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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Elle

Arriving home from work, drained, I’m surprised by the delivery waiting for me just outside my door. Boxes of Louboutins are meticulously arranged, filling the space with their opulent presence. Excitement bubbles within me, as I recognise this familiar gesture from one of my other godfathers, and start to bring them inside. Christian and Jimmy like to compete for my affection by sending me lavish gifts, which always makes me giggle.

Still, curiosity sparks in my mind – what could be the occasion this time? With a sense of anticipation, I carefully open the top box, revealing a pair of stunning red-bottomed stilettos, glistening under the room’s gentle light.

I frown and check the next box. And the next.

This is so weird.

Why would my godfather send me shoes I already own? I recognise every single pair – they’re all proudly displayed in my walk-in wardrobe. There must be some sort of mistake.

I quickly grab my phone from my bag and video call Christian.

“Sweetpea, how are you?” His smiling face fills the phone screen and I can’t help but beam back at him.

“I’m good thank you, I just wanted to thank you, and ask about the delivery?”

“What delivery?”

“The dozen boxes of shoes filling up my lounge!” I reply with a laugh.

“Sweetpea, I didn’t send you shoes.”

“Oh.” Well then, who did? Though it does make a little more sense. Christian would never send me duplicates. I should have known.

“Show me.”

I flip the phone’s camera around and show Christian the shoes. They’re all brand new, unworn, still in their original packaging but he hisses and tuts.

“I would never send you old stock. Only previews, Sweetpea. Besides, you have these already!”

“Of course, my apologies.”

“Tell your secret admirer to do better. My girl deserves the best. Not this season’s leftovers. Pah! I have to go, Sweetpea, give the family my love, and expect your new delivery next month.”

The line goes dead and I’m left wondering where the hell all these shoes came from, but my thoughts are interrupted by the buzzer going for the front door. I pad over to the intercom and press to speak.

“Hello?”

“Hey gorgeous.” I don’t know why Seb’s at my front door, but more alarming is the way my heart flutters at him calling me gorgeous. Ridiculous. “Can I come up?”

I glance around at the mess and sigh. I’ll never be able to clear it away quick enough.

“Ummm, sure. I just got in from work though and the place is a bit of a mess.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

With little choice, I buzz him in and leave the door to the apartment on the latch for him, then begin repacking the shoes back into their beautiful boxes.

It’s so silly, but I love the boxes almost as much as the shoes, but when Christian came round for drinks one Christmas and saw the boxes piled up in my closet, he declared me a travesty and insisted on refitting my entire third bedroom into a walk in closet for my clothes and appropriate storage.

Now, with all the spotlights and things in there, it feels more like a mini-museum than a wardrobe.

No time to shove the boxes of shoes out of my lounge though, because in way too short a time, Seb is pushing my front door open with a cheery ‘hello’.

Sebastian’s casual “Hello” reaches me before he steps through the door, and his voice rolls over me, warm and familiar, yet somehow grating. He shuts the door behind him and strolls in with that trademark confidence, his gaze sweeping over the room – and the stacks of shoeboxes filling my living room – with an unmistakable grin on his face.

“Did you like your gift?” he asks, a proud, almost excited smile lighting up his face.

I give him my best unamused glare, crossing my arms and resting my hands on the top box.

Mixed emotions swirl in my churning gut. I know this could be seen by many as a really lovely, grand gesture, but the slightly smug smile on Sebastian’s face sets me on edge.

“Are you serious? You’re trying to impress me with shoes I already own? Really, Seb?”

He laughs, seemingly unbothered by my tone, the excitement still bright in his eyes. “Well, I remembered you liked them. You know, Louboutins, fancy heels, designer brands…” He gestures loosely at the boxes like he’s brought me some kind of treasure haul. “Figured you could never have too many and I wanted to get you a nice gift. Take it as an apology for earlier.”

My jaw tightens as I stare at him. Does he seriously think I’m so easy to buy off with shoes I don’t even need? Does he not know me at all? An actual apology would mean so much more to me.

“Seb, stop trying to buy me things,” I say, my words clipped, almost biting. “I’m not impressed.”

One of his brows rises, surprise colouring his expression. “You’re not?”

“Not one bit,” I snap.

Without another word, I grab his arm and steer him toward the hallway. If he’s going to try to ‘impress’ me, he’s in for a wake-up call. I march him straight down the hall and into my closet, flipping on the lights with a flourish.

The room glows as the recessed lighting illuminates shelves and rows of pristine shoes, clothes, and purses, each item perfectly displayed. The Louboutins my godfathers gifted me are right here, lined up in all their red-bottomed glory. “See?” I say, gesturing toward my display of heels. “I already have them all, thanks.”

He lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed, and runs his finger along one of the shelves, his eyes travelling from row to never-ending row. “This place is…wow,” he says, sounding almost awed. “Honestly, I didn’t have you down as such a shoe fanatic.”

“Please, I have two famous shoe designers for godfathers, and they like to compete with one another for my affection. They don’t need to know I’m happier barefoot or in fluffy socks.”

I cross my arms, huffing as I watch him wander through the space, his gaze lingering a little too long on my meticulously organised collection. “Anyway, now you know. Maybe next time, you’ll put a little more thought into your ‘impressive’ gift. I’d have been happier with a chocolate bar.”

He’s quiet for a beat, his expression shifting as he moves past the shoes and turns his attention to a lower shelf filled with my most beloved, worn books. My heart races. Shit. I didn’t mean for him to find those.

“Seb—”

He reaches down, his fingers tracing over a small stack of well-loved paperbacks – spines creased, pages yellowed, some with a few suspicious coffee stains. A look of mock horror crosses his face as he picks one up and flips through it, brow furrowing.

“Seriously, Elle?” he says, half-laughing, half…disgusted? I prickle. “I thought you’d have…you know, classics. Not these steamy paperbacks. This is porn.”

I snatch the book out of his hand, nostrils flaring. “They’re classics to me , thank you very much.” I hug the book protectively, shooting him a defiant look. “Besides, I like second-hand books. I like imagining the lives of the readers as much as the characters.”

He lets out an amused scoff, pulling another book off the shelf and flipping through its dog-eared pages. “So you’re saying you like your books a little…rough around the edges?” He lifts an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself.

I frown, shrugging. “Maybe. It adds to the charm.” Then, deciding to toy with him a little, I lean in just a little closer, lowering my voice as I add, “I mean, who knows, maybe some people even read these books one-handed.”

He blinks, momentarily confused, and I hold his gaze before slowly running my finger down the spine of the book in an exaggerated motion. I raise an eyebrow, a challenging glint in my eye, as realisation dawns on his face.

His expression changes, his eyes darkening, lingering on me in a way that sends an unexpected thrill down my spine.

But then he breaks the moment, turning away to scan the rest of the shelf.

He reaches for another book – one of my all-time favourites, with a tattered spine that’s practically held together by sheer willpower – and opens it. A few of the pages slip free, fluttering to the floor. I have to resist the urge to cry. He picks one up delicately, holding it up between two fingers with a slightly disgusted look.

“This one’s barely hanging on,” he murmurs, inspecting the worn, loose pages. “You know, it might be time to…upgrade. Get a Kindle or something.”

I feel a prickle of irritation, and my smile fades. “It’s fine. I like it that way.”

He shrugs, setting the book aside as he mutters, “I’d call it trash, personally.”

That’s it. No one disrespects my books like that. My cheeks flush with annoyance, and my hands tighten into fists. “I think it’s time you left, Seb.”

He glances at me, a little surprised, but quickly recovers. He lifts his hands in mock surrender, his grin back in place, but there’s an unease to it. Does he realise he’s annoyed me?

“Alright,” he says, clearly wrong-footed by my irritation. “I’ll leave you to your…charming hobby, then.”

“Take your damn shoes with you!” I snap.

With one last look around my closet, he turns and leaves, leaving me bristling, hands clenched, my annoyance simmering long after he’s gone.

I’m still fuming when Seb leaves, and I reach for my phone, scrolling straight to Candy’s number. If anyone will understand the sheer audacity of what just happened, it’s her.

The phone barely rings before she picks up. “What’s up, babe?”

“Sebastian, that’s what,” I huff, pacing around the living room, glancing at the mess of Louboutin boxes he dumped on me and failed to take away with him. “He decided to ‘treat’ me with all the shoes I already own. It’s ridiculous. I don’t even have room for all these duplicates!”

Candy laughs, and I can practically see her shaking her head on the other end of the line. “What? He bought you the same shoes you already have? That is classic Seb. You’re lucky he even knew your size, Elle. Cut him some slack; he’s trying, in his weird, misguided way.”

I scoff, wrinkling my nose before my mother’s voice reprimands me in my head about needing botox.

“Oh please. He probably just asked Aiden. It’s not like Seb actually knows me well enough to get something right on his own.” There’s a beat of silence before I realise what I’ve said, and I cringe. “Oh…sorry, Candy. I shouldn’t have brought him up.”

She sighs, but when she speaks, her tone is light. “It’s fine, really. No need to tiptoe around it with me.” But I catch a trace of tension in her voice, and I know it’s not as easy as she pretends. “How’s he doing, anyway?” she asks softly. “Is he…is he getting help?”

I hesitate, unsure of how to answer that. “I haven’t spoken to him in ages, honestly,” I admit, biting my lip. “I mean, after everything with you…well, he pretty much went off the deep end. I think he’s a total arsehole. I don’t really want anything to do with him. Especially after he called me to yell at me about dating Seb. Like he has any right to dictate my life choices!”

Candy falls quiet, and I feel a pang of guilt for mentioning Aiden at all. I wish I hadn’t. But Candy, being Candy, waves it off, changing the subject back to Seb and his uninvited generosity.

“Well,” she says, “if you’re not going to keep those shoes, I’d be more than happy to give them a good home. I’ve been eyeing those black stilettos of yours for ages, anyway. And I’m sure any leftovers will be gratefully received by the girls at the clubs.”

I laugh, grateful to her for lightening the mood. “Consider them yours. Come by whenever – you’ll be doing me a favour by clearing out this mess.”

Candy promises to stop by later, and we hang up. But Aiden’s name still lingers in my mind, bothering me in a way I can’t quite shake. I take a deep breath, then, on impulse, dial his number.

He picks up on the second ring. “Elle,” he says, his voice stiff, guarded. “What’s this about?”

“Relax,” I say, leaning back on the sofa. “I just wanted to…check in. Heard anything from your best mate lately?”

He sighs, clearly exasperated. “Is that why you called? To dig at whatever’s left of my sanity?”

I smirk, savouring the irritation in his voice. “Oh, come on, Aiden. Don’t act so wounded. You’re just upset because Seb and I actually get on these days.” The words feel like a low blow, but it’s hard to resist when he’s already on edge.

He groans, and I can almost see him rubbing his temples. “Elle, please, just…don’t mess with him, alright? He doesn’t need that.”

I let out a laugh, cold and sharp. “Mess with him? Why should I take advice from you? You don’t have a friend left to mess with. You lost them all when you royally screwed up with Candy.”

There’s a pause, and I hear his sharp intake of breath. “Not fair, Elle.”

“Oh, really? Fair’s not exactly your area of expertise, Aiden.”

We fall into a tense silence, the weight of old betrayals heavy between us. I don’t apologise, and neither does he. Finally, I break the silence.

“Fine,” I say, barely hiding my frustration. “Just…keep out of my life, alright?”

He lets out a resigned sigh. “Believe me, I’m trying.”

I end the call, the mix of anger and hurt simmering inside me. Talking to Aiden always feels like reopening an old wound. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I’m not about to let him dictate my life.

I drop my phone onto the couch, its screen going dark, and lean back with a long, slow exhale. My conversation with Aiden replays in my head, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. He always manages to pull at the loose threads of my composure, unravelling me in ways I wish he couldn’t.

Seb. Aiden. Shoes. Contracts. It’s like my life is a swirling mess of chaos, and I’m stuck in the middle, spinning, and trying to hold on to anything solid.

I glance at the boxes stacked around me, their pristine packaging gleaming under the soft glow of my living room lights. For a brief moment, I consider Candy’s suggestion. Maybe I should give them all away. It’s not like I need them, and it’s not like they mean anything – at least not in the way Seb probably intended.

My gaze drifts to the one pair I left out, the black stilettos glinting with sharp-edged beauty. The ones I’ve worn countless times, the ones I already own. What were you thinking, Seb?

My heart clenches, and I hate how easily he gets under my skin. Hate how I want to understand him, to believe that his gestures come from a place of sincerity, not obligation. But I can’t ignore the fact that he still doesn’t see me – not fully, not yet.

I press my fingertips to my temples, trying to massage away the headache building there. Candy’s right – he’s trying. In his own clumsy, misguided way, he’s trying. But is it enough?

The intercom buzzes again, and my stomach lurches.

Not Seb. Please not Seb.

I hesitate, frozen for a moment, then force myself to my feet. I step over the discarded shoeboxes and press the intercom button.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Candy’s voice comes through, warm and familiar. Relief washes over me, and I quickly buzz her in.

A few minutes later, she’s standing in my living room, a bright splash of energy against the muted tension that’s hung over me all day. Her gaze sweeps over the shoeboxes, and she lets out a low whistle.

“Well, damn,” she says, grinning. “He really went all out, didn’t he?”

I snort, barely resisting the urge to glance heavenward, flopping onto the sofa. “If by ‘all out,’ you mean sending me duplicates of shoes I already own, then sure.”

Candy smirks, plopping down beside me and nudging my shoulder with hers. “Still, it’s kind of sweet. In a clueless, rich-boy kind of way.”

“It’s infuriating,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “He doesn’t get it, Candy. He thinks he can throw money at me and call it affection. Like I’m supposed to be impressed by how much he spends instead of how much he sees me.”

Her expression softens, and she reaches over to squeeze my hand. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to do it any other way, Elle. Maybe this is his version of trying to show he cares.”

I glance at her, my frustration warring with the tiny flicker of hope her words spark. “Do you really think he cares?”

Am I overreacting to this? Still sensitive from earlier? Would Candy’s view be the same if I told her about the proposal and what happened after?

I really should tell her, but the words die on my tongue. I can’t. Admitting why I’m so bothered would hurt too much.

Candy tilts her head, considering. “I think he’s trying. And I think you should let him. But,” she adds, her tone firm, “only if it’s what you want. Don’t let him, or anyone else, dictate how you live your life. Not Seb, not Aiden, not your godfathers with their closets full of shoes.”

I laugh despite myself, and she grins.

“Speaking of shoes,” she says, eyeing the boxes. “Want me to help you sort through these?”

I nod, grateful for the distraction. Together, we start unpacking the boxes, Candy chattering away as she examines each pair and tries them all on. Her presence is grounding, a reminder that not everything in my life has to feel so heavy.

As we work, I can’t help but glance at the ring still tucked in my pocket, its weight a constant reminder of the conversation I need to have with Seb. But for now, I let it rest. For now, I focus on Candy and the ridiculous mess of shoes around us, letting the tension ease from my shoulders bit by bit.

Tomorrow, I’ll deal with Seb. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out what I want, what I’m willing to fight for.

But tonight, I’ll let myself breathe.