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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Seb

The ballroom is already alive with the soft hum of conversation and the gentle clinking of champagne flutes when I arrive. My father spares no expense for anything, least of all an event meant to solidify the Sterling-Knight image. The room is a masterpiece of elegance, with soaring ceilings adorned by glittering chandeliers and arrangements of white roses and orchids spilling from every available surface.

But none of it holds my attention. Not the endless stream of press milling about, nor the perfectly arranged canapés on silver trays. Because when Elle walks into the room, it’s like everything else falls away.

She’s radiant. A vision.

Her gown, custom-made by some designer whose name I don’t care to remember, clings to her body like it was poured onto her. The shimmering fabric – an iridescent white that makes her skin glow and her eyes look impossibly bright – flows around her as she moves, an ethereal mix of grace and power. Her hair is swept up into a cascade of curls, leaving her neck bare, save for a few stray wisps that tease her collarbone.

And then there’s her jewelry: the Harry Winston earrings. I gave them to her just an hour ago, unable to resist adding the finishing touch. They catch the light with every turn of her head, sparkling like they were made for her.

But she isn’t wearing a necklace. The delicate line of her throat is exposed, and I can’t stop staring at it. My fingers itch to touch, to trace the curve, to leave a mark that declares she’s mine.

I think of the collar I purchased on impulse and wonder if I’ll ever see the day I can place it around her neck.

I swallow hard and make my way to her, my heart thudding harder with every step. When she sees me, her lips curve into a small, almost shy smile, and the world tilts just slightly.

“Seb,” she says as I reach her, her voice soft and warm.

“You look…” I trail off, my throat suddenly dry. There aren’t words for this, for her.

She arches a brow, her smile turning teasing. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” I manage, my voice rough. I lean in close, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “You’re stunning, Elle. Absolutely breathtaking.”

A faint blush spreads across her cheeks, and I can’t help but smirk. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her gaze flicking away for just a moment before returning to mine.

I offer her my arm, and she takes it, her touch sending a spark through me. Together, we step into the crowd, and the evening begins in earnest.

We glide through the room with ease, falling into a rhythm I didn’t know we had. Elle is a natural, her laughter soft and genuine, as she accepts congratulations from every corner. I watch her light up the room, effortlessly charming even the most skeptical guests.

And for once, it doesn’t feel like a performance.

We laugh and tease each other between conversations, our whispered jokes feeling like stolen moments in the chaos. She tells an exaggerated story about a particularly difficult customer at her boutique, and I counter with a tale of an ill-fated family ski trip that ends with me face-planting into a snowbank.

She’s warm and brilliant, and I find myself unable to look away.

But then, as I lean in to murmur another comment that will make her laugh, I catch a familiar figure approaching out of the corner of my eye. Amber. My ex.

She’s wearing a tight black dress that clings in all the wrong ways, her lips painted a red that’s meant to be sultry, but only feels desperate. Her eyes are locked on me, and I feel a sharp stab of irritation.

“Sebastian,” she purrs as she reaches us, her voice dripping with forced sweetness. “It’s been too long.”

I stiffen, my smile slipping. “Amber,” I say coolly.

Her gaze flickers to Elle, sizing her up in an instant. “And you must be the fiancée,” she says, her tone deceptively polite. “Ellen, is it? I’ve heard...so much about you.”

Elle doesn’t miss a beat. She steps forward, her smile radiant but her eyes sharp. “Amber,” she says smoothly. “It’s always nice to meet someone from Seb’s past.”

The barb is subtle, but it’s there. Amber’s smile falters for a fraction of a second before she recovers.

“We go way back, don’t we, Sebby?” Amber says, her voice lilting with faux intimacy.

Elle doesn’t give her a chance to continue. “How lovely,” she says, her tone sweet as honey. “But you know, the past is exactly that – the past. And right now, Seb and I are building our future. I’m sure you understand.”

Amber’s eyes flash with irritation, but she quickly hides it. “Of course,” she says tightly.

Elle steps closer, her voice dropping to a low, private tone. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to rewrite your role in Seb’s life. He’s mine now, and I don’t share.”

Her words, a mirror of mine to her, turn me on. But it’s the possessiveness in her voice sends a bolt of heat through me, and I have to clench my fists to keep from pulling her into my arms and taking her right here and now for them all to see that she is mine. Amber pales, clearly outmatched, and with a tight smile, she excuses herself.

As soon as she’s gone, Elle turns back to me, her expression cool and composed. But I can see the fire in her eyes, the quiet triumph.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I murmur, my voice low.

She shrugs lightly, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “Maybe not. But I wanted to.”

I don’t think. I just act.

Reaching for her waist, I pull her close, my lips crashing against hers in a kiss that’s more claim than anything else. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, but I don’t care. Let them see. Let them know.

When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed, her lips slightly swollen, and her eyes are wide with surprise.

“Seb,” she whispers, her voice unsteady.

“You’re incredible,” I murmur, my forehead resting against hers. “Absolutely fucking incredible.”

For the rest of the evening, I can’t keep my hands off her. A touch here, a brush there, my fingers tracing the elegant line of her neck whenever I can steal a moment. The evening feels like a dream, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a performance. It feels like us.

The evening hums around us, the crowd buzzing with anticipation as my father steps to the center of the ballroom, commanding attention like only Alexander Sterling-Knight can. A silver tray appears in a waiter’s hand, and champagne flutes are quickly distributed among the guests. The soft clink of glasses quiets as everyone turns toward the makeshift stage at the front of the room.

Alexander is a man who thrives in the spotlight, and tonight is no exception. His tailored black tuxedo is immaculate, his smile perfectly calibrated to exude warmth and authority. He looks out at the gathered crowd, his expression one of smug satisfaction.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room. “Tonight, we celebrate not only the success of our family’s ventures, but also a new chapter for the Sterling-Knight legacy.”

The word legacy lands like a hammer, and I resist the urge to shoot him a pointed look. Elle, standing close to me, tightens her grip on my arm, her nails grazing my skin lightly – a subtle reminder to behave.

“My son, Sebastian, has long been known for his...independent spirit,” Alexander continues, his tone light but laced with meaning. A ripple of polite laughter follows. “But as every father dreams, there comes a time when a man finds the one who anchors him, inspires him, and makes him whole.”

He gestures toward us, and the spotlight shifts, bathing Elle and me in its glow. I feel her stiffening slightly beside me, but her expression remains poised, a soft smile gracing her lips as she meets the gaze of the room.

“It is with great pride and joy that I announce the engagement of my son, Sebastian, to the remarkable Ms Rialdi.”

A burst of applause fills the room, mingling with the flashes of cameras as the press scrambles to capture the moment. I turn to Elle, and for a fleeting second, it’s just us. I see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but she hides it well, tilting her head up to meet my gaze with practiced ease.

I lean in, brushing my lips against her temple, a gesture that feels both natural and calculated. The applause swells, and the cameras go wild.

Alexander raises his glass, his voice cutting through the noise. “To commitment. To partnerships and possibilities. And to a future full of untold potential.”

“Don’t forget love, father,” I call out with a chuckle that makes his jaw tick. The room laughs. His eyes narrow as he dips his chin in reluctant acknowledgement.

“To love,” the room echoes, glasses lifting in unison.

Elle’s hand tightens on my arm again as we clink glasses with those nearest us. Her smile doesn’t waver, but I can feel the tension radiating off her.

The rest of the evening is a blur of handshakes, congratulatory toasts, and endless photos. Elle and I are guided from one corner of the room to the next, pausing for staged moments that will no doubt dominate tomorrow’s headlines.

As the night winds down, the crowd begins to thin, leaving only a few stragglers and the ever-watchful press. Elle leans toward me, her voice low. “I think I’ve smiled more tonight than I have in my entire life.”

I chuckle softly, brushing a stray curl from her face. “You were perfect.”

Her lips quirk into a half-smile, and for a moment, I see a hint of the woman behind the mask. “So were you,” she says quietly.

Alexander approaches then, his presence as commanding as ever. “Sebastian, Elle,” he says, his tone brisk but pleased. “A successful evening, I’d say.”

“Of course,” I reply smoothly, my arm still around Elle’s waist.

He nods approvingly, his gaze shifting to Elle. “The press loves you. I expect to see glowing coverage tomorrow. Well done.”

Elle offers him a polite smile, but I can feel the stiffness in her posture. Alexander doesn’t seem to notice – or care.

“Get some rest,” he says, already turning away. “Tomorrow is a new day, and there’s plenty of work to be done.”

With that, he strides off, leaving us standing in the quieting ballroom.

I glance down at Elle, her expression unreadable. “Ready to call it a night?”

She exhales softly, nodding. “Definitely.”

We make our way upstairs together, the grandeur of the mansion feeling even more imposing in the stillness of the late evening. The polished marble floors gleam under the soft glow of the chandeliers, and the faint sound of distant chatter fades as we ascend the sweeping staircase.

When we reach the suite, I push the door open, letting Elle step inside first. She pauses in the center of the room, her gaze sweeping over the elegant furnishings and the massive bed that dominates the space before finally landing on me.

“Well,” she says, her voice light but tinged with exhaustion. “That was...an experience.”

I close the door behind us, leaning against it for a moment as I watch her. The gown she’s wearing catches the light, the fabric shimmering with every movement. Her hair is starting to come undone, a few loose curls framing her face. She looks...breathtaking.

“Elle,” I say softly, stepping toward her.

She turns to me, her expression guarded but curious. “What?”

I reach out, my fingers brushing against her cheek. “Thank you,” I say simply.

“For what?”

“For tonight. For everything.”

She studies me for a moment, her gaze searching mine. Then, with a small smile, she nods. “You’re welcome.”

The tension in the room shifts, softening as we both relax. Elle moves toward the vanity, slipping off her earrings and setting them down carefully. I watch her, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling over us like a blanket.

“Do you need help with the dress?” I ask, my voice low.

She glances at me in the mirror, her eyes meeting mine. For a moment, I think she might say no. But then she nods, turning slightly to give me access to the hidden zipper at the back.

My hands move carefully, the delicate fabric cool under my fingers as I slowly lower the zipper. The sound seems to echo in the stillness, and I can feel her breath hitch as the gown loosens around her, revealing her beautiful bare back. Fuck. All night she’s been on my arm, not wearing a bra, and I had no idea.

The urge to ghost my fingers down her spine is tantalising.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

I force myself to step back, giving her space, as she gathers the fabric and slips into the adjoining bathroom. The door clicks shut behind her, and I’m left standing alone in the suite, the weight of the evening settling heavily on my shoulders.

I sit on the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair as I let out a long breath. Tonight was a success by every measurable standard, but the cracks in our facade feel wider than ever.

Grabbing one of the pillows off the bed, I toss it onto the couch before adding the blanket that was draped along the bottom. I remove my suit and strip down to just my boxers, as Elle emerges, wrapped in a silk robe, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She’s even more breathtaking like this, the mask of perfection moved.

She looks at me with a mix of weariness and something I can’t quite name.

“Goodnight, Seb,” she says softly, slipping into the bed and turning away from me.

“Goodnight, Elle,” I reply, my voice low.

I lie down on the couch, staring at the ceiling as the events of the night replay in my mind. This is just the beginning, I remind myself. We’ve made it this far, but the hardest part is still to come.