Page 39

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Seb

I don’t wait for Elle to notice me. I don’t give her a chance to move. My hand closes around her wrist as I reach her, and the look she gives me – wide-eyed, startled – does nothing to curb the anger surging through me at my father’s words.

“We’re leaving,” I growl, my voice low enough that no one around us hears.

She stiffens but doesn’t argue.

Of course, she doesn’t. What would she say? That she needs more time to come up with another way to twist this? That she’s not ready for me to confront her?

But then, why does she look like she’s about to cry?

Crocodile tears, for effect and convenience, I’m sure.

But the thought gnaws at me as I steer her toward the exit, but before we can make it halfway across the ballroom, my father’s voice cuts through the air like the snap of a whip.

“Sebastian! Leaving so soon?”

I turn, teeth clenched, dragging Elle with me. He stands in the center of a growing circle of onlookers, his smug expression as infuriating as ever.

“It’s time for the first dance,” he announces, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “And the cake cutting! We can’t deprive our guests of such an important moment, can we?”

Elle stiffens beside me. I glance at her, but her face is turned away, her profile blank, unreadable.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter, releasing her wrist to offer my hand.

She takes it without looking at me, her fingers trembling in mine. I feel that small betrayal as clearly as if she’d slapped me. What does she have to be nervous about? I’m the one standing here trying to reconcile the woman I thought I knew with the person, who apparently wants to trap me into a life I never agreed to.

We walk to the center of the room, and the orchestra begins to play. The moment we step into position, every gaze in the room fixes on us, burning against my skin.

“Smile,” I murmur through gritted teeth.

Her lips curve faintly, but it’s lifeless, hollow. Her eyes won’t meet mine. A sure sign of her guilt and betrayal.

“What’s wrong?” I ask deceptively softly as we move. Will she confess? This is the only chance I’ll give her…

She flinches, her gaze darting away. “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I growl.

Her head snaps up then, and there’s something sharp in her eyes, something that almost makes me falter. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced with the same muted sadness that’s been clouding her face all day.

“I’m not lying,” she whispers.

I don’t believe her. I don’t think I can anymore.

We glide through the dance, and then there’s the cake – photos, clapping, forced smiles that ache in my jaw. She stands beside me like a porcelain doll, stiff and silent, and my temper simmers with every passing second.

When it’s finally over, I don’t wait for my father to find another excuse to keep us here.

“We’re going,” I tell Elle firmly, leading her toward the exit.

“Sebastian,” my father calls, his voice full of carefully curated delight, “aren’t you going to say goodbye to your guests? Or tell me where you’re running off to in such a hurry?”

I stop, turning slowly, and let my expression harden. “Home,” I say flatly.

His eyes gleam with satisfaction. Of course, he thinks he’s won. He thinks I’m crawling back to the estate, to his ever-watchful eye, to the future he’s so carefully orchestrated for me.

“Not your home,” I clarify, my voice cold and biting. “Ours.”

That wipes the smirk off his face.

“You bought a house?” he asks, his tone faltering. “When? How? That’s preposterous!”

“Yes.” My hand tightens around Elle’s as I speak. “You didn’t think I’d keep my wife under your roof, did you? Or did you imagine we’d be making your grandchildren with you in the next room? Were you expecting a front row seat, perhaps?”

The words are bitter, sharp, and I don’t care who hears them, even though there’s no one close enough really to eavesdrop. Elle gasps. My father’s face flushes with barely concealed rage, but he doesn’t respond. What can he say? He’s always prided himself on appearances, and tonight is no exception.

Without waiting for a reply, I turn and lead Elle out of the ballroom, past the curious stares and whispered speculation. I guess no one heard us, but the guests could see words were being had and now the happy couple are leaving, so they want to know what’s going on.

The car is waiting, and the moment the door closes behind us, the silence presses down like a weight. Elle sits beside me, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She doesn’t look at me.

“I don’t want to have sex tonight,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

My stomach churns, anger rising again like bile.

What is her game? What does she think she’s doing? She signed a contract. She agreed to this.

“You don’t have a choice,” I say coldly, the words cutting through the still air like a blade.

She flinches, her hands tightening further, but she doesn’t respond.

And somehow, her silence infuriates me even more.

The car glides to a stop in front of a townhouse, its brick facade gleaming softly under the golden glow of the streetlights. I step out first, tugging at my cuffs, trying to steady the anger roiling beneath my skin.

Elle hesitates before following, her fingers clutching her silly little evening bag like it’s a lifeline. I motion for her to come, my expression unreadable, and she does – of course, she does.

The driver pulls away, leaving us standing in the quiet stillness of the street. I stride up the steps, unlocking the door with a smooth twist of the key, and hold it open for her.

She steps inside, tentative, her heels clicking softly against the polished parquet floor. I close the door behind us, locking it with a deliberate turn.

The whole place is ours. Four storeys including a basement and a rooftop terrace.

Elle freezes, her lips parting as she takes in the grand entrance hall. Warm, muted tones of cream and gold stretch upward to the high ceilings, accented by the subtle shimmer of antique fixtures. The air smells faintly of jasmine and vanilla – her favorite scent. The staircase curves elegantly, its banister smooth, the kind of woodwork that whispers refinement and permanence.

“You…” She looks around, her voice a breathless murmur. “You bought this?”

My silence answers for me. I don’t say a word, just watch her.

She moves further into the house, her fingers brushing over the edge of a console table adorned with fresh flowers. Her favourites.

Her eyes widen at the sight of the sitting room through the archway – a soft, inviting space filled with plush sofas, bookshelves lined with novels, and artwork that could’ve been plucked straight from her Pinterest boards.

“You didn’t…” She swallows, shaking her head as if she can’t quite believe it. “You didn’t have to do this.”

I step closer, my shoes silent against the polished floor. “Why?” My voice is low, a growl just beneath the surface. “Because you thought I’d stick you in some sleek, soulless bachelor pad? Is that what you imagined?”

Her cheeks flush, and she lowers her gaze, her fingers twisting together.

“I—”

“Spare me your gratitude,” I cut her off, my tone sharp, the anger from earlier clawing its way back to the surface. “You think this is for you? That I’m trying to win you over, Elle?”

She blinks, startled, her lips parting as though to protest, but nothing comes out.

I take a step closer, towering over her, and she instinctively presses back against the archway. I should stop. I should take a breath and let the heat simmer down. But I can’t.

Her betrayal is too much.

“You don’t understand, do you?” My hand braces against the wall beside her head, caging her in. “You’ve made me question everything – who you are, who I am – and I hate that. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you. About us.”

Her breath hitches, her gaze locking onto mine.

“And yet, here you are,” I say, my voice softer now, dangerously close to breaking. “Thanking me. Like I’m some fool who can be pacified by pretty words.”

“I’m not—” she begins, but the words die on her lips as I lean in.

“Don’t,” I growl, my free hand reaching for her waist. “Don’t try to twist this.”

I slam my lips against hers, raw and demanding, my frustration and need pouring into the kiss. Her gasp melts into a soft moan, her body arching into mine despite her earlier hesitations. My hand fists in the delicate fabric of her dress, pulling her closer, anchoring her against the solid weight of me.

She’s trembling beneath my touch, her hands splayed against my chest like she can’t decide whether to push me away or pull me closer.

For a moment, the world narrows to this – her warmth, her taste, the way she molds against me like she belongs there.

But this isn’t enough. Not nearly.

I pull back just enough to speak, my breath hot against her lips. “You’re mine, Elle. No matter how much you fight it. No matter how much you lie.”

Her eyes glisten, her chest heaving as she stares up at me, and for a split second, I see something that looks like surrender.

It only fuels the fire inside me. She knows I know. She’s busted.

Her breath catches as I press harder against her, pinning her fully to the door. My hand moves from her waist, trailing down her side until I find the hem of her dress. The silky fabric clings to her curves, but it’s no match for my determination.

I hike it up, inch by slow inch, never breaking the kiss. Her hands, still trembling, clutch at my jacket.

I don’t care.

“Seb,” she breathes against my lips, her voice barely a whisper.

“Shh,” I murmur, my mouth brushing over hers again, my tongue teasing the seam of her lips until she opens for me, surrendering.

Her dress is bunched at her hips now, and my hand slips beneath the delicate lace of her underwear. She gasps, her head falling back against the door as my fingers find her – hot, slick, and trembling.

“Christ,” I growl, my forehead pressing against hers as I grind my hardness against her soft centre. “Do you see what you do to me? How insane you make me?”

Her only response is a soft whimper, her hips tilting toward my touch. She’s so responsive, her body betraying her every thought, every feeling.

“Tell me,” I demand, my fingers sliding through her wetness, circling, teasing. “Tell me the truth, Elle. Just once.”

“I – I don’t know what you want,” she stammers, her voice trembling as I press against her most sensitive spot.

“You do,” I murmur, my lips finding her neck, tasting the soft skin just below her ear. “You know exactly what I want.”

Confess, I silently beg her. Confess and I will find a way to forgive you. We can still make this work if you’re honest.

Her hands tighten in my jacket, and I feel her resolve wavering. My fingers move with purpose now, slipping inside her, coaxing, demanding her surrender.

She cries out, a soft, breathy sound that drives me to the edge of my control.

“This,” I rasp, my voice thick with need. “This is the truth, Elle. Your body doesn’t lie to me. It never has.”

Her hips move against my hand, seeking more, and I give it to her, my thumb circling her clit as my fingers plunge deeper.

Her breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps, her nails biting into my shoulders. She’s close – I can feel it in the way her body tenses, in the desperate little sounds spilling from her lips.

“Say it,” I growl, my mouth claiming hers again, rough and unrelenting. “Say you’re mine.”

Her response is muffled against my lips, but it’s enough. A broken, breathless moan of surrender that pushes us both over the edge.

She trembles, her body shuddering around my hand as I hold her through it, my own restraint hanging by a thread.

When she finally slumps against me, her breath ragged and her eyes dazed, I pull back just enough to look at her.

“You’ll never lie to me again,” I say, my voice a low, dark promise. “Do you understand?”

She nods, but I can see the questions swirling in her gaze, the walls she’s still trying to rebuild.

It doesn’t matter.

I’ve already torn them down. And I have no intention of letting her put them back up.

“Choose whichever of the bedrooms you like,” I say, my tone clipped, cold. “Our things will be delivered first thing in the morning.”

Her wide eyes meet mine, a glimmer of confusion breaking through the haze of what just happened. But I can’t afford to soften now. I turn to leave, my steps purposeful, my mind already wrestling with the storm raging inside me.

It’s only the catch in her voice that stops me.

“W-where are you going, Bas?”

That name. The nickname I once craved, the sound of it from her lips an echo of countless dreams I’ve had about her. It claws its way under my skin, igniting something raw and painful that I thought I’d buried.

A shudder rolls through me, unbidden, but I force it down. My fingers curl into fists at my sides as I slowly turn my head, just enough to glance at her. She stands there, her dress still rumpled, her face flushed, her lips slightly swollen from my kiss. Vulnerability clings to her like a second skin, and for a moment, it’s almost enough to unravel me all over again.

But I can’t let it.

“Out.” My voice is like ice, sharp and unyielding. I force my gaze to harden, to meet hers without faltering. “I can’t do this.”

Her eyes widen further, the hurt plain now, etched in every delicate line of her face. She takes a small step forward, but I shake my head once, a silent command to stay where she is.

She obeys and I turn my back on her, my stomach sinking. I run my hands through my hair.

I shouldn’t have kissed her, shouldn’t have touched her and made her come apart on my fingers when I had no intention of staying. But I couldn’t help myself, couldn’t resist. Not when she’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

I thought today was going to be a dream come true, and instead, it’s been my worst nightmare. I’ll forever be haunted by Elle’s betrayal. Driven to madness by her scent and taste that I won’t let myself indulge in again.

As I reach for the polished front door, the weight of her presence presses on my back, heavy and suffocating. I pull it open, the chill of the London night rushing in, biting against my heated skin.

Behind me, the silence stretches, thick and oppressive, until it breaks with a sound I’ll carry with me long after I’ve walked away – a sob, small and broken, escaping her lips.

It spears through me like a blade, sharp and relentless.

But I don’t turn back.