Chapter 3
Three
SEBASTIAN
The funny thing about betrayal is how quiet it is. No dramatic music. No world-shattering boom. Just a soft rustling of sheets and stammered excuses, while my perfectly planned proposal turns to ash.
“Sebastian!” Rebecca clutches the sheets higher. The man behind her fumbles for his shirt. My brain catalogs the useless detail. It’s my favorite brand of shirt.
Of course it is.
My fingers trace the outline of the ring box in my pocket. Such a small thing to carry such weight. The diamond inside costs more than most people make in a lifetime. Now it’s burning through the fabric, branding me with my own foolishness.
“I can explain—” Rebecca’s voice cracks. Her perfect blonde hair is messed up, makeup smeared. The Christmas lights from outside paint patterns across her face, transforming her into someone I don’t recognize.
I straighten my posture. “No need. The situation explains itself quite well.”
The man—I refuse to look directly at his face—backs toward the bathroom. The sound of his bare feet on the carpet has my jaw locking.
“You weren’t supposed to be here.” Rebecca’s voice is small. “You’re never here.”
A laugh escapes me, sharp and foreign. “Clearly, I should have announced my romantic surprise proposal. How inconsiderate of me.”
The ring box hits the dresser with a hollow thud. Rebecca flinches at the sound, or maybe at the word “proposal.” Her eyes go wide, mascara creating dark trails down her cheeks.
“Sebastian, please—”
“How long?” My voice sounds foreign. Ice runs through my veins, turning each breath sharp and crystalline.
Rebecca’s mouth opens and closes. No perfect excuses now. No carefully crafted lies. Just the truth, naked and ugly as the man lurks frozen by the bathroom door.
“Sebastian, you’re never here. I was lonely—”
My fist connects with the wall. The pain barely registers. “How. Long?”
The Christmas lights outside keep blinking their cheerful patterns across the room. Red. Green. Red. Green. A twisted parody of holiday spirit painting shadows across their sin.
“Three months.” Her voice breaks. “It started when you canceled our anniversary trip for that Dubai meeting.”
The Dubai meeting. Where I finalized the deal that would let me propose with a clear conscience. Where I secured our future. Our perfect, planned future that now lies shattered on the cheap hotel carpet.
My teeth grind together. The muscles in my jaw protest. “Three months of lies. Three months of ‘Miss you’ texts and ‘Working late’ excuses.”
“You’re hurting me—” Rebecca whimpers.
I haven’t moved. Haven’t touched her. But she shrinks back like I’m the monster here. Like I’m the one who destroyed four years of trust with hotel room sheets and stolen moments.
“I was going to propose.” The words taste like ash. “Tonight. Christmas Eve. Had it all planned. But you couldn’t even wait until after the holidays to fuck someone else.”
The man finally speaks. “Listen, man—”
My laugh cuts through the air like broken glass. “If you value your teeth, you won’t finish that sentence.”
The fury builds higher, a tidal wave of rage threatening to sweep away every careful lesson in control. Every polished word. Every perfect plan.
“Sebastian.” Rebecca reaches for me. The sheet slips. “We can fix this.”
Fix this. Like it’s a business deal gone wrong. Like it’s a minor inconvenience to be smoothed over with enough money and the right connections.
The rage turns arctic. Deadly calm settles over me like fresh snow.
The velvet of the blue box catches the light, mocking me with its presence. The princess-cut diamond that has united dynasties for decades. I pick it up, holding it between my fingers.
Rebecca’s eyes fix on that damning little box. Her perfectly manicured hand flies to her mouth. “Oh God, Sebastian...”
Now she cries. Of course, she cries.
Rebecca always did have impeccable timing with her tears. Like when she cried at my mother’s charity gala, earning sympathy from all the right people. Or when she teared up during that board meeting, making my rivals look like monsters for questioning her environmental proposals.
Perfect crystalline drops rolling down her perfect face. Even her mascara runs in elegant streaks, like some tragic heroine in a romantic drama.
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharp enough to cut. “Don’t you dare cry like you’re the victim here.”
She clutches the sheet tighter. “I never meant—”
“To get caught?” Ice fills my veins. The familiar comfort of cold control. “That’s the only thing you didn’t mean, isn’t it? Everything else was perfectly calculated.”
Her lower lip trembles. Another perfectly timed performance. “You’re never here. Always working, always planning. I needed—”
“What you needed was honesty. What you needed was to tell me it was over before fucking someone else.”
The tears flow faster now. Right on cue. Like everything else about Rebecca Ward has always been perfectly on cue.
The strange thing isn’t the betrayal. It’s how empty I feel watching Rebecca cry. My pride bleeds, yes. But where’s the soul-crushing agony I expected? The devastating pain of lost love?
Instead, I find myself cataloging details with cold precision. The way her lips quiver in a practiced tremble. How her fingers clutch the sheet with just enough force to appear vulnerable, but not enough to wrinkle the fabric. Even now, she’s performing.
“Sebastian, please say something.” Her voice hits that perfect note of desperation.
“I’m saying plenty. You’re just not listening. As usual.”
The man shifts his weight, creating a soft whisper of bare feet on carpet. My brain analyzes that too. Italian leather shoes by the bed. At least she kept her standards high while falling so low.
“You’re being cruel.” Rebecca’s voice cracks on the last word.
“Cruel? No, darling. Cruel would be telling you how I spent four months preparing for this. Cruel would be describing the Christmas Eve proposal I had planned.”
Something’s wrong with me. Where’s the crushing pain? The rage that should be tearing through my chest? Four years together, and my breathing remains steady, my mind clear.
My fingers trace the edge of the ring box. I search for the appropriate emotion—something befitting a man whose future has just shattered. But all I find is a hollow space where devastation should be.
The wedding venues Mother scouted. The merger possibilities Father discussed over brandy. The honeymoon properties I’ve been quietly acquiring. All those perfect plans feel more meaningful to mourn than the woman crying before me.
I study Rebecca’s tear-streaked face—the face that’s been on my arm at every important function, the face I’ve woken up to on three continents. The face that photographs so perfectly for press releases.
My stomach tightens. Not with heartbreak, but with something closer to...inconvenience.
“You know what’s truly cruel?” My voice comes out soft. “I’m standing here, watching you cry, and all I can think is how much time I’ve wasted planning a future with someone I barely know.”
The room suddenly seems too small. Too hot. The Christmas lights outside strobe against my retinas, making my head pound. Every breath tastes like her perfume mixed with his cologne. A combination that turns my stomach.
“Sebastian, please, let me explain—”
“Explain what?” My hand freezes on the door handle as Rebecca’s voice follows me. “How to ruin a perfectly planned evening?”
The metal feels cool against my palm. Grounding. Real. Unlike everything else in this twisted scene.
I need air. Need space. Need to be anywhere but in this room, watching Rebecca perfect her wounded dove routine while her lover skulks in the shadows.
The hallway beckons—its generic hotel carpet and bland walls suddenly the most appealing sight I’ve ever seen. Just a few steps and I can escape this tableau of betrayal.
My fingers tighten on the door handle. One turn. One step. That’s all it would take.
“You’re not even going to listen?”
“I’ve listened to enough performances tonight.” The words taste bitter. “I think I’ll skip the encore.”
My hands won’t stop shaking, so I shove them in my pockets. “Was anything real?” The ring box’s edges dig into my palm, a sharp reminder of my own stupidity.
Rebecca’s lips part. Perfect, glossy pink even now. “Of course it was real. Everything we shared—”
“Actually, don’t finish that. Your acting skills are impressive enough already.” I turn the box over in my hands. “Tell me, was the environmental research real? Or just a convenient excuse?”
Her face pales. The sheets rustle as she shifts, and I catch a glimpse of lace. Expensive lace. The kind I bought her last Christmas.
“The research is real.” Her chin lifts, defiant even now. “My work matters.”
“Your work.” A laugh claws its way up my throat. “Right. Your noble crusade to save the world. How many donations did my family make to your foundation? How many connections did we leverage?”
“That’s not fair—”
“Fair?” The ring box creaks in my grip. “You want to talk about fair? I built my entire expansion plan around your research sites.”
The man by the bathroom makes a choking sound. Good. Let him see exactly what he helped destroy.
“Sebastian, please.” Rebecca reaches for me, the sheet slipping. “We can still—”
“Still, what? Still pretend? Still play our parts in this perfect little drama you’ve scripted?” My voice rises with each word, control slipping. “Was I just another donor to you? Another connection to exploit?”
She flinches. Finally, a genuine reaction.
“Don’t.” Her voice cracks. “Don’t make what we had cheap.”
“Cheap?” Ice fills my veins. “Darling, you managed that all on your own.”
The hallway stretches endlessly, each step carrying me further from that twisted scene. My shoes drag against the carpet—cheap, not the Italian stone we use in Lockhart properties. Everything here screams second-rate. Including my judgment, apparently.