Chapter 14 Emotional Support Bros
Emotional Support Bros
Sebastian sprawled in his townhouse study, one leg slung over the arm of a leather chair, phone in hand. He was meant to be reviewing a budget briefing or was it a charity board report? Instead, he was lost in society gossip.
The tabloids, once a reliable morning ritual of judgment and schadenfreude, had taken a backseat to spying on his father and working with Harper. A headline stopped his thumb cold:
He scanned the subhead, which if anything was worse: Girlfriend Maya Sanchez and Co-founder Jordan Russell Allegedly in Bali, Together.
Sebastian winced. His friend Ethan’s double betrayal served up for public consumption, brutal.
Their friendship had begun, as most of Sebastian’s did, with poor judgment and international consequences. Ethan Klein, American tech genius, chaos consultant, and occasional disaster-magnet, had entered his life during one of his more memorable lapses in self-preservation.
They’d met at a rooftop party in Monaco five years ago, where Sebastian had been flirting with a woman who, in his defense, had not mentioned that she was dating a terrifying Russian oligarch with rumored ties to arms deals and was rumored to be the reason two men had “accidentally” fallen out of windows to their deaths.
Things escalated quickly.
One minute, Sebastian was seducing her over champagne. The next, a bodyguard was murmuring into an earpiece and the temperature of the evening had dropped ten degrees.
Ethan, then a scrappy tech millionaire with a disarming grin, had overheard the oligarch muttering that he was going to murder that smug little aristocrat.
He’d materialized at Sebastian’s side mid-conversation, drink in hand, and murmured, “Hey, you’re the viscount right?
Word of advice, you need to disappear. Like now.
The terrifying arms dealer over there is muttering about how he’s going to kill you.
Hopefully only figuratively but quite possibly literally. ”
They’d slipped out through the service corridor, dodged an irate sous chef, and ended up crouched behind a dumpster while Sebastian, tie askew and adrenaline spiking, re-evaluated every life choice that had led him to that moment.
It had been friendship at first death threat.
Since then, he had been an improbable ally, the kind of friend who showed up with top-shelf whiskey and terrible advice, both eagerly absorbed. Though Ethan was usually drowning in work, it was always worth clearing the schedule when he did resurface.
Sebastian thumbed through his contacts, hovered over Ethan’s name. It had been months since they’d properly talked.
He hit call.
Three rings. Then Ethan answered, “If you’re calling to sell me crypto, I already regret this friendship.”
Sebastian grinned. “Crypto is over, that was last year’s scam,” Sebastian drawled, leaning back in his chair, feet propped on his pristine desk. “This year, it’s all about AI-generated art. Utterly unique. Profoundly valueless.”
Ethan’s laugh was immediate and sharp. “Jesus. Where the hell have you been?”
“The usual. The palace. Running errands for Charles. You?”
“Betrayed, dumped, and possibly developing a caffeine allergy. Come visit me, I’m hiding in Monaco.”
“Monaco? Fine. But if I have to set foot on that floating testament to your questionable taste, I’m billing you for the ensuing psychological damage.”
A beat of silence, thick with unspoken amusement.
“You mean ‘Boaty McBoatface’?” Ethan’s tone was pure innocence.
“You allowed a public internet poll to name a vessel that costs more than the cost of a private Caribbean island,” Sebastian stated, his voice utterly deadpan. It wasn’t a question.
“Well, it was either that or ‘Seas the Means of Production’,” Ethan retorted, a hint of defensiveness creeping in. “Boaty felt less likely to cause some kind of international incident.”
Sebastian exhaled slowly, a sound freighted with mock despair. “You’re a menace to good taste and international maritime law.”
“No,” Ethan chirped, entirely unrepentant and far too cheerful. “I’m what they call ‘delightfully eccentric.’ You’re just jealous of my undeniable flair for the dramatic.”
“That’s not eccentric. It’s a cry for help.”
Ethan chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound. “Potayto, potahto. So, you’re coming, right?”
“Of course,” Sebastian conceded, a smile finally warming his tone. “Your particular brand of lunacy is far too entertaining to miss. Besides, someone needs to make sure you don’t accidentally declare war on Lichtenstein out of sheer boredom.”
The call ended a few minutes later, only for Sebastian to start browsing flights.
When he closed his laptop later that night, it was with a half-packed bag and a flight booked under one of the fake names he reserved for inconvenient getaways and strategic vanishings.
He landed in Nice just after noon and then took the short helicopter ride into Monaco where the sunlight shimmered off every glass surface. It was a place built on secrets and champagne, perfectly suited for both hiding and being seen.
Sebastian made his way to a bar that was perched high above the harbor, all soft leather booths and overpriced cocktails.
He slid into a booth across from Ethan, who looked like heartbreak in a designer hoodie with three-day stubble, under eye shadows, and the kind of bored wealth that could turn self-destruction into brand strategy.
Ethan glanced up, his expression sharpening as he took in Sebastian’s appearance. “Well, well. Look what the Learjet dragged in. Still running errands for Daddy Hawthorne?”
Sebastian shrugged out of his jacket, casually elegant even after all the travel. “Charles sends his regards, and a thinly veiled threat. Or, at least he would, if he knew I was here.”
The waitress arrived, young, beautiful, with the practiced impassivity of someone who regularly served the obscenely wealthy. Sebastian ordered a whiskey, neat, with casual authority that suggested he belonged here, then turned back to Ethan with a bit more sympathy in his expression.
“So, Maya and Jordan, huh?”
Ethan’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his glass. “They’re starting a wellness startup in Bali. I give it six months. Four if they try to monetize enlightenment.”
Sebastian studied his friend, noticing the shadows beneath his eyes that expensive sunglasses couldn’t hide. “You doing okay?” he asked, his voice softening.
Ethan hesitated, just a fraction too long, before answering.
“Sure,” he said finally, voice low. “You know me. Indestructible.”
Sebastian didn’t push. He let the silence stretch, just long enough to invite honesty without demanding it.
Ethan exhaled, not dramatic, just tired. He traced the rim of his glass with one finger, gaze fixed somewhere past the window.
“Maya met me when I was still ‘Fun Ethan’,” he said eventually. “Back when I still thought ‘responsibility’ was a scam and living out of a backpack meant I was more authentic.”
Sebastian said nothing, just watched him.
“I had nothing then, except time, and bad ideas.” A wry smile flickered at the corner of Ethan’s mouth. “We used to sneak into parties. Got matching tattoos on a dare. Ate diner pancakes at 2 AM because we were broke and bored and sometimes high.”
Sebastian could almost see it, Ethan laughing under neon lights, reckless and bright, with that infectious confidence that made everyone want to follow him into trouble.
“But then the company happened,” Ethan went on. “Investors. Deadlines. Legal counsel on speed dial. I turned into ‘Work Ethan.’”
Sebastian nodded slightly. “And she didn’t like that version of you?”
Ethan shook his head, quiet. “No, she liked the guy she met, the messy one. Hell, I liked that guy. But I buried him somewhere between our Series B and my third assistant.”
A longer pause. He stared at the table for a beat, jaw flexing.
“And Jordan?” Sebastian asked carefully.
“I became the face of the company,” Ethan said, voice flat now. “Didn’t realize how bitter Jordan was about it. While I was working eighteen-hour days, he was there, picking up all the things I didn’t have time for.” His knuckles whitened around his glass. “I guess that included Maya.”
Sebastian’s expression hardened. “So he screwed you over twice. Classy.”
“Yeah. While I was drowning, he was stealing my life.” Ethan’s voice was hollow.
For a second, neither of them spoke. Just the low hum of ambient jazz and the distant clink of cutlery.
Sebastian finally leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “You’re still you, you know. Just with pricier problems.”
Ethan met his eyes, something raw flickering. “Maybe. But I’m not sure I like this version.”
A waitress returned with Sebastian’s drink. He took it with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, then swirled the amber liquid, watching the light refract through it.
A comfortable silence settled. Then Ethan leaned forward, curiosity sparking. “So, what’s your deal? You didn’t fly here just to hear me whine, did you?”
Sebastian leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I’m about to tell you something I legally, politically, and emotionally should not be saying. If you ever repeat it, I will personally leak your most embarrassing texts to the Times.”
Ethan’s posture shifted, curiosity displacing the practiced indifference. “Now I’m listening.”
Sebastian took a breath, the words he’d rarely spoken aloud hanging in his throat for a moment. “I’m James Philip’s son. You know, the former king. Biologically. I’m illegitimate, inconvenient, and so far, unacknowledged.”
Ethan just stared at him for a second, his expression cycling through disbelief, realization, and something like awe before settling into understanding. “Well. Shit.”
“Yeah. That about sums it up.” Sebastian took another sip of his drink.
“And nobody knows?” Ethan asked, leaning in closer.
“Everyone who matters knows. Alexander. The Queen. Charles.” Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “But I’m not allowed to say it. Not publicly. Not to the press. Not even in a whisper unless I want to trigger a constitutional crisis.”
“So you exist, but you don’t exist,” Ethan said slowly. “Schrodinger’s prince.”
A reluctant smile tugged at Sebastian’s mouth. “Exactly. I’m the ghost in the royal machine. Useful when they need a fixer or a scandal magnet. Dangerous if anyone gets too close to the truth.” There was a bitterness in his voice that he rarely allowed himself to express.
Ethan was quiet for a moment, tapping the side of his glass.
Ethan studied him, then grinned. “You want to dig into Hawthorne? I’ve got rage, a VPN, and no plans. We can look at his financials, communications, anything shady. Quietly. Be ready when you need it.”
Sebastian raised a brow. “You’re volunteering for my revenge plot?”
“Someone’s gotta shine a light under that bastard’s rock. And I need a project to keep me from drunk-tweeting Maya and Jordan.”
Sebastian’s smile warmed. “Congratulations, you’re COO of Operation Burn It Down.”
Ethan raised his glass. “To inconvenient truths and ruining terrible men.”
They clinked glasses. In the bar’s dim glow, Sebastian caught the glint of Ethan’s old reckless spark.