Chapter Forty-One
Sebastian
A gentle breeze drifts through the open windows of my master sitting room, carrying the scent of bluegrass and the distant sound of horses moving through the west pasture.
I drum my fingers on the arm of my favorite chair, matching its rhythm, staring at the non-interaction agreement I’d had Daniel draft after our conversation the other night.
It lies open on the coffee table, untouched since I set it there.
My jaw aches from Thorne’s fist from our fight last week, but also from clenching it. Anger has been my constant companion. Some of it was directed at my brother for his endless manipulations, and the rest at myself for my damned pride and paranoia. But the strongest emotion is regret.
All I see on repeat is the way the light died in Rosalia’s eyes when she saw the contract. The disgust that replaced her warmth.
My gaze drifts back to the open windows. The horses move freely through the pasture, unburdened by the complications that seem to define every human relationship in my life.
Shifting, I scan the legal document that outlines how Thorne and I can work in the same building without crossing paths: separate meeting schedules, different reporting structures, and communication through designated liaisons only.
It’s extreme, but necessary. We need something to stop this toxic cycle we’ve been trapped in for years.
I check my watch. My brother should be here any minute. Will he show up? I’m surprised he agreed to meet so readily. The old Thorne would have made excuses, deflected responsibility, or simply not shown up.
I grab my phone. Again. And not to call my brother.
The compulsion to atone and win back Rosalia is constant.
The screen unlocks to her contact information, her name blurring as I stare at it.
How many times have I done this since she walked away from me, heels clicking against the pavement, each step widening the chasm between us?
Daniel’s accusation won’t leave me alone. “You set up these arbitrary tests for people, expecting them to pass without even knowing they’re being tested.” Is he right? Have I been sabotaging every relationship, waiting for people to fail tests they don’t know they’re taking?
Leaning back in my armchair, I look up at the ceiling like the answers will be hiding among the crown molding. Instead, unrest crawls over me like ants, making it impossible to focus. The agreement’s clauses blur together, all of them meaningless compared to what I’ve thrown away .
The silence of the house presses in around me, and I stand, moving to the open window where a large couch sits beneath it.
On it, Twain lies curled up asleep. Maybe I’ll take him for a walk after Thorne leaves, or visit the horses.
At least animals don’t judge you for your mistakes, don’t look at you with eyes that say you’ve shattered their world.
There’s a knock at my door and my housekeeper steps through. “Mr. Thorne Blackstone is here, sir,” she says, professionally neutral despite knowing the strained history between us.
“Thank you, Alex. Send him in.”
My brother walks in, and my slouched shoulders snap back. My fingers stop their restless tapping, curling slightly at my sides. The exhaustion that’s been weighing me down evaporates in an instant, replaced by the wary readiness that’s become a reflex whenever we’re in the same room.
Even with his fading black eye, he carries himself with that infuriating Blackstone confidence that makes me want to punch him again.
Sure, it had been so satisfying at the moment, watching him stumble against those portraits of derby winners, but it was meaningless.
It hasn’t changed anything. He’s still here and Rosalia is still gone.
Alex closes the door behind her with a soft click. I move from the window seat to one of the armchairs flanking the coffee table and gesture to the seat opposite. “Sit down. We need to talk.”
Thorne takes the seat, his expression unreadable. “I figured this was coming.”
“Things can’t continue like this. Neither of us won that stupid bet, so we’re stuck with each other, but I refuse to let that destroy Blackstone Distilleries.”
“I agree,” he says.
I’m surprised by his quick acquiescence, but don’t pause to dissect the meaning. “I’ve been thinking about solutions. I had Daniel draft this non-interaction agreement.” I push the papers toward him.
He glances at the document, then looks out the window. The casual dismissal makes my chest tighten, heat flooding through me .
“You know what? I’m done pretending this is only about business. We both know it isn’t.” My voice rises. “Whatever connected us as brothers is gone. The blood we share means nothing anymore. You’re like a fucking black hole, sucking the joy out of my life at every turn.”
I exhale deeply, needing to regain control. “I can’t blame you for the lies I told Rosalia. That’s on me. But I blame you for setting this whole thing in motion. For blocking her loans at every bank in town.” I point at him. “There’s no proof, but I know you did it. And that’s low, even for you.”
His gaze flickers to me, the paper, and back out the fucking window. I slam my palm against the coffee table, making the papers jump.
“Look at me.” When he does, I say, “But the company doesn’t deserve to suffer because we can’t get our shit together. So I’m telling you, we have to find a way to make this work, or one of us walks away entirely.”
Thorne continues to watch me. The hard line of his jaw softens. His shoulders drop an inch, as if the indifference he wears like armor is cracking at the edges.
He taps his knuckles lightly against his knee before saying, “I am.”
I halt, my practiced lecture derailing. “You are what?”
“I’ve decided to transfer to our Quebec location.
I can handle our acquisitions just as effectively from there.
I’m leaving at the end of the month,” Thorne says.
“I’m heading to the airport after this to finalize arrangements.
I had our legal team start the paperwork yesterday.
” The words don’t compute, like he’s switched to a foreign language.
I blink several times, my hand frozen mid-air.
“What? Why? I’ve read the contract a thousand times. There’s no clear winner.”
“The bet isn’t why I’m leaving.” He sighs. “Well, inadvertently it is.”
Yet I find myself asking. “How so?”
“I saw the way Rosalia looks at you. It was the same way you watched her, like a person in love. I didn’t think that shit existed.”
“It does. I love her.”
He nods like this doesn’t surprise him. “And she must love you. Because why else would she not go through with it?”
The ground shifts beneath me. I stare at my brother. “What did you say? ”
“At the party, she told me she wouldn’t do it.” His usual condescension is absent, replaced by what sounds almost like genuine appreciation. “She said she couldn’t hurt you, no matter what it cost her.”
My chest cracks open like a dam breaking. Even when cornered, even when I'd given her every reason to protect herself at my expense, she chose loyalty. To me. While I was busy testing her, she was busy protecting me.
“She wasn’t going to go through with it?” It’s what he said, but I have to ask to make sure I heard him correctly.
Thorne slides his hands into his pockets. “No.”
The pain in my heart intensifies. I’m a damn fool.
I should be elated that she passed my, what had Daniel called them? Ah, yes, my trust tests. She’s repeatedly proven her heart, yet I’ve been too jaded to see. My blindness has cost me the woman I love.
“Sebastian? Are you listening?” Thorne asks.
I blink, refocusing. “Yes. No. I just…” I need to see her.
“Rosalia opened my eyes. Granted, it took me a few to see what she taught me. And I panicked when it happened,” my brother admits. “Without thinking things through, I voided the bet.”
Technically, when she refused to go through with their deal, he’d lost, but I’d rather bring up another issue that bothers me more. “Why were you carrying around that contract? Did you plan on showing it to her to ensure things didn’t work out between her and me?” I spit, all my anger returning.
He shakes his head. “That was an unlucky happenstance. I’d knocked over a pile of papers on my way out the door. I saw the contract and shoved it in my pocket without really thinking.”
My fucking brother plows through my life like an uncaring tornado. Adrenaline rushes through me and my hands curl into fists.
And suddenly, irrationally, I need Thorne to suffer, to feel even a fraction of the pain I’ve experienced since Rosalia left me. I spring from my chair and stalk toward him, violence dripping from me .
He doesn’t move. His arms remain relaxed at his side, as if accepting whatever comes his way. When I’m within a punch away, he says, “I’m sorry.”
I still. I’ve waited almost two years to hear those words, to see the regret in his eyes. My hands drop, and my fists uncurl. “Why now?”
“Because she saw right through me. And now I see myself clearly,” Thorne’s voice roughens. “Her actions called me out in a way no one ever has. Not you, not Father.” He glances down at his hands, which tremble slightly before he clenches them into fists.
I look at him, searching for traces of the boy who once knew all my secrets, who defended me against the world. Regret is there, but is it enough?
“I’m not sure I can forgive you,” I tell him honestly.
Forgiveness feels like a bridge too far, a promise I’m not ready to make. But there’s a sliver of possibility, like someday, we might find our way back to each other.
His gaze meets mine. “That’s fair. At this point, I just want to be able to look at myself in the mirror without being drunk.”
He stands and moves toward the door. “Anyway, it’s past time I leave and find my way. I want to work for our family, but not with my family. I’m tired of living under your shadow. And Dad’s.”
Before leaving my sitting room, I call out, “Wait.”
My brother pauses, turning to face me with a wary expression.
“I may never forgive you for the things you’ve done. Especially regarding Rosalia, but I understand where you’re coming from, and I sincerely hope this move helps you.”
Thorne nods before walking out the door, leaving me in the silence of my sitting room. In the quiet, I can’t help but see the similarities in our situations. My brother has let jealousy and pride poison us. I’d let my fears and doubts sabotage my relationship with Rosalia.
If my brother has the courage to apologize, seek forgiveness, and start over, then I, too, can take the steps needed to mend things. I have to go to her and set things right before it’s too late .
Pulse racing like a clock running out of time, I dash to my bedroom to change out of my lounge clothes. I need to see Rosalia. I’m done holding back.
“Mr. Blackstone,” Alex says from behind me, “you have a visitor.”
I shake my head. “Not now, I’m—”
My mouth snaps shut. There, standing just outside my master suite, is Rosalia.