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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Elle

I’m such an idiot. Of course it wasn’t a real proposal. Seb doesn’t want to build something real with me, he wants his damn inheritance and his father off his back. I was a fool for letting myself get swept up in the moment. For someone who’s always insisted they weren’t looking for a relationship, I know I have a soft romantic heart.

And it’s going to get me hurt.

The early morning chill bites at my cheeks as I storm away from the rink, my boots crunching against the frosty ground. My head is spinning, the weight of his words clinging to me like ice on my skin. I clutch my coat tighter around myself, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps because the cold isn’t physical, it’s inside me. It’s crushing disappointment.

His voice keeps echoing in my mind: This is about us. I need you to trust me. But how can I? Trust isn’t built on contracts and deadlines, on meetings with his overbearing father. It’s not built on proposals born out of obligation, no matter how pretty the ring is.

I glance down at my hand, at the delicate band now resting on my finger. The enormous diamond catches the soft light of dawn, mocking me with its brilliance. My chest tightens, and before I can think twice, I pull it off and shove it into my pocket.

The lump in my throat swells. I don’t want to cry, but the tears are already blurring my vision. I swipe at my cheeks angrily. “Stupid,” I mutter under my breath. “You’re so damn stupid, Elle.”

I don’t know where I’m going. I just keep walking, my feet carrying me through the streets as the city comes alive. Shops are opening, delivery vans rumble down the roads, and the faint smell of coffee wafts through the air. It’s all so normal, so ordinary, and yet I feel like I’m falling apart inside.

Which just makes me even angrier with myself.

Pathetic. You went on a couple of dates and were expecting…something ridiculous. Get a grip, Elle.

When I spot a small café tucked into the corner of a side street, I duck inside, grateful for the warmth. The bell above the door chimes softly, and a barista greets me with a smile I can’t quite return. I mumble an order for a latte and sink into a corner booth, wrapping my hands around the steaming cup when it arrives.

The heat seeps into my fingers, but it doesn’t chase away the chill inside me.

I shouldn’t have run. I should’ve stayed, confronted him, demanded answers. But the way he looked at me – so confident, so sure of himself – it was too much. Like he thought he could just sweep me off my feet with pretty words and a shiny ring and I’d forget all about the messy, complicated reality of us.

Us.

I take a shaky sip of my latte, the bitterness grounding me. There’s no us . Not really. There’s a deal, a contract, and now a ring that feels like a shackle.

You agreed to this, Elle.

Yeah, but did I really have a choice ?

I press my palms against my temples, trying to block out the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume me. Why does this hurt so much? It’s not like I didn’t know what I was getting into. I agreed to this arrangement with my eyes wide open. I knew it was temporary, transactional.

But then Seb had to go and make me believe it could be more.

I think back to the rink, to the way he looked at me – like I was the only person in the world. Like I mattered. And for a moment, I let myself believe it. I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, he wanted me for me, not for what I could do for him.

The café door opens, and a gust of cold air sweeps in, followed by a couple laughing softly as they settle into a nearby table. I glance at them briefly, jealousy twisting in my gut. They look so at ease with each other, so natural. It’s everything I’ve never had and probably never will.

At least with Seb we could have friendship, maybe. If I can get over this silly pang in my heart. Being married to Seb is better than any alternative my mother will come up with. I know I’m on borrowed time, under as much pressure from my family as Seb is with his. If I don’t settle down this year, my mother will make me.

With a heavy sigh, I pull out my phone, my thumb hovering over Candy’s name in my contacts. She’ll know what to say. She always does. But as much as I want to hear her voice, I can’t bring myself to call her. Not yet. I don’t want to hear her tell me I’m overthinking, or worse, that she saw this coming.

Instead, I tuck my phone away and stare out the window, watching the city come to life. The streets are busier now, people rushing to work, to run errands, to shop, to wherever they need to be. Everyone has a direction, a purpose. Everyone except me.

I take another sip of my latte, trying to calm the storm inside me. I need to figure out what I want. What I’m willing to fight for. Because if I don’t, this thing with Seb – whatever it is – will destroy me. For now, though, I’ll sit here in this little café, letting the world move on without me. Just for a while. Just until I can breathe again.

The weight in my pocket feels heavier than it should. My fingers brush against the ring, and for a moment, I consider tossing it in the trash. But I can’t.

Instead, I pull it from my pocket and examine it.

The sight of the ring catches me off guard. I hold it up to the soft light filtering through the café window, the diamond sparkling like it’s mocking me. A Harry Winston?

I turn it over in my fingers, examining the fine band, the delicate prongs holding the emerald shaped stone in place. It’s beautiful, timeless – nothing like the kind of grandiose, look-at-me statement piece I’d expect from someone like Seb, even if it is clearly over three carats and set beside baguette side stones.

It’s exactly what I would have chosen for myself for a high profile society engagement.

But why this? Why not a Sterling-Knight diamond, something tied to his family empire? Wouldn’t that have been the obvious choice, the easiest way to remind me that this arrangement is as much about the business as it is about us?

Unless...it’s not.

My chest tightens, confusion swirling with frustration. What game are you playing, Seb? This doesn’t fit. None of it does – the proposal, the ring, the way he looked at me. If it’s all part of some calculated move, it’s a damn cruel one. Not to mention completely unnecessary. He doesn’t need to play games with me, he has me over a barrel with the damn auction anyway. If he’s playing with my heart, he’s doing that just for fun and the Sebastian I know would never do that.

I hope.

I slip the ring back into my pocket, but the weight of it lingers, like it’s anchored to my thoughts. I can’t sit here any longer. The walls of the café feel like they’re closing in, the quiet hum of conversation around me grating against my nerves, like the quietness is getting louder.

I push my chair back and leave a few bills on the table, not bothering to wait for change. The cold air bites at my cheeks as I step outside, but I welcome it. It clears my head, sharp and bracing, a reminder that I’m still here, still standing.

I wander the streets without any real direction, the city buzzing with life around me. Every step feels heavier than the last, like the weight of everything is finally catching up to me. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know where I’m going.

But as I pass a small jewelry shop, the window display catches my eye. A single diamond ring sits in the center, displayed on a velvet cushion. It’s understated, elegant, and nothing like the one in my pocket.

Before I can stop myself, I step inside.

The bell above the door chimes softly, and an older man behind the counter looks up, his kind smile reaching his eyes. “Good morning. How can I help you?”

I hesitate, my hand slipping into my pocket to grip the ring. I don’t know why I’m here, what I’m hoping to find. Answers? Clarity?

“I, um...I just wanted to ask about something,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended.

“Of course,” he says, gesturing for me to come closer. “Take your time.”

I pull the ring from my pocket and set it on the counter, the diamond catching the light. The man leans in, his eyes narrowing slightly as he examines it.

“This is a beautiful piece,” he says after a moment. “Harry Winston, if I’m not mistaken. Classic design, platinum band. Very good taste.”

I nod, my fingers twitching at my sides. “How much would something like this cost?”

He glances at me, a flicker of curiosity in his expression. “It depends on the size and quality of the diamond, but this...this is a high-end piece. Easily six figures.”

Six figures.

My stomach twists, and I feel suddenly lightheaded. Why would Seb spend that kind of money on a ring for me ?

“This wasn’t custom-made?” I ask, my voice tighter than I mean it to be.

The man shakes his head. “No, this is a standard design. Beautiful, but not unique. Harry Winston pieces are known for their timeless elegance, not personal touches.”

I nod again, my thoughts racing. I thank the man and leave the shop, the ring feeling even heavier in my pocket now.

As I walk through the streets, the questions keep piling up, each one louder than the last. Why did Seb choose this ring? Why go to Harry Winston instead of using one of his family’s diamonds? And why does it feel like...like he was trying to separate this from the contract?

I need answers.

My phone feels like a lead weight in my hand as I pull it from my pocket. I hesitate for a moment, my thumb hovering over Seb’s name in my contacts.

Finally, I hit call.

It rings twice before he picks up, his voice rough but immediate. “Elle.”

The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine, but I push it aside. “We need to talk,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

There’s a pause on the other end, and I can almost hear him trying to figure out where I’m going with this. “Where are you?” he asks.

I glance around, taking in the street signs. “Oxford Street. Near the bookshop.”

“I’ll come to you,” he says without hesitation.

“No! Wait,” I blurt out in a panicked rush. He pauses and I force myself to take a deep breath. The words out of my mouth taste like ash on my tongue, but I force myself to say them anyway. “Send over the contract and confirm our dinner reservation with your father for tomorrow. We – we can talk after.”

I cut the call before I can change my mind and race towards work. I need solace. Laura, one of my Saturday girls is working today, but I can do a stocktake, file invoices…anything to take my mind off what has to happen next.