85 #3
Dorothy told him about the first year of marriage, not the worst parts, but the smaller ones: the dinners she planned, the dresses she wore because she thought Trevor might notice, the way she learned which staircase creaked when she went down at night.
Sebastian listened.
He did not interrupt with anger on her behalf.
He did not make her comfort him for hearing it.
On the fourth evening, he asked, "Do you miss him?"
Dorothy looked at the sea beyond the dark glass.
Then she answered honestly. "Less today."
Sebastian's face tightened, then softened.
"Thank you for telling me."
"Did it hurt?"
"Yes."
She reached for his hand. "I am sorry."
He let her take it. "Do not apologize for making space where there used to be none."
Dorothy looked at him then, really looked, and something inside her moved so quietly that she almost missed it.
She almost let herself choose him.
Not as a decision carved in stone. Not as a grand ending.
But as a beginning she could see without flinching.
One week had not erased Trevor. It had not emptied the old wound.
But it had given Sebastian shape outside the chaos.
It had given Dorothy proof that wanting him was not only possible in crisis. It was possible in peace.
That felt dangerous.
It also felt like hope.
On the fifth morning, rain came.
Not the violent city rain of the night she left Trevor's house.
This was soft coastal rain, silver against the windows, blurring the sea until horizon and water became one long breath.
Legal calls were delayed because one of the Redvale family attorneys requested more time.
Marianne took it as a blessing. Hale, over video, looked suspicious of weather but agreed the schedule could shift.
Dorothy and Sebastian spent the morning in the sitting room.
He read on the sofa. She wrote notes for the foundation at the small desk by the window. Every so often, she looked up and found him already looking at her.
It should have embarrassed her.
Instead, she smiled.
By noon, the rain thickened.
Sebastian set his book aside. "Come here."
Dorothy lifted a brow. "That sounded suspiciously like an order."
"Invitation badly dressed."
"Very badly."
"Come here, if you wish, Miss Perry."
She stood. "Worse."
"Dorothy."
That one reached her.
She crossed the room and sat beside him. This time there was no inch of careful space. His arm rested along the back of the sofa, and she leaned, not fully into him at first, but enough to feel warmth through his shirt. He waited.
After a moment, Dorothy let her head rest against his shoulder.
Sebastian went still.
Then his hand settled lightly over hers.
Outside, rain touched the glass.
Inside, no one asked anything of her.
Dorothy closed her eyes.
For the first time in years, resting beside a man did not feel like waiting for pain.
Her phone vibrated on the table.
The sound cut through the room.
Dorothy's body reacted before her mind did, shoulders tightening, breath catching. Sebastian felt it. His hand closed gently around hers, not preventing her from moving, only reminding her she was not alone.
She opened her eyes.
The phone vibrated again.
Unknown whether legal, Vanessa, Hale, Victor, a reporter, another fragment of cruelty arriving through glass and signal.
Dorothy looked at Sebastian.
He did not hide his fear.
"Do you want me to check?" he asked.
She almost said yes.
Then she shook her head. "No. I will."
She picked up the phone.
Hale.
The name should have reassured her.
It did not.
She answered. "Andrew?"
For one second, there was only rain and static.
Then Hale's voice came through, too controlled.
"Dorothy, are you with Sebastian?"
"Yes."
Sebastian sat straighter.
Dorothy's heart began to pound. "What happened?"
Hale hesitated.
She hated hesitations.
"Andrew."
His voice lowered. "There has been an accident."
Dorothy stood so quickly Sebastian rose with her.
"What accident?"
"A car crash outside the eastern bypass. Trevor's car was struck by a delivery truck that ran a red light."
The room tilted.
Sebastian's hand came to her elbow, steadying but not holding.
Dorothy could not feel the floor.
"Is he alive?" she asked.
Sebastian's face tightened at the rawness of the question.
Hale answered at once. "Yes. He is alive. Marcus was also in the vehicle. Both have been taken to Westbridge Medical Center."
Dorothy's hand shook around the phone. "How bad?"
"Marcus is conscious. Trevor is injured. We do not have full details yet."
The rain blurred against the windows.
Dorothy stared at nothing.
The week without Trevor cracked open with his name.
Sebastian heard enough from her face before she spoke.
His eyes closed briefly.
Not in anger.
In pain.
Hale continued, voice grim. "Dorothy, there is something else."
Her throat tightened. "What?"
"The truck driver disappeared from the scene before police arrived. The vehicle was registered to a shell delivery company."
Sebastian's expression hardened.
Dorothy's blood went cold.
Hale's next words landed like the old city crashing through the sea-house door.
"We believe Trevor's car crash may have been staged."