chest for no rational reason. This is what I wanted. Space. Boundaries. Distance.
So why does it feel like someone removed a load-bearing wall while I slept?
I shower. Dress. Make coffee, which tastes all wrong.
I drink it anyway, standing at the kitchen counter, staring out through the glass doors at the balcony.
The fake tree sits in its corner, leaves perfectly still. Yesterday—just for a second—I could’ve sworn they moved. A faint rustle. A shift. Enough to make my pulse spike and my body go still, every sense sharpening.
It was just the wind. Ivy doesn’t hide. Ivy announces herself—with a bright smile and comfortable demeanor. Like this place is hers, too.
If she were out there, she’d want me to see her.
Which means she wasn’t.
The realization settles in more heavily than it should.
Hope is a dangerous thing. Especially when you don’t believe in it.
Drew wanders into the kitchen mid-spiral, hair sticking up, phone already in his hand.
“Morning,” he says cautiously, like he’s testing the temperature of a room he suspects might explode.
“Morning,” I reply, my tone neutral.
He eyes the coffee maker. “You made enough for two.”
I nod.
He doesn’t comment. Growth.
He leans against the counter, scrolling on his phone. “So… any plans today?”
“No.”
He hums. “Same.”
Silence stretches.
I feel his attention on me. Waiting.
“Don’t,” I say.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he replies.
“You were absolutely going to say something.”
Drew shrugs. “Maybe later.”
I finish my coffee and set the mug in the sink harder than necessary.
I shouldn’t go over there. I know that.
I also know I’m already halfway to convincing myself otherwise.
It would raise questions. Drew already suspects something. If he caught me leaving. Or worse, saw me in the mask—
No.
Absolutely not.
He’d never let it go.
I head upstairs, telling myself I’m just… pacing. Thinking. Definitely not checking the camera feed in my bedroom again.
Just once, I tell myself. For my sanity.
I scroll back through the footage from last night.
No movement.
No Ivy slipping into my room like she belongs there.
I close the app, my jaw tight.
What is she doing?
That question circles relentlessly.
Out with friends? Laughing with Aaron? Sitting somewhere sunny and carefree, not thinking about me at all?
The thought twists something sharp and unwelcome in my chest.
I shove my hands into my pockets and pace.
I could check on her. Casually. Without the mask.
Just… walk by. Make sure her house hasn’t burned down. See if she’s made progress with Mr. Pickles, the mangy, possibly rabies-infested cat. I mean, he’s a stray. He could rabidly attack her.
Entirely reasonable concerns.
I freeze.
I am absolutely no longer a reasonable man.
I open the closet where I hid the hoodie, gloves, and mask after Friday night’s fiasco. My clothing was a little dirty from the trash. All of it needs to be washed… but I can’t let Drew see it.
My pulse ticks up. I can just imagine Drew telling everyone he knows about my nefarious masked adventures.
Hell, he’d probably post anonymously on the community Facebook page. Remember when Sebastian Locke lost his mind and bought a ski mask? Not to ski, but to stalk his stalker. Imagine that!
I close the closet, my heart beating faster. I need to wash it and get it back to my car without him seeing.
Later.
The voice in my head argues, No, now. So you can go see—
I cut the thought off, stepping back from the closet.
No. I don’t need to go see her.
My hands curl into fists.
I don’t need her.
I just… miss the way she fills the quiet.
That’s all.
I move to the balcony doors and push them open, letting the cold air rush in. I step outside, scanning the yard, the woods, the path that leads to her house.
Nothing.
I exhale slowly.
This is fine.
It’s healthy.
This is what boundaries look like.
And yet, as I stand there alone, staring at the empty space where she should be, one truth settles in with brutal clarity: it’s the waiting that’s driving me crazy.
But deep down, there’s a bigger fear.
What if she’s gone—and never comes back?